Middle School and Bethany and Jesus' birth.

 I keep trying to think of something profound to say about this last year, but nothing comes to mind. In most ways, we're in a holding pattern, just plugging through the normal, mostly mundane things. There weren't any major milestones or big family trips (just a quick getaway to nashville for me and D). BUt Christmas is on my mind, and I realized that this year has been a lot of me remembering my life in the phases my kids are in. Having teenagers is hard and painful because you just have to watch them learn things and suffer and grow on their own. They don't really want your advice and they pretend they aren't listening when you give it. But it's also painful because it's a reminder of who I was at age thirteen, fifteen, sixteen. Middle school was very difficult for me, so while I watch my own middle school daughter try to navigate that complex world, I'm reliving my own memories of never fitting in or having the right things to say, of losing friends and trying to find new ones. I thought about it a lot this year, about friendship and loss and the pain of growing up. As adults we still suffer those same heartaches, but we have the persepctive to know that we'll survive, we'll keep making it, keep meeting new people. That it isn't hopeless and we aren't losers because someone doesn't like us.

At least I think we have that perspective.

I've been thinking about my best friend Bethany and the way she stuck by me through middle school. I was probably an awkward, difficult person who did embarrassing things and had too many opinions and negative thoughts. I think I was loud sometimes, but she laughed at my jokes and she invited me to things when no one else did. We wrote stories together and even though she was beautiful and always getting guys' attention, she still didn't mind hanging around tom-boy me with my ridiculous fashion taste and really bad hair days. She was a gift to me in a lonely time of my life. She still is a gift to me because she didn't leave me through that, and I can still call her up and hear her voice and know I'm okay even when the rest of the world feels crazy. She's solid ground for me when my world slips all around. She's there with truth and prayers and comforting words of encouragement.

And I guess thinking about that brings me to thinking about Jesus. Because all of the times growing up when I was alone, when I felt rejected and ugly and really truly despaired, I had Jesus there with me, and it didn't feel as bad. I heard his words that He'd never leave me, that he loved me and made me and had plans for me. I believed the promises about the future with Him, about blessings when people curse, and overwhelming love that never lets go. And I guess at Christmas, I just think about the way He came to be with us. He just joined the world full of selfish people with their own agendas and gave up all of the power that he could have used to judge and condemn, and used it instead to love and save. He walked into the world's giant mess and made the biggest things that were wrong right again. And I guess that's a friend that I can always count on. 

Green notebooks and my 8th grade self

 I've been writing in journal/diary since I was 12 years old. It started with some really stupid shallow posts and slowly matured as I did. I don't have as much of a chance to do it anymore, but from age 15-25 it was at least a weekly habit, often daily. The majority of the journals are in green notebooks of some form or another.

Yesterday I pulled the one from '95-96, thinking my 13-year-old would enjoy reading her mom's adolescent thoughts and seeing how similar to hers they are. Do I want my kids to read all about my crush on so-and-so hottie? Not especially. Do I want them to read random play-by-plays from camp and family vacation and Bible quiz meets? That's not really a big deal. I didn't write about my worst mistakes usually, and the worries I actually wrote out were pretty shallow. There is one thing I want them to see if they ever read through those diaries, though.

I was a girl who loved Jesus. I trusted him and followed him in ways I think I've forgotten how to, and maybe am just not capable of anymore. When you're young you haven't yet learned to harness some of your big feelings, to temper your view of the world, and filter through some of the lies. There's this unbridled passion for the things you see as important, and an obsession with love and friendship and community. You're full of big ideals and foolish plans. You also aren't as jaded. You see the world with your starry eyes, hopeful of the future and full of wonder, experiencing things for the first time.

I used to write songs. I'd almost completely forgotten doing this. I was really hoping I'd get some spiritual gift and be able to play piano without ever learning it (my parents couldn't afford a piano until I was 18), so I'd just write the lyrics to songs. like a lot. They're embarrassingly pedestrian now, but the heart behind them was so pure. So sweet. I just wanted to worship my Jesus.

