Pregnancy Twins

I haven't chosen to talk a lot about being a mom on this blog, but today there's a good occasion.

Today this picture popped up on my social media feed:

I wanted to answer the question, but I don't like using social media as a chance to just blabber about my life to no one's benefit. But then I realized this question is actually complicated. And it sparked some grief for me, in more ways than one. Thanks social media. Instead of stewing about it all day, I'm just going to write it out and move on. That's how we writers mend our hearts.

Who was my pregnancy twin? I always dreamed of it being my best friend Stasia. But she wasn't even married when I had my first baby. In fact, none of my friends were pregnant at the time. My sister-in-law had just had her third child. Another sister-in-law had just had her first before I even announced it. In my closer circles, I was the first friend to have a baby. So my pregnancy twin didn't exist. I didn't realize then that I was actually alone with it, and I would have benefited to know some people who were going through the same things I was. Instead, I just did it.

For my second pregnancy, I had TWINS! I had QUADRUPLETS! I'm not blaming the Song of Solomon series we had in our class, but there were four weeks in a row with pregnancy announcements. One of them was one of our closest friends. My sister-in-law also got pregnant a little after that. Yay! What fun! For once I wouldn't be the only pregnant one. But five months in, that pregnancy ended, and I instead watched my friends have their babies. They were so kind and caring and they knew it was painful, but there's nothing you can do to fix it. The pain of seeing their kids growing up is mostly gone, but the memory of the pregnancy is still hard for me.

The third time around, my other BFF Bethany was pregnant with me. And we even had the same due date! Another friend at church got pregnant with her first, and we got to shop together and go walking and share the general sisterhood of it all. I'm thankful for that. It was a really, really hard pregnancy after losing one. I couldn't exactly share that with people, and I think they knew it too. It was kind of an elephant in the room.

There was a gap in my pregnancies at this point, where I watched lots of friends have their next round of babies. I wasn't super grieved by that; the third baby was a hard one and it took a long time to recover.

For the fourth pregnancy, the joy abounded. I was READY for another one. There were twins. One gal in my weekly small group was due right after me so we got to be pregnant together, along with one of the moms who'd shared that second pregnancy with me. Our kids were all born within a few months, and another close friend ended up adopting a toddler whose birthday was just days before my daughter's. So that was a time when the pregnancy twin thing worked out.

The last time around, it happened in a crazy flurry of other things all around it. The saddest part for me was that I knew it was my last one, and my BFF still wasn't able to get pregnant. I had THREE twins that time around - Two different sisters-in-law on my husband's side, and my brother's wife as well. It was a joy.

It's like I always say. joy and sorrow are tightly strung together on the tapestry of life. I'm thankful that God gave me the desires of my heart for some of my pregnancies, and I'm thankful for the friends that I've had through it all. Being a mom is hard. Being a pregnant mom is hard. And being a mom on social media is hard too (maybe dumb for me).

The Cheesiest movies of All

I love me low-budget movies. I can't help it. I grew up on old Kung-Fu movies and whatever was left on network television during the not-primetime hours my brother wasn't hogging the remote control. The 80's were a different time. We only had two TV's, one of which was black and white. We did not have cable and, living on a farm, received three to five channels depending on the reception of the antenna. They're great memories.

Sometimes, late at night when the airwaves were clear, we could get the Trinity Broadcasting Network. Later in high school it was on most of the time (and we had a second COLOR TV upstairs we could use for playing Nintendo on). TBN's daytime television is a hodge-podge of terribly made children's programs, preaching from your standard Southern fare, and Christian talk shows. But at night, after any good show had aired on all the other channels, around midnight, TBN would unlock this glorious vault of what my little brother and I just referred to as "Cheesy Christian movies". There's no better term for them, I promise. In fact, they're beyond cheesy. They're B or C grade movies with the worst acting you've ever seen, terrible filming techniques, and well... trite messages. I don't even need to explain. You probably know what I'm talking about.

Now, twenty years later, I would call it a guilty pleasure to indulge myself in those terrible movies. While there have been some improvements in the world of Christian filmmaking, it is easy to still find some real winners of the Cheese Award. I won't name any of the ones I've viewed recently, but I will tell you, in some of them, there is a message that shouldn't have been so poorly delivered. There are some script writers who are knocking i tout of the park, only to be defamed by terrible acting or directing. There are, likewise, some actors who are disabled by bad scripts or directing. There are directors and producers who don't have the money to work with to get a good cast going. And there are ideals that keep said producers from allowing the quality that they should. But that's another story. What I actually want to share are some titles that I've enjoyed in my twisted way over the years.

