In the fall of 2003, I was sitting in a chair outside Emory's dining hall by myself. But suddenly, I felt surrounded by people, and I knew who they were: my donors. While I was physically on Emory's campus to share the gospel, my friends were with me in spirit. Their money had sent me, and their prayers were sustaining me. I had talked about "partnering together" in ministry many times, but in that moment, I felt it.

I walked slowly down the potluck tables, overloading my paper plate with rotisserie chicken, a green bean casserole, and a mixture of homemade and out-of-the-box brownies. As I walked over to watch the kids run between the church pews, I realized I'd sat down between a professor at an elite university and a young woman looking for her next acting gig. In this church plant, the only way to identify a leader was to look for someone serving.

When I was a kid, my mom had a tradition in which we would go to the store with her and "help Santa out" by suggesting which presents he should get us. Then she would take those items to the register, check out, and hide them when we got home. But sometimes, I'd still worry if I'd get what I wanted! It was a long wait from the cash register to the Christmas tree.

We lived in an apartment complex next to one of Atlanta's largest churches. Every Sunday, we walked across the parking lot into the giant sanctuary and participated in everything we could. But after a year of trying to make friends, we didn't know anyone better than when we started.

When I was going through a tough season in my life, one friend kept reaching out. I felt weird pouring out so many complicated feelings to him, but I could tell he welcomed it. He loved me in a way that could only be explained by his faith.