Sometimes when I look back at myself, I can see how much I've matured and grown. I know that I have a deeper faith and a truer view of God. but I feel that I'm missing that pure heart that just wanted to worship and serve Jesus with my whole life. I still want to, but I also don't find hope and reality grounded in happy-go-lucky Jesus and me kind of lifestyle some people still manage to find. I've been damaged and I don't know how to fix that. When you go through a great deception in your spiritual life, or a spiritual trauma from a church, it changes your spirit. I don't trust preachers. I question everything that happens to my spirit and I've built up walls to keep myself from being seen. My life is so good, and my faith is this steady part of my life. It's rich and deep and full of real life examples of hope and truth and God's power. But sometimes I wish I could go back to that reckless trust, the freedom of knowing that He heals every hurt and not wondering how and when that healing comes. I sometimes think I'd take that naive heart over the grief that's led me closer to the cross. I know I can't, and I know that I'm better now than I was then. Even in my faith, I'm better. I think it was wide from a young age, with lots of knowledge and truth to build on. But it's deeper now, dug with trenches of loss and grief and questions and doubts. Still I think there's a place for that girl I used to be and I've been doing some thinking about how to get back there, back to where I began, still holding the wisdom of age that I now have. Is it possible to go around to your beginnings and find yourself back there, wiser and stronger, not just beat up? Is it worth the fight to find that joy again? Is it Jesus calling to me from my own past, showing me that my heart can still be made soft and joyful and pure?

This song encapsulates those feelings I often have when I'm looking in the rearview mirror. I've always loved this song, and I'm finding it more relevant now than I did the first time I heart it. Ironically, it is from a singer who hit his popularity peak right in the thick of my own youth. seems fitting.

Passionate Man by Geoff Moore

It was my summer of 18 years old
I grew tired of not letting go
As the promise land spread out
Beyond that old dirt road

I looked in my rear view mirror
And watched as my past slipped away
Like the dust cloud that rolled
From the back of that old Chevrolet

I gave you my heart with a promise
That I would never turn around
You led me out of that wilderness
Before the dust had settled down

(Chorus)
And I loved you like the air I breathe
And you filled my empty heart
And I wore my faith out on my sleeve
Like a fire in the dark
I was willing to do anything
Eager to make a stand
I was a passionate boy
Make me a passionate man

My good intentions
Like water under the bridge
Have I thrown away the pearl
That made my life so rich

I turned down an old dirt road

So familiar to me
In the mirror I see a man
I swore I would never be
And I remember the promise
That I would never turn
What will it take to rekindle
The flame that used to burn

(Chorus)
I remember the promise
That I would never turn
Won't you take and rekindle the flame
The flame that used to burn

And I'll love you like the air I breathe
And you fill my empty heart
And I'll wear my faith out on my sleeve
Like a fire in the dark
I am willing to do anything
Eager to make a stand
I was a passionate boy
Make me a passionate man

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gcj7ztWytxk

Full Circle

I've been struggling to come up with words to explain what the last two weeks were like. It started with a busy week leading into a last-minute decision to go on the youth group mission trip as an adult leader. The first part of my busy weekend involved a funeral, then a pool party, then a baseball game. Strange combination of mourning and grief, then celebration and family time. The pool party was its own combination as I dealt with emotions of being with my friend who's going through a divorce and the reality of that sinking in hard. The funeral was my friend's father who died kind of quickly from brain cancer. The next morning at church I needed to get away from worship and pray and weep the tears I hadn't been able to the day before.

That afternoon we had another joy-filled event that I'd been anticipating for a long time. Some kids from my class had organized a 20-year reunion. Not my school class, but my youth group. 