Homerun for Rusty - This gem is about Rusty, a bully-turned-Jesus-freak who gets to experience better baseball playing after he meets Jesus. My sister's camp would watch it every year because... "Jesus, Mama. Jesus." You'll be glad to know you can view this on youtube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kM0pmzVkCSQ

The Perfect Stranger - Jesus invites a stressed-out young married woman to dinner.

The Appointment - This is a short movie about an atheist reporter who has a messenger tell her that she's going to die at a certain time of day. She spends her whole day trying to avoid it and you think she does, but... does she?

Time Changer - A professor in the 1800's believes that teaching morals is more important than actually teaching about Jesus. He gets sent forward in time to discover if his theory holds up. I'll leave you to guess whether it does.

The Gospel Blimp - My youth pastor's favorite (he also has an affinity for the Cheese that is Christian cinema). A church attempts to use a blimp to evangelize their town, only to discover... well, I don't want to spoil it. I should add that this movie isn't actually poorly made. It is awesome. And it was meant to be satire with a hard-hitting message.

These are just a few of the classics. I wish I could remember all of the names of the ones I've seen. The list has grown longer than it should be but my memory is getting fuzzy. Also, when you're at the mercy of late night TBN, you don't always get the names of movies that you're watching.

I would be remiss if I didn't share a few winners, though. The Gospel Blimp is definitely number one on this end as well. ;) The winners are more recent, because again, my memory has grown fuzzy about the older ones I saw. But lately, there have been some really good ones (along with better-made cheesy, which I will not call out for fear of a lawsuit or getting boycotted lol).

The Song - This is one of my favorite movies. It's a creative re-telling of Solomon's story with a relevant modern message. Solomon is a country singer in this case. And the music on the show is actually good too.

Grace Unplugged - A girl who longs for the spotlight in the music world is at odds with her father, who had already lived that life before he met Jesus. The struggle is real, and the story is good. Until the end, because it wraps it all up with a perfect Christian bow. Still worth watching, and since TV actors were engaged, the acting is not cringy.

Mom's Night Out - This one was actually funny, not just Christian humor that falls flat. A good story about an over-worked mom who's wondering if her life matters anymore. She meets up with two other mom friends for a night out, only to get ushered into a comedy of errors that ends up showing how, even though being a mom is hard, it is worth it. My kids even enjoy watching this one.

All Saints - This was based on a true story about a pastor of a dying church who ends up with a flood of refugees filling up the pews. He sets up a plan to help them, and help the church at the same time. They suffer all kinds of twists and hardships, and the pastor's faith is challenged as he has to fight nature, the community, and his denomination to grow a garden to serve his congregation.

Those are a few of my favorites. There are definitely more, but consider this your introduction. And if this is a subject you enjoy discussing, join the Sacred Arts Revolution page on facebook.

