I am an Episcopalian through and through: smells, bells and “Father Son and Holy Spirit.” I am an Episcopalian to the core. I was raised in this odd cross between Catholicism and Protestantism, a preacher’s daughter, incense wafting to the rafters, communion every Sunday, and my father’s dramatic voice enticing listeners to think about Bible passages in Greek. For me, the core of my devotion to church is that liturgy. It marks God’s time, returns us to the fold, reminds us of who we are, and then sends us out to do the work we are called to do.

I also happen to be a youth worker at a United Methodist Church. Both of these denominations are venerable—good traditions with powerful things to say about how we interact with God. Methodists are social justice fiends—and sometimes that’s a huge relief from my Episcopal world. Their music is phenomenal. Our church doesn’t follow the lectionary, so we have interesting times developing sermon series and plans for how we’re going to spread the good news. It’s creative worship in a way I never experienced when I served in Episcopal churches.

We all know that as youth workers, as church workers in general, we need to keep our souls fed—we need to keep ourselves alive spiritually so we have enough (more than enough)—to give to our kids, their parents and the community that nurtures them. That’s hard…nearly impossible, really; and it doesn’t make it any easier when the church community itself isn’t feeding your soul—or perhaps drains you spiritually.

Everyone who works for a church starts to feel drained by it eventually: For every person recently out of seminary, the shift from church as spiritual home to place of employment is a tough one. Learning to be a leader in a religious community is deeply draining, and there is a significant adjustment that happens when that transition is made. However, after a year of working for my congregation, I began to notice I was experiencing more than just the usual drain of transitioning into the real world. There was a strong theological disagreement between my understanding of church and my congregation’s understanding of church.

I won’t get into the particulars, because they probably aren’t truly helpful to you. What began to happen, though, was that I found worship and preparing for worship a spiritually draining experience, sometimes leaving me angry and annoyed rather than uplifted and rejuvenated for my continuing work. It was taking a huge toll on my attitude: People were noticing; I was whining; and worst of all, I was letting the kids know that I didn’t agree or connect with certain practices.

I caught myself in the mid-stages of a developing disaster between me, my church and the rest of the staff. Honestly, in many ways this is still a work in progress; but during a tumultuous 2015, this is what I did:

I found a way to get what I needed religiously.

When I realized I was craving old-school, Rite II Episcopal Worship, I found a nearby church that offered Wednesday noon services. I went straight to my senior pastor and I told her that this is what I needed to stay sane. She agreed, so I made that time non-negotiable. I am out of the office at 11:45, eat lunch with the worshipping community there, and return around 1:30. I make no excuses, no apologies. I warned everyone first: I ensured that everyone knew I would not be reachable for this hour and a half. I also made sure it wouldn’t affect my work. This has helped tremendously, and I’ve discovered I’ve also developed a meaningful and valuable relationship with the rector of this congregation. My relationship with this congregation has been a source of so much life for me, and I highly recommend that any youth worker—any church worker—find a congregation outside of his or her own that can offer at least a different spiritual experience.

I set aside time to make sure I thought, wrote and prayed about what I was learning from my current congregation.

I have a prayer practice in which I focus on what I am thankful for: people I am thankful for, parts of my life I am thankful for, and what I am thankful for in my job. I aim for three times a week, but with my schedule it’s usually only two. Still, this makes a huge difference, because it helps me look past what I’m annoyed or irked about and toward a bigger picture of what I am learning from my United Methodist congregation.

One thing I love about Methodists is that they are super intentional about developing churches. Our church is participating in a conference-sponsored coaching process in which we talk openly about the changing face of the church and how to make ourselves relevant. It’s not about putting up a screen and singing new praise music; it’s getting back to the basics: God, Christ and salvation that make worship real to people in your community. I’m learning so much from their intentionality around nurturing their church communities.

Leadership literature often talks about balcony time, as does my favorite youth ministry scholar, Mark Devries. Balcony time in a church you’re struggling with also can mean: What am I learning about doing church differently these days?

I step back and try to focus on what I can learn from this foreign environment, detached a bit via an academic stance. Even in your most downtrodden moments, I hope you can find something to focus on that your church is teaching you, even if it’s just the eager faith of one dorky kid in your youth group.

I am totally clear about who I am and what I don’t know. We laugh about it.

I teach Methodist confirmation classes to some of the brightest, most excellent middle schoolers I’ve ever met. I am not a Methodist, and they know that. I don’t pretend to be something I’m not.

I tell them the reasons why the Methodists broke away from my tradition and why they were right to do so. I tell them why I stick to my tradition, and I tell them why their tradition is venerable and attractive to someone such as myself, an outsider. Most importantly, when it comes time to talk about the Methodist particulars of their Christian faith, I invite others into the discussion. I don’t try to ground them in a tradition that I don’t have. I have the senior pastor come in, or we go to a conference event where they can join other Methodist kids in learning about the way things work in the United Methodist tradition.

This probably doesn’t surprise you, but the kids couldn’t care less what my denomination is. They find it interesting, and they actually enjoy making the comparisons (if they care at all). It’s more of an issue for the adults in our congregation. They notice when I cross myself at the communion rail, or when I forget and say a Trinitarian prayer before I preach. Usually it’s laughable if I swing it that way. As in any church, we have a few people who are always eager to pick fights. I’ve realized there’s only one good way to deal with this: Let them win—right away—and then laugh about it. They think they’ve bonded with you, and you know you’ve saved your energy for something more important—your kids.

I focus on my relationship with the kids, the parents I can trust, and the transformational nature of youth ministry.

Nurturing good relationships is cross-denominational, cross-cultural and cross-religious. You don’t need to agree to care about your kids. Teenagers need your kindness and care no matter what is going on in the wider congregation, no matter which parents hate your program, and no matter what the wider issues are. Once you’ve discerned what you truly are getting from your congregation, focus on that, your students, and on developing your role as a leader for them.

However, this part is really important: Don’t rely on them to make it better for you. This is the last step. You need to be able to fulfill the other three, too, or else it becomes about you dissenting and bringing the kids with you. None of the kids should think they are the reason you haven’t imploded yet. That puts way too much responsibility on them. It’s not healthy for the church, you or those teenagers. Once you have developed a strong enough self and have figured out how to get your spiritual energy, make sure you indeed are focusing it on them. When I did that, it began to multiply on its own. Yet as in the parable of the sower, it needed the good soil first.

I still know God called me to this church.

I know I can stay at my church because we are fundamentally aligned with the same journey in Christ’s name. We fundamentally agree on social justice issues, the unfathomable forgiveness and love of God, and a call to welcome all people through our doors. I could not do the same in a church that preached hate or a church where I didn’t have the support of the senior pastor.

When I sit down and think about it, I still know God called me here; God has asked me to learn something about my leadership style, myself and my role as a developing minister in this congregation at this time. God has asked me to use my specific skills to guide these kids and this congregation now. If I couldn’t say that, I would be seeking another job. If you can’t say that, I hope you pray about it. Always remember: God only called one Person to be crucified, and none of us are that Person.

Maggie Nancarrow is director of Youth and Family Ministry at a United Methodist Church in the Twin Cities of Minnesota. She is a graduate of the University of Chicago Divinity School and a life-long Episcopalian. She cares about the revitalization of the church, developing a theology of empowerment for women and children, and the church’s role in its community. In her spare time, she’s an avid artist and obsessive player of “Banished.”