I can't even explain the beautiful experience it was. Yes, it was great to see everyone and take that walk down memory lane together. But it was more than that. Our youth pastor created a group where we could all invest, and that kind of leadership allowed all of us to have a place of belonging. We led worship, we planned outreaches, we shared our spiritual growth with each other on trips and retreats. There are bad memories from those times, but overall, there was something really special between us. Being together again, older but the same, was a special feeling I've never had. Feeling accepted and known, mutual affection that the adult world doesn't offer in the same ways. 

We hugged, we laughed, we sang our old songs together. While not everyone articulated it, we had the same beautiful memories that wove us together on our hearts, and we wished for more time together, and for more of us to be there. Standing there singing the best of our old songs, I wanted to capture one of those experiential photographs, just hold on to that moment and return to it whenever I wanted. I wanted a day-long conversation with everyone there. I wanted to listen to everyone's stories and memories and hear where God had taken them in the last 20 years. Alas, there was so little time. But the joy between us was so real and alive. It was precious to be with people who I knew when my faith was still young and being explored, who knew me at vulnerable times and grew with me through those years. They were short years, but impactful. 

I left one week later as an adult leader for my youth group's mission trip. And in those moments we shared together I felt the same beautiful, unique memories being formed for these young people. I wanted so much for them to share the same kinds of bonds that I have with my church friends all those years ago. We experienced some great moments together, and I hope that when they look back it will be with the same fondness and affection that I have toward those years in my life. To have the same joy of pure fellowship. To experience gratitude for where God was leading them at that time. And mostly, that they'll be seeing Jesus at work, woven into every interaction and every memory. 

We sang some old songs on that trip (left photo), songs from when I was in high school. And while we did I thought about my little high school heart, reaching out to God in the only ways I knew how, and all of the places he's taken me since 1999 when I really thought life couldn't get much better. It got better, and everything got deeper. Looking at the students I was with in that moment, I just thanked God for carrying me along and putting me there in that moment, a full-circle face to his goodness and mercy that follows me all the days of my life.

Sad At Christmas?

 Sometimes you just don't feel it. The lights are all on, sparkling in the winter darkness. The kids are dressed up, the tree is up with its nostalgic ornaments, the books are read, cards are sent, the presents are wrapped, and you're just... blue. You WANT to feel the happiness that everyone around you seems to be reveling in. You want to get that childlike feeling of anticipation, and you want to enjoy the time with your loved ones. But it just isn't happening.

Last year was one of those years. We were getting our ceilings replaced on our entire living area due to "the storm" and the damage that happened in the summer. This was the only time it would happen, ten days before Christmas. We moved to my parent's house like I was in college all over again, and spent the fun week leading up to christmas watching movies and sitting around without a lot to do. While my beautiful, peaceful, organized house, was turned inside-out and completely covered in construction ruins. When the work finished, we got to go home but there was more work for me to do than I could even manage in a month. Painting, dusting, moving furniture, re-organizing. We got to work, and Christmas was just another thing on my eternal to-do list. A burden. There would be no fun decorations in my disastered house this year. We did buy a fake tree to put up and I somehow got the presents wrapped (actually a family from church came over and did them all) and no one complained. The kids probably didn't ever realize how sad I felt, deep inside of my heart. I don't think anyone really understood.

But then I realized that's sort of what Christmas is actually about. About a baby who came into a disorganized, chaotic world full of people who were wandering around without purpose, feeling forgotten and alone. His name means "God With Us". And he didn't show up to a neatly organized home with happy smiles and a cozy fire and perfectly baked cookies. He showed up in a barn to a mom who maybe wasn't really ready for her life to change like that, and a dad who probably wondered how the heck he was going to get it all put together and make things okay. And then God invited some messy sheperds to join the party. That was the beginning, but the big Story was God just coming in man form to be with the people. To live among them, to show them himself, to eat with them and celebrate with them and show them he saw and understood all the things that made them human. He cried when they mourned; he feasted when they celebrated; he joined the traditions and recognized the holidays, knowing that they were all reflecting pieces of his Father and of Him. And he knew, maybe even as a baby, that his life was coming to an end that would involve great suffering.