Ruts

I was born in one of the towns that was literally named "The Middle of Nowhere", meaning it was a ridiculous distance from any significant population and surrounded by giant wheat fields and homesteads spread out across acres and acres. I didn't end up living out there where my dad grew up in Eastern Montana, but we would go back to visit every summer.
There's an old road that leaves Grandpa's house out the back. At one time it was gravel but over the years, the rocks have gotten pounded back from whence they came, buried in the mud during the spring rains and pushed in further by tractors and trucks that dared to take that back route. It became more of a machinery entrance, even though it was probably a shorter distance from the county road than the actual driveway was. One summer when I was there, we couldn't take that old road in a car. The ruts had worn so deep, and the wild brown grass that grew between them had grown so long, that any car would high center trying to make it through. Even in a truck or van, you had to take it at a pretty quick speed to ensure that you didn't get jammed somewhere up there.
Those are ruts, worn away by years and years of the same thing happening over and over and over again, and no one taking the time or energy needed to rebuild the road. No one taking a few minutes to dig up that center and relay the gravel.
I've been noticing ruts in my own life lately. It started in January on the youth group retreat when I started to wonder if I was even connecting with God anymore. I felt so distant, even though I was "doing" the right things. I'm not a super emotional person, so an emotional connection isn't even what I was feeling was missing. It was just... lacking.
On that youth group retreat God revealed a couple of lies that have centered themselves in my heart.
Over the last the couple of months I've been asking the same question, in those rare quiet moments that I have to talk to God without interruptions. On Sunday we sang this song called "His Mercy is More", and I just realized how truly sinful my heart is. It's one thing to say it and to know it, but to really see it again, to just have the excuses and lies stripped away to reveal the truth inside there, and see that you really don't have much of anything good to offer right now, is something different. It was something I needed.
Because the sin in my life is a rut. It's places I drive over and over, routes I take the same way every day, and I've stopped noticing the way my wheels just settle in there and follow the tracks because it's just become part of me. Part of what I'm used to.
It was probably an epiphany on Sunday, seeing that some of the patterns I've become accustomed to are what is keeping me from God. From experiencing the power He's given, from the life I am so used to having. I don't even know how long it's been. I don't know what all needs to change, either. I just know that I need to examine the patterns I've put in place, even the routine of my days, and see which ones are pulling me into those tracks that lead down the wrong road.
I guess it's what the Psalmist was talking about with the whole "search me Father and know my heart, try me and know my mind. See if there be any wicked way in me and lead me into the way of everlasting."
I think it puts us in a better position to know God when we can see ourselves for who we really are without His transforming. And it puts us in a place where we can see Him work in our lives better.
We have ice ruts on our driveway right now. Big ones that happened during a quick thaw that became slush covering everything, and then a second freeze that still hasn't broken. every time I drive through them and feel my stupid van get tugged down into that icy hole, I think about where my heart is and how I want it to change.

Healing the Whole Heart

We suffered a trauma three years ago. As I've shared before, my daughter got burned and we had to spend a month in the hospital while she had surgeries, and then another bit at a rehab clinic, and then months at home with therapy and ongoing appointments. A year after the accident, we returned to the hospital for another surgery. With a 3-week-old baby. There aren't a lot of people who understand what it's like to sit in those lonely dark hours at the hospital, waiting for news, waiting for cries for help. Helpless yourself to do much of anything to fix it all.
I think I've talked about it enough that it isn't a huge open wound anymore. I've thought about it and prayed it through and worked through a thousand things. But it's still unfolding. I don't even know if whole healing is possible after seeing your child catch fire and suffer in the hospital. But I'm in a place now where it doesn't kill me inside to talk about the things that happened. What I've been thinking about lately is how healing has to take place on multiple planes and in multiple ways before it's complete. I think it's a lot like any form of grief. We need the time and distance to start to see it clearly. But I think, often those who are trying to help a hurting person, fail to see all of the levels that the pain has touched. We surround a suffering person with all of their physical needs. we rush in and bring meals, offer words of encouragement, clean their house, pay their bills, etc. And that's good. It's needed. It's the simplest and easiest way to be useful in a situation where we're usually helpless.
But the needs don't end there. Even when the fire is put out, and things return to a "new normal", the needs keep coming.
When we lost our baby, it took a year to recover. A full out year of crying almost every day, of putting away baby toys and clothes that wouldn't be used, of watching the friends who had babies at the time mine was supposed to be there. Of wondering why me, why God, why this baby. It doesn't just go away. It didn't go away when I got pregnant with the next child, either. My nights were filled with anxiety and dread about what might happen. But most people figured I was OK since the new baby was on the way.
With the burn injury, I've felt like the majority of people have been waiting for the completeness and hoping that it's all over. For most of them, it actually is. They prayed me through the surgeries. They brought the meals. They helped in every way they could. And now the daughter is just as normal as she's ever going to be, and the family has settled in and does the normal things. But recovery on a physical level does not equal full recovery. There are questions. There are ongoing problems. There are fears and doubts that never got addressed in the panic and craze. And when you go home from the hospital, you just... sit in it. It swirls around you like a muddy pool and it's hard to swim away or pull yourself out.
I held on to Jesus as my anchor, but my soul was deeply entangled in the misery of guilt and suffering and the crushing weight of expectations and loneliness. Is there a way to fix this for someone? Probably not. The healing I needed was really only available through Christ. God knows all of the questions and doubts that even I didn't know. He was the answer to the questions I didn't know I had. He is the Healer of the hurts we hold inside. He sees our inner heart, the places that we can't share with anyone. And slowly, over time, those places are healing. I would not call them whole yet. But healing.
The reason I'm saying all of this is that there will probably be a time when you or someone you love is suffering through the pit of despair. There has been or will be a day when you struggle helplessly to figure out how to fix something that you can't fix. And what I want people to know is that we are whole beings. When an injury on a physical level happens, it affects our mind, emotions, and spirit just as much as it affects our body. So when you go to offer help, look for ways you can help in those other areas as well, not just with the physical needs. Just be careful what you say about God during that time, because you wouldn't want to misrepresent him. Your words can do much more harm than good when someone is suffering. 
Some of the ways that God began to heal me seem so small, but they weren't at the time. They were everything. I hope if you continue reading, you'll be able to at least see why I can have faith in Him and choose to follow Him, but also hopefully it will inspire you to bring support to someone who's suffering (or encourage you if you're in that place).

