You Can't Make Old Friends

I've been living in the past this week. It started because I was looking for a letter from my youth pastor who just retired, but it became a lot more than that. I have these boxes of things. I made one when I was seven out of a box from a gift for my sister's baby shower. I put in these special things that I liked and then it just kept on adding stuff that I wanted to keep.

Some of it is dumb. But there are ribbons and awards I won, mementos from trips and days in Bible quiz. Little cards and name tags from events I attended. Some of it's more meaningful like mementos from vacations or things friends gave me. At first that box had all of the cards and letters I'd received, but by the time I was twelve I needed a different box for those. So I have a second box full of messages from friends through the years. It was fun looking through that one. With the youth pastor on my mind, I got to thinking about youth group days.
It's been twenty years since I was in the thick of high school. My life was pretty simple, but I didn't have a lot of friends and I didn't ever feel like I really fit in. But on Sunday when I was reunited with some of the kids I went to youth group with, who I've only seen a couple of times since we all graduated, it was something special. We ALL were kids who felt like we didn't fit in, but we all found a place in that group. Several of us had the same story. We were disillusioned and ready to give up on church, but visiting that group changed it. We felt lonely and overlooked but someone in that group noticed and acknowledged it. We've all moved on into family life and grown up, but we stood around the tables looking at pictures of our high school selves (and admired how good our hair looks now compared to then), and I think for those few hours, we all were back in the walls of that youth room, thinking about all of the zany adventures we had together, missing the people who weren't there, wondering how everyone turned out, appreciating Pastor Mark together.
It was like a class reunion, except without the pressure of having to feel successful and look good. We could just be, and that felt really good.
Since then I've been thinking about things I'd nearly forgotten. Cold bus rides at the break of dawn for a community service project. Sneaking out of my dorm with Meredith to go see Emily. Staying up all night on a retreat when all of the leaders decided to stay in the other cabin. Talking all night with Jess on her bunk bed and playing cards until the literal break of dawn, at which time the guys decided to storm our cabin with the PA system playing Mission Impossible. Sitting on the bus in Mexico with two other friends and making up ridiculous stories about spider spies and tomatoes taking over the world. Standing on stage and singing with good friends. My best friend Rachel and I building playdoh worlds together. Sitting crammed together in a stairwell that echoed and singing a Capella harmonies to God. Canoeing together and campfires where we washed each others' feet. Trips down to the prison to lead worship in the chapel services. So many, many memories.

I wore a vintage youth group shirt from our Mexico Trip. D's is from another trip he was on in 8th grade.

Being together reminded me. It's good to be in a place where there aren't any regrets, where the mistakes of the past are buried, and what's left are really good memories. There isn't a great way to describe it except that
it's a kind of love that we were bound together by. We loved each other and our leaders, but more than that we loved God and were doing what we could to serve him together.
It was a chance to thank each other for things and to say words that we couldn't say as insecure teenagers. A lot of friends were missing, and some of them have passed away. But I think they were on all of our minds. And even without them there, our relationships are cemented.  One of my favorite songs explains it best:

Would you take me back to when we were kids
who weren't scared of getting older
cuz no one knows you like they know you and no one probably ever will
you can grow up
make new ones
but the truth is there's nothing like old friends.
And you can't make old friends.

-- Ben Rector "Old Friends" (Watch the video; it's awesome)

Counselor, Pastor, Friend

I was a church refugee in 1997. We'd left a church we'd been at for ten years and I was lonely and tired and had lots of questions about God. The first week we came to NCBC, I knew it was the place for us. There were other kids who talked to us and several of the youth leaders made sure to introduce themselves to us. The teaching was by this guy who was talking about creation and evolution and did it in such an interesting way. There were students leading worship and giving announcements in front of the group like they wanted to be there. My brother and I were both pretty excited about the whole thing. In fact, my whole family was excited about the church.