I think that it's okay to not feel it at Christmas. Sometimes you just know the upcoming year will be full of stuff you don't want to do, full of more suffering, maybe more of the same stuff you hate. Sometimes you see the year that's passed and wish it had been different. You can put a positive spin on it all, you can see God working in it, but it isn't "happy". Sometimes that feeling can overwhelm you too, and sometimes you just don't want to celebrate like everyone else. But someitmes all they're celebrating is lights and trees and a guy in a red suit and family nearness and some nebulous "spirit of christmas".  And that's not really what I'm into. What I celebrate at Christmas is a package: You can't take the holiday lights and trees and presents without the deeper things. Just like you can't have the angels singing without the dirty shepeherds. You can't have the beautiful Mary and Joseph without the mess they were in. You don't get wise men and gifts without a long hard journey. And you can't take the baby Jesus without taking his future death. But with that death is also resurrection, new beginnings, and eternal life. And I think that being blue at Christmas is a way of bringing it together, of finding the hope that's still in the manger, the hope of Jesus, and knowing that our "light and momentary suffering is producing in us a far great weight of glory." If you suffer, you get Jesus in that suffering. If you're sad, you get Jesus in that sadness. And He knows. He sees. He's God With Us. Forever.

Matthew 1:23 "All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had spoken by the prophet: 'Behold the virgin shall conceive and bear a son and you shall call his name Immanuel, which means God With Us.'"

Graveside

I wrote this after the funeral of my friend. It's not great but I have to write stuff sometimes to help me figure things out.

Graveside

 You knelt at a graveside weeping
even though you were the Resurrection
you cried in front of all your friends
even with all certainty of the future
    You knelt as his graveside weeping

Was it the loss that got to you
or the curse of sin that caused decay in your world
    Or were you moved with such deep compassion for the mourners
that you could do nothing else?
Did you know how many would see this show of power
and still choose to reject the way of life?
    You knelt at the graveside weeping
and still you prayed to the Father
thanking him for listening.

        Are you listening to me now?
where the weeping as turned into silence
and the questions only keep coming
Are you still weeping with me
over that one lost sheep
    who still rejected you
and wandered beyond my reach?

She once said i was like her sister
--a title quickly gone
But you stick closer than a brother
and give comfort like a mother
and you find us in the thorns 
and call us home.

You were at her grave with me
weeping the tears I couldn't find
And you can carry us both together now
Compassionate friend--   
    see our struggles and help me to see you
here at the grave
and beyond

Copyright May 2021 KB Snodgrass

Sometimes you just need an old friend.

In 1996 the internet was pretty new and chat rooms were new and people were just figuring out how they all worked. Being a cutting-edge teenager, I had an account and spent a lot of time meeting people in chat rooms and trying to find some connections that I didn't have in real life. The summer before I went to high school, I met someone who, looking back, was an unexpected gift to my awkward and lonely teenage soul. I think his screen name was Breten2, and we liked to go to this chat room. He was in school for youth ministry and I was... a youth. We connected a lot on instant messenger and with other people in the chat group. It was fun. And don't worry, it was wholesome. Back then I was really immature in all of the ways everyone around me was mature, and more mature in the ways that everyone around me wasn't. I think it made it hard for me to connect with people. But Breten2 didn't care. He just accepted me and went along with my craziness. And in the midst of the weirdness and insane teenage moments, he managed to ask the right questions and reach my heart. I think the anonymnity of a screen helped a lot. I didn't meet him in person until my senior year (I did know he was a real person becasue one of my mom's friends had a son at the same college and confirmed it. He also at one point emailed my parents so they would know he was talking to me and keep everything above board. Because he's cool like that.) 