Songs - God determined the playlist of my life during that time. I can't even count the songs that pulled me away from the situation and gave me perspective, that spoke to my heart and told me God was still there. That answered questions I was facing. It was too much of a coincidence to be anything but God. Music heals in ways regular words can't.
Books - There wasn't a lot of time to read, but my dad told me about one book called "An Honest Look at a Mysterious Journey" and for whatever reason, it healed some part of me. It isn't about burn injuries. It's about suffering and how a man looked to God through it, and all of the doubts he battled. The other book a friend gave me (without telling me her own life story, which I later found out) was called Rivers in the Desert and it's a devotional. It was perfect for the time at the hospital and the busy days afterwards.
Presence - There were a lot of visitors at the hospital. I couldn't list them all, but my dad came and sat with us during surgery. He had been in the hospital a lot as a child, and he'd said at his dad's funeral that when he was a kid, the hospital wasn't scary when his dad was there. My best friend and my brother and mother-in-law also made sure to be there during surgery times. Someone to wait with is good. Someone who knows you really well, who doesn't need to be entertained or have explanations, who will just sit... that's ministry to the soul. My husband's brothers and their wives showed up the first night we were there. We didn't know what was coming, but having them there was the perfect encouragement after a long, long day. Another time, a friend from about two hours away called and told me she was going to be in Iowa City that day. She brought toys and games for JJ, but what meant the most was that she was there. She was one of our good friends in college. And her reason for coming to Iowa City was us. One of the stories that still brings me to tears is how my cousins, who live in Pennsylvania and don't have resources to travel, sent their friend in Iowa City to see us. She came and brought a gift on behalf of my cousins. Another friend in Texas offered to drop everything (six kids) and come to be with me. Wow. She didn't need to come for me to feel loved.
Words - So many cards and emails came to encourage us. I ate the words from the caringbridge site. They kept me going. A mysterious healing happened for me three nights in a row, when I'd get back to the Ronald McDonald house to try to sleep. A pastor's wife who was more of an acquaintance at the time wrote responses to updates. Her prayers and wisdom were exactly what I needed. She'd had her own surgeries and seemed to know, on a spiritual level, what my heart actually needed in those hard moments. Another friend whose card said, "You're a good momma, and accidents happen" was good for me. She knew something I didn't know. I needed to hear those words.
Relating - I became friends with some unsuspecting people at that time in life. There's something about deep suffering that you can't really explain. Because it happens on a deep spiritual level. A mom I had just met in Bible study visited. I didn't know at the time, but she knew what suffering was like. Her son had taken his own life years before. What she knew about God and what she said to me were the right things at the right time. I didn't have to know her story because we knew the same God. The strength of the older women in my life at that time was remarkable. I think because they've been through more than people my age have. They understand on some level, the damage a spirit can undergo in times of trial. One of them just took me under her wing. Her son had spent a lot of time at the hospital with medical needs, so she just came like a little ray of sunshine into our lives. We'd known her for a loooong time, but she became our friend as she prayed for us and encouraged us. Another pastor's wife had had a lot of her own medical needs, so when she stepped in to hold my baby and clean the house for me, I knew it was because she understood me. And having someone who "gets" it is just powerful. None of these people dumped their life story on me. They were just there. They prayed, they helped, they encouraged. You have to be careful not to relate too much, because at some point it becomes not relating. A huge part of healing for me was meeting other burn survivors and their families. I've spoken with quite a few moms of burn victims now. we don't have to say the things we're all thinking. We just share the burden together.
Prayers - knowing someone was praying made a difference. Hearing them pray was a totally different experience. One family from church whose kids all help with children and who knew JJ arrived with an Easter basket full of gifts for all of us. Then they surrounded the hospital bed and prayed over our whole family. Powerful. My dad prayed before they wheeled away the hospital bed with my daughter, ready for surgery. There was such comfort in his faith, the faith that shaped me, extending to all of us there in that moment. If you don't know what to pray for someone in a situation, you can always pray that God will begin to heal their spirit and show them the ways He is bringing healing. That is meaningful. I'm fairly certain someone was praying that for me.
God's Voice - This all occurred with the guiding of the Holy Spirit, speaking in my own heart, showing me the ways he was trying to heal me. I think that I could get in the way of my own healing sometimes. I think I still do. But when I could listen, when I wanted to see it, He was there, showing me. The ways people cared for me were HIS hands caring. The words people spoke were because He gave them the words. The cards, the prayers, everything was under his authority and action. So I can give him credit for it. There were times when he spoke directly to me. I don't even remember them all. Twice it was with a song. The first one I've already shared a few times, but the second time was just last spring. I was driving to church and this overplayed song called "Tell your heart to beat again" came on the radio. I'd heard it before, but for some reason in that moment, God said, "This is for you." And all of the feelings I'd been holding inside just kind of started to pour out. All of these questions and doubts were just... in front of me. It was like I'd actually stopped breathing when the accident happened. I think I had in some way. And God was telling me he wanted to make my heart whole again, to heal me, but I had to just... let him. Since then, I think we've made some good progress. I always think about it when that song comes on. About how everything could all go back into their places, but something was wrong with my heart still. And how God said right then that He was going to heal my heart and make it beat again. Wow.