My brother was an outgoing guy and he'd brought along a couple of friends to the church with him, so he had no trouble slipping in and being part of the group right away. It was slower for me, but I never felt completely isolated because the youth pastor was making an effort to include everyone. He did in a personal way. One of the first weeks there, he invited me to go on the summer trip with them, and he went and got me an application to take home with me. Another one of the first weeks there, they were having a graduation party for all of the seniors. I planned to sit in the car for the duration since I didn't know anyone, but he actually came out to find me and make sure I knew I was welcome. (I did end up going in too).

There was a death in the group one of the first Wednesdays we visited, and seeing how that affected all of them showed me a kind of unity that had been missing at the last church. At the last church, I'd felt like one of the only kids who'd cared about Jesus. I'd been excluded, quite intentionally, quite often. I'd learned to make myself invisible there, and at school and at home too. But at this new church, with this new pastor who seemed to notice everyone, I had hope that it would be different.

And it was. So very different.

As the years went on, I found a place I belonged. I made friends with a few people, took chances to serve at the church and in the group. I even ended up leading a worship band at the end. I attended camping trips, missions trips, retreats, overnights, and as many Sundays and Wednesdays as I could. I found like-minded people, some of whom I even went to school with. The way the group was set up gave us a chance to get to know each other in smaller groups each week, and we had a chance to tell stories to each other also. It was that way because Mark had decided to make it "everyone's youth group" instead of just his.

There was a puzzle that they had out on a table most weeks and they took it on retreats. When it got completed, they'd hang it up for everyone to see under a sign that said, "Each Person Plays a Part" or something along those lines. It was a reminder that everyone in the group was a valuable member. I was in that group for three years and I grew so much in that time. Everyone grows in high school, but there were things i learned there that I wouldn't have had a chance to learn in other places. About servant leadership, about humility, about reaching out into the community and about worship. There were a lot of wonderful adults that built into my life, but I think the pastor and his wife knew me best. And I think most of what I learned was because he modeled it for all of us with his own life. He wasn't a "Do what I say, not what I do" kind of guy. He was (and is) more of a "Do what I do because that's what Jesus does" kind of guy.

It was because of him that I met my future husband. Wanting to encourage the missionary kid in Russia, he gave us all D's email address to write to him. I did, and we connected through email for a few months until he got home. Then, we spent a fun summer together doing youth group activities like a musical, a canoe trip, and Sunday mornings at church. We also went on a trip to Mexico, which was life changing in so many ways.

We did a lot of trips together with the group, and Pastor Mark was on all of them. That summer after Mexico, we had another trip the week following so I went on that one as well (this was after a summer vacation with my family also). After three back-to-back weeks of not being home, I was exhausted and spent and ended up crying one of the last nights of that youth conference. Mark did what he did best. He noticed me, asked if I wanted to talk, and spent most of that evening session with me talking about my heart issues and the place where I happened to be stuck at that time. He didn't say anything really earth-shattering that night, but what he said made a difference. It was actually the beginning of a big change in my life, of learning how to forgive and seeing God in the middle of hard times. He's probably had hundreds of talks like that, but for me it mattered that I mattered to him. He took time away from what he was supposed to be doing to listen, and he listened well.

There are fun memories too, like when he tried to hit traffic cones with the bus, or when he fell asleep standing up, or eating plain salsa in his office while we talked. All of them are memories of a person who was fully present in his place, doing what God called him to do, teaching and leading with a humility that I haven't ever seen in anyone else. Was he perfect? No. Was he the best youth pastor ever?

Probably.

He's retiring this week and going back to school to become a family counselor. I'm happy for him even though we're all going to miss him. He's been a counselor and confidant and co-conspirator to all kinds of people. He's taught God's word faithfully. He's lived a life without shadows. He's a husband and dad and a pastor. Whatever he's been in 25 years at our church to thousands of different people, he's been my friend, and that's what I'll cherish the most.

