Elizabeth, Joe, and the Ministry of Showing Up

At church last week I watched an old man worshiping in the second row. He was so into it, clapping, thinking about God. This sweet man, who's been part of our church for more than 60 years, just enjoying the time with His Jesus.
Well my mind started wandering to those people in our church who have just... always been there. Last week we mourned the death of one of them. Joe* stood at the door as the church greeter, I think before it was ever an official role anyone played. He and his wife were servants who showed many people how to be faithful followers of Christ, behind the scenes and at the front door of the church building. Just like the guy in the second row last week. These are people who we've watched basically our whole lives, knowing the things they've suffered and the good times they've had, and seen how they come to church and worship regardless of what's going on in their lives and hearts.
There was a woman, Elizabeth, who used a walker, and every time I saw her she looked a little thinner. Her dear son brought her to church every week, letting her hold on his arm as he ushered her to her seat in the pew, waiting patiently as she visited with the friends she'd had all her life, and then bringing the car around and escorting her out and back to her home. We lost her last month.
And all of these people are slowly dropping off. One at a time, often in a quiet way that the large body doesn't notice. They give their silent salutes as they pass from the nursing home to the grave.
While I watched the guy in the second row last week, I thought about the ministry of showing up. It doesn't sound like a ministry. It sounds lame. But, having led enough events, there really is a ministry that happens when the same people come every time it's held. When you know what to predict, and you know that some of the chairs will be filled. In worship and community, the extra people, the faithful people, lend a little energy to the overall. It's good to have numbers, not for numbers sake, but so that the life that comes from being together continues to flow.
I watched second row guy, and wondered what's going to happen when he and his people are all gone. In ten years, twenty years, who will be the ones who are faithfully there? Who come and sit even when their bodies are old and tired and can barely move them. Who pray over the people around them with the weathered wisdom of their years? Who show everyone around them the humility of still being able to learn in the last season of their lives? Who give God glory for all of the steps they've taken as they've aged and grown to be more like Him? Is it going to be me? Is it going to be the people I hang out with? I worry that this ministry is being forgotten. In an age full of activities for kids, television programs, podcasts, and every reason to not need church, my generation is saying goodbye to the convention of meeting every week. There are of course legitimate reasons. But I feel like we're replacing that time of community and fellowship with things that are, in the end, wasting time. I'm not really on a high horse here. I've had weeks when I've chosen, for the health of all of us, to stay in bed and miss church. I'm just sad that the best way for me to be healthy is to miss out on a week of community in church. I know there are times when that's really what our family needs.
I just see it happening, for many families, more often than not. And that is disheartening for me. Because we really are more effective when we encourage each other. We really do live better lives when we have the accountability that comes from being together. Because there's something in the collective that brings out the truth of God in our individual souls. Something that we can rest in, even when we can't find it throughout the week.
There's ministry in being faithful to come, even if it's just sitting there in our grief and letting those around us pray and worship. Yes, even when we think we have nothing to learn or contribute (and if you think that, we should probably talk). Yes, even when you feel dead inside and don't really care to connect with God or anyone else. Even if we have nothing more to offer than just filling a chair, there are people who notice the way that chair is filled every single week, no matter what busy life we lead, no matter how sad we are. It's important, and I fear it's a ministry that is being lost in a generation of people who always have somewhere to be and something to do.
These things don't happen when we show up just once in a while. They happen when we come week by week and share our hearts with trustworthy people.
When I'm at the edge of my life, I don't want to be the person with every excuse to keep me from being at church. I want to surround myself with others who are called to the same things I am, who can pray for me and encourage me. I want to be fully there, worshiping with those around me, watching their lives, setting an example of faithfulness in a world that seems to have trouble with commitment.

* Names changed

My 35th Year

This was a long year. And like most years it had ups and downs. This year, both were pretty extreme. I've been wanting to sit and write about it all for a while. I did write a Christmas newsletter, which I deleted. Twice. because I just can't find a good way to articulate the best and worst without sounding depressed and/or too sunshiny. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

We moved into our new house at the end of December last year. We spent a few weeks unpacking and settling in, then we were off to the hospital to have our 5th (and final) baby. (The 2nd baby we had didn't make it, but it doesn't feel fair not to count her). We didn't know the gender, but for the first time, my gut feeling was SO right. Another girl. We named her Stacy because it means resurrection, and we were, in faith, planning on a year of God restoring and rebuilding our lives. Thankfully, that was what a lot of the year looked like.

The first restoration was in the form of surgery for the 2nd born, who needed another skin graft to compensate for growth and scarring on her burns. Stacy was 3 weeks old and we took a 9-day stay at the university hospital. That was quite the challenge. It was a dark time for me. The second time around, three weeks later, was just as difficult, but at least I wasn't still in the painful recovery stage from my c-section. It was hard to go through all of that hospital stuff again, but at least this time we had a better idea of what to expect and how to ask for help.  For the record, I think we actually received meals from the church for a solid six weeks. I still think about all of those meals. I could never repay. I think about the day we got home from the hospital the first time, and I had this month-old baby and a 7-year-old who needed to be kept inactive and took pretty constant care. I just didn't think I could do it, and I called up my friend Melissa and she didn't even hesitate. She just said she'd be there, and she packed up her three kids and came out with groceries. That's just one story out of hundreds. Hundreds.

Another quick one. When we went to take the kids to church camp this summer, the director told us that someone had paid for their camp, knowing we were probably a little financially strapped. What a blessing. What a needed break for us! We just need community so much, and we have a really great one with our church.

We got our final occupancy for the house in July, which was a huge relief to husband, who'd been working really hard to finish all of the last things the county wanted done.

In August, we were privileged to be able to attend family burn camp, a weekend for families of burn survivors. It was really refreshing for us, after such a hard year, to be with other families who understood the challenges we'd been through. We were the newbies in the group. most of the other families had been living with their traumas for more than five years. You can bond pretty quickly with people at camp, especially when you have a chance to talk about the things you can't really explain to others. It was refreshing, and so encouraging to see other kids who had been living with their burns and thriving. JJ just came alive there.

In September, we hosted an open house for the people who had helped us build our lives and home during that terrible 2015. It was such a delight for us to see so many faces and be able to personally thank them with food. We prayed together to dedicate the house, and that was really neat.

Then, we got to have a really fantastic vacation in Florida with the husband's parents. They're taking each of their kids' families on one last vacation and our turn was up. We went to shows, hung out at the beach, swam in our guest house's pool, and went to Disney. It was the kids' first time on a plane, and my first time swimming in the ocean. 

After that vacation, we hit our stride with school and regular life. Things are settling in with the kids in choir at church, piano lessons, and homeschooling. We're part of a co-op that uses the classical format for education, so the older girls are memorizing history, science and language together, which has simplified our schooling a lot. I'm so thankful for the chance to be in this co-op and all that we're gaining from it.

I'm looking back on the year and still blown away by all that happened. It was packed full. I'm turning 35 this month, and I think that this year has perhaps been the most fruitful of all of them, as hard as it has been. I'm learning how to let go, how to find God in the hardest places, and how to turst Him with my little treasures. I'm seeing how many ways I try to build my own kingdom instead of His, and I'm surrendering more and more to Him.