The Unhurried Way

Welcome

The Unhurried Way grew out of a long and complicated journey of faith—walking away, finding my way back to Christ, and eventually recognizing a call to explore what it means to truly live our faith in the ordinary rhythms of everyday life.

My path to The Unhurried Way has not been a straight one.

In many ways, it began when I was a teenager.

I once ran a magazine for Christian girls. Writers submitted articles to me, and I loved having a place where Christian young women could share their writing and faith. But instead of that experience drawing me deeper into Christian community, it became one of my first experiences of being hurt by it. I began receiving accusations that I was stealing other people’s work, even when the articles had been submitted to me by the writers themselves. There were threats. Eventually, I stopped.

That was only the beginning.

In my twenties, I fell for a man who was preparing to become a pastor. He led me to believe I was the only woman in his life and allowed me to believe there might be a future between us. Then he pulled away and became engaged to someone else.

What made the betrayal cut even deeper was that the woman he chose came from a family with strong ministry connections. Her grandfather was a minister, and those connections could help open doors for the career he was pursuing. Whether that was the whole reason or only part of it, that was how it looked from where I stood.

For me, it became more than heartbreak. It reinforced a growing belief that the Christianity I was seeing around me was often about appearance, position, and saying the right things rather than actually living them.

Shortly after this period of my life, I hit another rough patch.

I was living in my car, hungry, and working myself nearly into the ground just to survive. I approached several churches that said they cared for people in need.

When I actually needed help, no one would help me.

Experience after experience was teaching me the same lesson, or at least what I believed was the lesson at the time:

Christians were hypocrites. Christians said one thing and did another. And I wanted nothing more to do with Christianity.

So I left.

Walking Away

Eventually, I rejected Christianity altogether and became involved in the occult. By the time my life took me to South Korea, I openly denied the faith I had once professed.

I had come to believe that Christianity was represented by the people I had encountered: people who talked about love, compassion, faithfulness, and following Christ, but whose actions had shown me something very different.

For years, that contradiction stood between Christ and me.

Then my mother became sick.

When she suddenly passed away, something began changing. It wasn’t a dramatic conversion where everything suddenly became clear. For a while, I had one foot in Christianity and another still firmly planted in the occult.

I was being drawn toward Christ while still carrying tremendous anger toward Christians.

I couldn’t reconcile the two.

Until I began realizing something that changed my understanding of Christianity completely.

Christ Is Not the People Who Claim His Name

I began reading Christ’s own warnings differently.

In Revelation, there is the warning to the lukewarm, the faith that is neither hot nor cold. And in Matthew, Jesus gives an even more unsettling warning: there will be people who call Him Lord only to hear that He never knew them.

Those two passages helped seal something in my faith that I had struggled to understand for years:

Someone claiming to follow Christ does not make that person the measure of Christ.

I had spent years judging Christ by Christians.

Eventually, I began judging Christianity by Christ.

That distinction changed everything.

Slowly, I walked away from the occult. The tarot cards went. The psychics went. The practices I had once turned toward disappeared from my life.

I came back to Christ.

But I did not come back to the idea that Christianity should simply make us comfortable, affirm everything we already want, or occupy an hour of our Sunday before we return to living exactly like everyone else.

I wanted a faith that was real when Sunday was over.

A faith that shaped Monday morning.

A faith that affected the way we treated people when no one was watching.

A faith that was willing to tell us no.

A faith that asked something of us.

A faith that was lived, not merely performed.

Then God Wouldn’t Leave Me Alone

Over the past year, another theme has followed me relentlessly.

Hurry.

I began noticing how everyone seemed to be rushing somewhere. How being busy had become almost a measure of a person’s worth. How uncomfortable we had become with silence. How entertainment filled every empty space.

Phones were everywhere.

Even families sitting together for a meal could be physically together while everyone was somewhere else.

Work expanded into hours that once belonged to home. Rest became something we felt guilty about. Our attention was divided among a hundred things at once, while somehow we remained convinced that doing more meant living better.

And then I began seeing how much of this had entered the church too.

The faith that should teach us another way of living was itself being shaped by the hurried culture around it.

I kept noticing it.

And noticing it.

And noticing it.

I sometimes describe it as being smacked upside the head with the same message over and over until I finally paid attention.

Slow down.

Look again at Sabbath.

Pay attention.

Turn off the noise.

Look at the birds.

Make your home a place that forms you.

Stop measuring a life by how much gets accomplished in it.

Learn what it means to follow Christ not merely on Sunday, but in the ordinary rhythms of Monday morning, Wednesday afternoon, and Saturday evening.

Eventually, I had to acknowledge that perhaps I wasn’t simply noticing these things.

Perhaps I was being called to do something with them.

And So, The Unhurried Way

That is how this place began.

I am not here because I have mastered an unhurried life. If anything, I am still one of its students.

I know anxiety. I know stress. I know what it is to hurry, become overwhelmed, get distracted, become angry, and allow things outside my control to steal my peace.

Maybe that is precisely why I need to learn this way too.

The Unhurried Way is where I am exploring what Scripture teaches about Sabbath, prayer, home, work, rest, creation, attention, simplicity, community, and the ordinary practices through which our lives are formed.

And you do not have to arrive here with Christianity figured out.

Maybe you have followed Christ your entire life.

Maybe you have been hurt by Christians.

Maybe you have walked away.

Maybe you are not sure what you believe at all.

Or maybe you simply know that something about the way we are living is not working and you are searching for another way.

You are welcome here.

And for the record, I am probably a little more south side of heaven than uptown.

I have tattoos. My language is not always clean. I can be stubborn, emotional, impatient, angry, and occasionally far less polished than Christians are sometimes expected to appear. I am not interested in pretending otherwise.

Faith did not turn me into a carefully curated version of a Christian woman, and I do not believe following Christ requires us to erase every rough edge of who we are before we are allowed to come near Him.

I spent years allowing people who claimed Christ to determine what I thought about Him.

Eventually, I discovered that I needed to look at Christ Himself.

That changed everything.

And now, after a very long road, I find myself doing something strangely familiar.

The teenage girl who once wanted to create a place where people could write and learn about Christian faith is writing about faith again.

I certainly did not plan that.

But perhaps God did.

Welcome to The Unhurried Way.

Let’s learn to walk it together.