Jesus didn’t call us to build empires. He called us to make families.
Hi there, friends.
It’s been a while. If you find yourself reading this, it’s good to see you again. Let me catch you up. (If you’re new here, welcome. <3)
Since my last post in August of 2024 (well, really since March), the most notable update is that I find myself transitioned out of “full-time ministry” into the trades/workplace. Starting in July of 2025, I began a 10-month cosmetology program, started working as a restaurant host, and picked up instructing kickboxing classes again. I go by the nickname “Andi” and have red hair? I also moved out and live alone, close to downtown Knoxville (all of this is relevant, I promise).
The decision to attend cosmetology school is what caused all of this change. The process that led me to commit to the program was, essentially, this: “How can I pursue full-time missions while providing for myself?”
Conclusion? Hair. A career centered around relationship and creativity, with eventual scheduling freedom and the potential to become lucrative, sounded good enough. So, here we are. 40 hours of my week are spent in school surrounded by fellow students and various clients. Of course, this would be quite the change from my “oh we should get coffee sometime, I’m free whenever” schedule and my “let’s live for Jesus” people. But knowing that the mission field is ever-set before oneself, I girded my loins and dove headfirst into the world of beauty school, joining Douglas J on Gay Street in downtown Knox.
It was early 2025. School wasn’t even a thought yet. I sat in the basement of a church, surrounded by like-minded men and women, fervently praying and discussing: “If God wants revival in Knoxville, how do we steward it?”
“I think God is less concerned with our stages and more concerned with our tables,” one friend spoke up. “Less empires, more families. What if, instead of growing our congregations, we fill up our living rooms?”
Homes dedicated to the inhabitance of the Spirit within each person who enters in? Spiritual mothers and fathers caring for the orphaned and bringing them into the family of Christ? Exemplifying the intimacy– both pure and messy– of the family unit? How many people could begin to encounter Jesus and understand Him rightly when sat face to face across a dinner table?
Christ called His disciples to live in the seemingly mundane with Him— to walk along the dirt roads with Him, to sleep on the ground beside Him, to eat the same meals as Him– but isn’t this where they learned Christ? Who is to say that any of this was insignificant? Perhaps, in our consistent hospitality, we have the opportunity to show people that what looks to be insignificant and mundane really becomes holy ground? Places where Christ is met and magnified? Friend! Yes!
With a heart so bent towards discipleship, I adopted my friend’s conviction.
It’s almost March of 2026. Time somehow flies, and I have approximately 15 weeks of school left. I’m about 70% done with my program, and somehow, have become the “seniors” of the school. There are two new classes that have joined us on the salon floor, and by the time my class graduates, there will be one more.
I’ve been conspiring with the Holy Spirit– how do we infiltrate this place with Jesus? A place that, in order to keep things as mild as possible, prohibits the discussion of religion. How could Douglas J Institute of Knoxville, Tennessee become a place not just to learn how to do great hair, but a place of salvation and discipleship?
Frankly, I’m not sure.
But I don’t need to be sure.
Just obedient.
In my remaining weeks at this school, how can I “turn up the heat?” Conclusion? Dinners on Wednesday nights. What if radical hospitality began to turn the heads of the school? To welcome the immature and the slanderers, the despairing and discontent, outcasts and cliques (hair school… iykyk), and bring them into a home that makes them curious. Curious of who it is that could make them mature encouragers, hopeful and thankful, welcoming and graceful people. What if.
So, that’s the plan. Starting tomorrow.
All of this to say, I’ve noticed through the Lord’s provision, I’m in the position to make this happen:
A [town]home– miraculously acquired, perfectly located, purposed for hospitality such as this.
A kitchen– working enough to whip up some good spaghetti
No roommates– no need to be conscious of the mess/crowd/noise
A table– generously gifted by friends of mine
A God– who is more than able to provide what I don’t have.
The Spirit– who empowers my obedience and faithfulness
My mind races to dreaming with the Father. What could this become? How could He use this red-headed, joyous 25-year old cosmo student named Andi to declare His glory?
To gather people around a table is an labor of love, for sure. And admittedly, I must call into question my capacity– logistically, emotionally, financially, socially– can I afford this? How will I afford this?
If I truly believe in my placement at this school is meant for ministry, this is not a matter of can I, but how. How ought my life to change in order to make space for more radical living?
Yes, it demands sacrifice. Spending more time with people I already see so often? Taking an evening that could be spent making money to provide for myself? Organizing food for what could be 20ish people? But I trust that in the sacrifice, I shall be met with more than enough.
That being said, working 10-15 hours a week does not pay the bills, much less allow me to feed people dinner. If you feel so led to pay for a dinner, take action! If your heart is oddly pulled towards these kids, pray for them! If you have the desire to get your hair blown out, book an appointment! (I give a mean shampoo.)
I had thought that because of school, my time would be taken away from full-time ministry. Perhaps, it did just the opposite.
Bread Crumbs 
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