I became less lonely as high school went on, and I had friends and I eventually met my husband-to-be. Breten2 was there through all of the stuff, though. I had to switch churches freshman year, and that was really difficult. I had a bit of a crisis of faith in that. I had lots of questions and a lot of normal-ish struggles as I navigated high school. Friendships that didn't go so well, boys I liked, youth group drama, my first kiss, my siblings, all kinds of things. Sometimes just being able to write out what you're thinking is helpful. Being a college student, Breten2 was often on messenger late at night, and I'd talk through things with him. I process easier in writing than I do by talking so it was a perfect combination. He was the easiest to talk to, and he did something very few people in my life were doing: He listened. And then he gave the best advice. Like, no one can do it like him. He just understood better than a lot of people, and even when he didn't, he still somehow knew the things to say. God used him over and over to help me see things the right way, to help me figure out relationships, and to just feel better about myself. He had such a great way of building me up and letting me see myself the way God did. He had a way of erasing my insecurities with assurance and truth spoken in just the right way. Recently I was thinking about how badly I had needed and wanted a person at church to mentor me and be part of my every day life and it didn't happen because we'd switched churches and I was actually a pretty quiet person who rarely drew attention to myself. But I got a mentor who never took credit for it. A big brother.

Slowly after I got married and became an adult, I didn't need a Breten anymore. We always stayed in touch and checked in once in a while. He got married also, and we've been pretty busy with our own seperate lives in seperate countries. Since our relationship was never in-person, it isn't weird to stay in touch only online. Our memories together are awesome and I love him for all that he's been to me. we're very different now and have less and less in common. But last week I went to the memorial of my aforementioned friend Twan and I felt horrible afterwards. I can't even articulate exactly how or why I did, but I did. And after sitting and stewing in it for a few days, thinking through so many things and remembering high school with her as my best friend, I felt like I needed some outside help to process it all. It's just such a weird and personal thing to lose a friend like that, and I spend a lot of time overthinking who would be the best person to talk to about things (usually I resort to not talking to anyone). I realized the perfect person to share with would be Breten2. We're friends on facebook, so I sent him an abnormally long message dumping my feelings and thoughts. Just like the old days. I actually felt better just doing that. It would have been enough to have just said it all to someone I knew would read it and pray for me. I told him that I just wanted him to be Breten and fix it.

He did it. He replied with the insight and widom of a counselor and youth pastor, but he also replied as my friend. Who knew me when I knew Twan, who understood the weirdness of high school relationships and how they shape us but how they aren't permanent. He gave me assurance and peace, and he helped me heal. Because that's what he does. It might not have even been everything he said (although it was helpful), but just being heard and understood and loved in the most fitting way made me all warm and fuzzy inside. Sometimes you just need an old friend. I could never thank him well enough or thoroughly enough for all the ways he's helped me, but I think he knows. At least a little. ;) Breten2 is a world-changer, but he does it in small ways that the big world doesn't see. He's a God-lover and a people-lover and if you don't have a Breten in your life, you should get one. But probably don't go looking in a chat room.

The Truest Friend

 It's been a minute since I've posted anything. I have better things to do with my life right now. But sometimes I'm not sure they're actually better. Just busier, more urgent, more... something. This year has been full. Parenting and schooling and being married and ministering and trying to be a good friend... juggling all of it sometimes makes it hard to do what I actually want to do. And on another level, a lot of my life recently hasn't really been the kind of stuff you publish onto the internet. It's been hard and ugly and good all at the same time. Because good things often have hard before they are good.

That's been on my mind the last few weeks. My best friend from high school died unexpectedly, and left me reeling with so many questions and doubts and a looming sadness that I can't shake. We weren't best friends anymore, which is probably its own post. These things happen. I'd found peace with that. I'm the kind of person who wants to hold on to friends forever. Probably because I spent so much of my life not really having any. But not everyone feels that way, not everyone is built that way, and that makes it hard when you have to reconsile your desire for that forever friend with the reality of most people not really feeling that vibe. Anyway, back to my friend. My best friend. The hard that came before her good happened twice. Once before I met her, and then during a period where we lost contact.

