anne m. wilson

Hello world, meet my niece, baby Gianna.

I know, right?

First they came for the communists,
and I didn’t speak out because I wasn’t a communist.

Then they came for the trade unionists,
and I didn’t speak out because I wasn’t a trade unionist.

Then they came for the Jews,
and I didn’t speak out because I wasn’t a Jew.

Then they came for me,
and there was no one left to speak out for me.
–Martin Niemöller, 1892-1984

In the same way people stood in silence as so many Jews died, as blacks were denied basic, human rights, and as women all over the world were/are neglected of freedom . . . here we are, still sitting and ignoring what’s hard to swallow. It’s easier to distract.

I know I’m not the first to ask. I stand in a long, long line of people that have asked way before me and will continue to do so. But today, I bother myself.

“A faith without doubt is like a human body without antibodies in it. People who blithely go through life too busy or indifferent to ask hard questions about why they believe as they do will find themselves defenseless against either the experience of tragedy or the probing questions of a smart skeptic.” -Tim Keller, The Reason for God

Trying not to be defenseless today. 

One of my very dear friends, Katelyn, got engaged this past week. On Wednesday afternoon, I flew down to Winston-Salem, NC to surprise her. I lived with her family while I did an internship in NC and, well, they became a second family to me before too long. It’s funny; they are all drastically different from me in many ways, and yet they are also very familiar. Katelyn and I could not be more opposite and yet our souls connect. We have the same temperament, are both very sensitive people, and show our ugliest side to the people we love the most. In these ways, we are identical twins. Plus–we’re both blondes, and blondes just understand each other.

It could not have been a more timely visit. Getting caught up in someone else’s life, looking through wedding magazines, drinking sweet tea, going to the Farmer’s Market and listening to country music was just what my soul needed.

Carolina reminds me of so much. The smells, sights, and sounds bring me to time when I was possibly the most insecure and paradoxically confident I have ever been. It was the place I realized that having a 50something-year-old best friend is really cool. I am constantly humbled by the people God places in my journey and friends that continue to mold me into the woman I am becoming. I hope I’m always in this process, that I never stop making new friends, and that I continually let life surprise me.

Thank you Carolina, for teaching me to breathe deeply, live slowly, and love genuinely. You were exactly what I didn’t know I needed.

Beautiful. Just, beautiful.

“Death in His Grave” by John Mark McMillan

Though the Earth Cried out for blood
Satisfied, her hunger was
Her billows calmed on raging seas
for the souls on men she craved

Sun and moon from balcony
Turned their head in disbelief
Their precious Love would taste the sting
disfigured and disdained

On Friday a thief
On Sunday a King
Laid down in grief
But awoke with keys
Of Hell on that day
The first born of the slain
The Man Jesus Christ
Laid death in his grave

So three days in darkness slept
The Morning Sun of righteousness
But rose to shame the throes of death
And over turn his rule

Now daughters and the sons of men
Would pay not their dues again
The debt of blood they owed was rent
When the day rolled a new

On Friday a thief
On Sunday a King
Laid down in grief
But awoke holding keys
To Hell on that day
The first born of the slain
The Man Jesus Christ
Laid death in his grave

He has cheated
Hell and seated
Us above the fall
In desperate places
He paid our wages
One time once and for all

A few days ago, I wrote a little ditty (I’ve always wanted to say that) on being a female in youth ministry. Once I opened up that can, all kinds of other thoughts flew out and well, I think I’m onto something here. So there may be a slew of “on being a female youth minister,” and if that annoys you, well, this was your decision to read and it can be your decision to ignore (see how I did that?).

There’s another oddity that my husband and I have discovered in this short journey of ours: being a youth minister’s husband. It’s quite the rare combination. Not only do I feel like the odd woman out in circles, but he certainly does, as well. For example, the first Saturday of the month, the wives of ministers at our church get together to have fun, drink coffee/tea, and just get to know one another. When Kyle and I first came here, Kyle (jokingly) asked, “Do I get invited to that?” A couple of days ago, one of the wives (who is one of my friends) mentioned it in conversation (half-heartedly) and said, “I just realized, why haven’t we ever invited you?” Uh… because I’m on the other side of the fence? But not really, because I’m a woman? But not really, because I’m doing the same things your husband is doing that make you mad? And my husband puts up with the same thing you do? Now you see where the confusion comes in.

Kyle doesn’t knit, bake, play the piano, get pregnant, stay at home with little babies, decorate a house, host dinner parties, or all these other stereotypical things I’ve just placed on minister’s wives (and things I love/would also love to do one day–with the exception of knitting). I know that the pressure they feel is immense and something I cannot comprehend. But figuring out what this looks like gender-reversed has been quite the awkward challenge. And other women that are in similar positions as me have pretty much the same response: we don’t know, either.

So here’s to you, minister’s husband: I commend you. You are her support, encouragement, love, and undoubtedly one of the biggest reasons (outside of Jesus) that she feels so comfortable in her own skin. Thank you for being who you are.

And thank you, Kyle, for putting up with one of the most ridiculous human beings to ever walk this earth. That I know for sure.

I hardly write about my “job” in here (I use quotes because the lines of job/lifestyle/role are pretty blurry), mostly because I want to protect myself from only thinking about, writing about, talking about, and being about youth ministry. Not because I don’t love it, I love and cherish what I get to do on a daily basis. My role breathes life into me as I give of myself on a weekly basis, and I am continually grateful for the chance to do what I love.

There is a little thing though that I’d like to dedicate this to–to any other woman out there that is in ministry (or any profession largely populated by men, for that matter). It’s a fun/awkward challenge walking into rooms overly-populated by men. My first few “area youth ministry meetings” went something like this: men stare and I can only imagine what they’re thinking, “Is she… an assistant? Is she… lost? Is she… the wife of someone here? Is she… one of… us?” You doubt me, but this past time I asked Nick (the other youth pastor at CRCC) to watch and observe and he couldn’t believe it. Nailed it.

With all that said, there’s also another avenue in which this is a tough road to walk–and to any woman on this road I want to encourage you to let yourself be a woman. I have seen many women become intimidated by the role and feel as if they need to lead like the men they’re observing. That is simply not the case. I am a woman for a reason. That does not mean I am automatically meek, humble, gentle, patient… it means that I lead differently. I lead as a woman. I teach as a woman. I interact with leaders, as a woman. I cry at the drop of a hat, I prefer drinking coffee with students before nailing a kid with a dodgeball, I tell stories about show choir instead of high school football glory days. I’m a woman. And there is nothing shameful about that.

So here’s to you, woman in a man’s world. You must master the art of wearing the skin of a rhino and the heart of a saint. That’s a tall order.

Last year, for the first time in my entire life, I went a little crazy about March Madness. I was almost unrecognizable with the level of intensity and passion I put into a game I had never cared about. I also shamelessly paraded my bulldog around Broad Ripple (for you non-Indy people, an area right next to Butler University’s campus), and she certainly got the celeb treatment. Here are pictures to prove it (as if I need the embarrassment):

I think it’s time to be shameless again. Listen, when you’ve got a dog this great . . .