The Joy and Sorrow of Mother's Day

"Joy and Sorrow are this ocean/and in their every ebb and flow/now the Lord a door has opened/that all hell can never close/here I'm tested and made worthy/tossed about and lifted up/in the reckless raging fury that they call the love of God."  Rich Mullins, The Love of God

If you read my other blog, you know that I talk a lot about the combination of joy and sorrow, and how so much of our lives are a mingling of the two. Just like in the movie with the emotions, sometimes we have to experience sorrow to really, truly know joy. I think that's the shape of Mother's Day for most women. There are just so many ways for it to be wrong, even when it's right. There's this deep sense of loss that happens, even with the best of moms, realizing that we just aren't going to be everything we thought we should have/could have/needed to. And there's a sense of failure a little too, when you're being celebrated but feel a little empty because of the places we lack. Then there's the whole infertility problem for so many ladies. Ouch. And then there's the relationship with your own mom, even if you're a mom yourself. (I don't have issues with my mom, but I know lots of people who do, including my own mom). I've never really liked Mother's Day because I don't feel like there's no need to celebrate the mundane everyday things. But I'm probably wrong, and it does give people a chance to think about the things they can be grateful for.

Ten years ago, I walked out of the church service in tears. Not just whimpering, threatening wet eyes, but full-on bawling tears. The lobby was empty except for one mom, a family friend, who saw me and knew exactly why I was crying. She just came and held me and recognized that "it hit me like a ton of bricks". I was four months out from a still birth experience. It was the baby's due date that day. And they were doing these child dedications with all of the babies who had been born that year. I just couldn't.

And I think all that has left this indelible sadness in my heart that resurfaces at the strangest times. Often on Mother's Day. With four beautiful girls who love me and really are perfect in so many ways, I don't need to be unhappy. I don't need to dread the church service and the ten thousand "Happy Mother's Days" that come my way all day long. But I kind of do. The majority of people I talk to have no idea that my heart is squished in between the joy and sorrow of motherhood. The war waging between what it "should" be like, and what it actually is. And that's OK. I'd prefer that the whole world doesn't know. But what I do prefer the world knows, is that Mothering is complicated. And the emotions that come in this messed up world are just hard to explain. I love my kids and I love being a mom, and I probably wouldn't trade it for anything. But that doesn't mean I've nailed this gig, and it doesn't mean I don't notice the others who are suffering from lack and loss on a day that we all just wish could be a nice special day. I'm there with you, Mamas. And even more so, God is with us in all the ways we suffer, He sees and knows us, and He's even brought healing to those places I really thought never would be whole again. And that's my message on Mother's Day.

Thirty Memories for Thirty Years Part two

Marie and I drove to Kansas City the first night and enjoyed a walk around the Plaza in freezing cold temps. We ate at PF Changs because there isn't one in our town. And it was restaurant week in KC, so that pretty much eliminated the chance of eating anywhere creative without a reservation.
We talked all night long and took our sweet time getting up in the morning.
And then it was on to Arkansas. Uncharted territory.
We felt like Arkansas gets a bad rap. The roads were nice and the scenery was pretty. The towns were good, although there were a lot of churches along the sides of the highways. I guess that's maybe a thing?
The first stop of the day was the Crystal Bridges Museum, which was fabulous. We arrived and walked into this kind of military-complex-feeling place with an elevator that took you down into the valley where the museum was tucked. The building was amazing.
We found out that we came on the worst possible weekend. Two of the main exhibits were closed for a few months while they re-did the whole thing. The special exhibition was in transition so there wasn't one that weekend.
Nonetheless, it was amazing. Standing inches away from Norman Rockwell's Rosie, seeing the beautiful canvases of modern art. So many amazing things to see. We were there a few hours, exploring the architecture of the building and the different artists.
Then we ate at this expensive coffee shop there in the complex and took off toward Little Rock. We hadn't really made any plans to go there, but decided we might as well since we were pretty nearby, all things considered.
There was this theme between us about "bad luck" things that consistently happen to us. The first one mentioned was how my orders at coffee shops always get forgotten or screwed up. In this case, BOTH happened. Eventually I got the iced tea I'd ordered but wow. Marie's thing was that the gas station booths can never print her receipt. Turns out that was true also. A long-time running one that's been part of our friendship since kindergarten is that whenever I decide to celebrate my birthday with her, weather happens. Bad weather. I think it was third grade when she had to stay at least one extra night at my house for my birthday because the roads had iced over so much. For my sixteenth, some friends had planned a huge surprise party and the biggest blizzard we'd had in years (probably since third grade) came in and they had to cancel the whole thing. No one left the house for at least a day after that one.
So for this trip, even though we were headed south, I planned for some bad weather. We were fine most of the time. Until the last little leg between St. Louis and home. I've driven it before in a storm and the road maintenance on the avenue of the Saints is not always up to par. Especially for this little leg. It was a white-knuckled drive for the last hundred miles, taking a very slow route as the snow poured down and the untreated roads got slicker and slicker. True to form. Birthday times get snow for me and Marie.