Maybe it was an unrealistic expectation. To have "that" friend, the one who spends the night at your house on weekends, goes to the games with you, likes the same things, and sees the world like you do. But that was what I wanted. ever since my elementary best friend Stasia got put in another class and I spent all of fourth grade with literally no one to talk to except a couple of nerdy guys who liked drawing cartoon characters (they were great guys but they never saw me as their friend, just a girl who was around and liked drawing like they did). I spent 4th through 8th grade wishing for someone at school who would just understand me, who cared about the things I did, who wasn't the freak smart kid who no one liked. I just wanted one friend. One.

Twan was God's answer to my prayers. I really had prayed over and over, just one friend, Jesus. One friend who cared about the things I thought were important and wanted to hang out with me sometimes.  One friend who could laugh at the rest of the world with me, not care how weird I was. I met her the first day of school. We randomly took a seat next to each other in science class at a table for two, and honestly the rest is history. She was quiet but not an introvert, and we soon found out we had things in common. Our birthday being one. Our weirdness being the other. By weird, I mean wacky. We both liked childish things and found humor in similar things. With four classese together every day and lunch, we spent a lot of time together. Slowly figuring out just how much we had in common. Slowly realizing that we just "got" each other. We were by all senses of the word, best friends. she had other friends, I had other friends. We had mutual friends who we spent time with also. We both hated math class and we both loved our science teacher. English class was so bad she ended up quitting it (that's another story). But all through high school, we found time for each other. We fought some battles together, like her first car accident the day she got her lisence, like hating some teachers that sucked the life out of us, like that angsty friend who actually seemed to want to fight with everyone. We were almost always just on the same page about it all. 

That's why I never actually figured otu what changed. We both moved on in college. I got married and I think that made it hard for her to relate for a while. Her worldview morphed into something different than mine. We were also in completely different parts of the country so we never saw each other, and the online communication back then was sketchy. So we drifted. I always, always missed her. My house and my memory boxes were full of reminders that always carried a sadness when I lifted the lid, remembering that person who really meant so much to me that I'd somehow lost, pushed away unintentionally. I never forgot, and I don't think she did either. She even admitted how her past and her parents made relationships difficult for her. So I don't blame her for what happened between us. I just spent so much time wondering and wishing, hoping we'd run into each other somewhere in town and remembering that sparky connection, embrace and start again. Pick up where we'd left off.

That didn't really happen, but we did reconnect. She found me online by accident. she saw something I'd written in my blog and it helped her undrestand her hurt toward me. We reconsiled as much as we could, and we stayed in touch after that. Every year we've sent each other birthday gifts. Written letters and notes, commented on each others' social media. That was the best we had after that, but I'm so thankful for it. It laid to rest so many questions and insecurities I'd had about what went wrong. We talked about writing and reminised about the dumb things we both loved. We were in a good place.

Then last month I found out she'd ended her life. I'm crushed. It wasn't really a surprise but it was unexpected. She battled mental health, and she fought so hard. She was a voice to explain issues and things others couldn't put words to. She was the truest friend to so many people. She loved well. And now I'm kind of back to where I was in that in-between time when we weren't in contact. I'm wondering what went wrong, if there was more I should have done. Wishing in the secret parts of me that it was all untrue, that somehow it's a ruse. And I know it isn't. She's gone, and this time it's forever. We're cut off in the longest and most painful way, and it's hard to even settle into that reality. 

Not everyone agrees, but I believe in eternity and I think that our souls connect with others in ways that can't be explained in just fleshly ways. That was us. And I hope that some day we'll be reunited. Maybe all of our relationships are temporary in that light. Even on a shallow level, relationships are fleeting and not all of them are meant to be that forever kind. We change, we move, we need different things. I'm learning that in my thirties. I'm sure it will take a lifetime to overcome the pain of loss, especially this one. I think it will take a long time to even find another friend like that--there's no one like her at all--but one who understands that core person of who I am, not just the things I present as myself. There aren't a lot of connections like that for me, maybe for anyone. I'm thankful I had it for that season when I needed it so badly. I wish it would have lasted forever, but forever on earth is probably an illusion.