Ten Years Gone

If you followed my other blog years ago, you know that a big part of my adult life has been discussion about our stillbirth baby Grace. Monday was her 10th birthday. I was 25 weeks along. She would have been perfect. She's missing every day.

We move on and heal and time just washes over those memories and the days, but once in a while, the waves come again and we have to take a few minutes to just... remember, to feel. I've said before how in loss of this kind, the pain of the memories is kind of all you have to hold on to. So I give myself a chance to feel, to be sad about it. For a long time, writing anything about it was hard. But on Monday when the internet died, I wrote a couple of poems as I thought about that terrible day ten years ago. I didn't have any idea what life was going to look like ten years later. At that time, it sort of felt like life had stopped and would never go on.

But it does go on, and we live full, rich lives. Without her here. Thankfully, we have hope of heaven and we wait for those explanations that will become clearer and clearer in eternity.

Ten Years Gone 

You and me were built for eternity

And for a moment you grew within me

Ten years ago you were here and then gone

Leaving a scar that tears itself open time after time

Ten years of wanting, and prayers of why

As the family without you laughs and grows

                There are reasons we believe that God knows

Ten years of wondering what it would have been like

If you’d lived with us in this life.

And we planted our promises in the fertile earth

                And asked the Lord to show us Himself through your birth

Ten years of wishing you were here,

Of faith growing in spite of our fears.

Believing in heaven and best things untold

In the secret ways of God and the mysteries that will unfold

When the veil of dark glass is removed

And our tears are all wiped dry

And we see you, and Him together, on the streets of gold.

Copyright 2018

Thirty Memories for Thirty Years. The Beginning.

Friends are a gift. Every one of them in different ways. My first real friend outside of my family was a girl named Marie who I met on the first day of school (named changed for her privacy). I've talked about her quite a bit because she's a big part of my life. This year we celebrated 30 years of friendship. It's a pretty big deal for us. we've been counting years and dates for a long time.

We went on a road trip together to celebrate, and it was pretty epic. It started out with a stop at AutoZone to buy wipers. And if you've ever been to AutoZone, you'll know what I mean when I tried to warn her that it wouldn't be a short stop.
There were six guys working in the store that day. Six. There was one customer at the counter, and then us. We grabbed the wiper blades and stepped up to a register with a guy sitting behind it. A large, silent sort. The guy sat there for a minute, then got up without a word and walked away. Cool. We got in the other line. That guy was helping someone find a part. After about four minutes of us standing there, he got up from his stool and said, "I'll be with you in a minute, ladies." Then he hobbled toward the back of the store. I say hobbled because he only had one leg. I'm not kidding. Slowest part retrieval EVER.
Meanwhile, the first guy who had been sitting at the other register was just doing a lap around the warehouse part of the store. He did not pick up anything. He did not serve another customer. He just... walked.
There was another guy on the phone off to the other side. He stayed on the phone for a bit, but then he went out onto the floor of the store and... aimlessly wandered.
We also noticed the one guy mopping the floor. Which was a fairly hopeless cause at that point with fresh snow that people were continually tracking through.
Another couple got in line behind us.
One-leg returned with the ordered part and began the slow process of checking the guy in front of us out. The phone rang in between and he had to answer it since there was no one else available. Since the Silent One was still making his round through the warehouse.
The guy in line behind us let out a stream of profanities, absolutely pissed that he'd been waiting for three minutes. It had been more than ten for us by then, standing there with two wiper blades.
THEN, the the guy who was wandering the floor of the store moved a display three inches, then went to open the register we'd originally been at. As he beckoned for us, the Silent One finished his lap and plopped himself down on the third register (that's right, there are THREE REGISTERS in this store) and waved to the customers behind us. I couldn't help it. At that point, I muttered, "Or you could have just done that in the first place when we were STANDING THERE waiting for you." Our cashier chuckled and said, "Yeah." like he knew that guy never did any work.
Five seconds later, we'd checked out of the store, stepping over the fresh mopping which was already becoming muddy.
There were two workers who had been in and out of the store, now outside, cleaning out mop buckets. I guess they didn't actually work for the store?
Marie and I just looked at each other and kind of laughed. Was it a bad omen? Maybe. But nevertheless, we got on with our trip.
We stopped for food on the way out of town. Taco Bell is notoriously slow, but what made this particular one slower, was when we drove up to the pay window, the guy standing there didn't seem prepared to handle cash. I gave him twenty dollars and he said, "Let me go get some change."
He actually meant GO GET change. Like walked across the back line to the cash register in the front to grab the change. Then return with the change. Then pass out the food.
We laughed together as we drove out of town, a good solid 30 minutes after first leaving. I'm happy to report that those two incidences were the worst part of the trip. And they were actually funny because we didn't happen to be in any hurry. But all the same, we did leave town wondering if we'd just signed up for some kind of comedy of errors in the making.

Is this the new year, or just another night?

We spent New Year with some Asians who usually have a giant party with the entire city on their New Year's Eve. It wasn't very eventful for us, but we had some food and stayed up to midnight. we also played a couple of wacky games, compliments of me, by request of my sister-in-law. When was the last time you ate a peanut butter cracker off a piece of plexiglass?
That aside, there was this huge rush to get the house ready for our guests (who stayed all week) and the laundry and getting gifts wrapped and trying to make time for everyone who needed time with me. Which included my sister and my best friend and my own kids, and then all of the in-laws, and my brother and his wife and my other brother and his new girlfriend. It was just... a lot. It was good, but it was a lot. And I think I'm spending this week kind of recovering from all of it.
I turned 36 last Thursday. It was a very uneventful day. The relatives left, the kids went to class and I taught English Grammar in the afternoon. Then, home, tired, and surprised with a clean house, I just wanted to go to bed. So husband got home and made supper and I just slept for a while. Welcome to being old and boring! Aside from my 30th birthday, it might have been one of the lamest ones I've ever had. Although husband did get me a cool tin sign with the batmobile on it.
We went out the next night, since it fit our schedules better, but I failed at planning anything that well so we only had time to eat dinner before we went back to pick up the kids, and it wasn't even a fancy dinner. Fail again. I don't know. The expectations might be a little too high for my birthday, what with it being the day everyone has to go back to work after holiday. I am looking forward to an epic road trip with my best friend from kindergarten soon, though.
Anyway, all that to say, I guess I'm officially in a slump. Hopefully a hormone-fatigued-induced slump and not a winter-induced one. But maybe it's just everything.
My challenge for this year is to spend more time savoring God and just beholding who He is. We overthink Him sometimes, I think, and I've made stuff really complicated lately with studying the Bible and trying to figure out the best way to "connect" with him, and maybe I just need to sit and be, and breathe a little more than I have been.