You're shattered
Like you've never been before
The life you knew
In a thousand pieces on the floor
And words fall short in times like these
When this world drives you to your knees
You think you're never gonna get back
To the you that used to be
Tell your heart to beat again
Close your eyes and breathe it in
Let the shadows fall away
Step into the light of grace
Yesterday's a closing door
You don't live there anymore
Say goodbye to where you've been
And tell your heart to beat again
Beginning
Just let that word wash over you
It's alright now
Love's healing hands have pulled you through
So get back up, take step one
Leave the darkness, feel the sun
'Cause your story's far from over
And your journey's just begun
Tell your heart to beat again
Close your eyes and breathe it in
Let the shadows fall away
Step into the light of grace
Yesterday's a closing door
You don't live there anymore
Say goodbye to where you've been
And tell your heart to beat again
Let every heartbreak
And every scar
Be a picture that reminds you
Who has carried you this far
'Cause love sees farther than you ever could
In this moment heaven's working
Everything for your good
Tell your heart to beat again
Close your eyes and breathe it in
Let the shadows fall away
Step into the light of grace
Yesterday's a closing door
You don't live there anymore
Say goodbye to where you've been
And tell your heart to beat again
Your heart to beat again
Beat again
Oh, so tell your heart to beat againSongwriters: Matthew West / Bernie Herms / Randy Phillips
Tell Your Heart to Beat Again lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc, Universal Music Publishing Group, Capitol Christian Music Group

The Ministry of Help

The first time someone offered to help me in a time of need, I wasn't really sure what to do. People had been bringing meals after the loss of my baby, but they would leave. They didn't stick around and visit. This gal stayed. She came in, set up the food and then said, "Can I help you with anything else?" I didn't know what to say. So she grabbed my broom and swept the floor. She's a wise person who knows something about suffering that I hadn't learned yet.
I've learned it since then. Now, ten years after that little incident, I've been the recipient of every kind of help. When our daughter got burned and we spent a month in and out of the hospital and rehab, I had to learn to say "Yes" to all of the offers for help. It wasn't just because I genuinely needed the help. It was also because the people helping needed to help. It wasn't always the kind of help I wanted. It wasn't always beautiful and it didn't always get done my way. But I learned a lot through it and built some really good relationships because of it. As an expert in "life just turned upside down", I'm qualified to say it now. When you're struggling through something, and someone offers to help you, JUST ACCEPT IT.

It Fulfills the Law of Christ

When a crisis hits, everyone wants to do something. Most of us can't do anything. You've been there, empty-handed, wishing you could do more for your suffering friend. You bring a meal, maybe, but there just isn't an opportunity to do much else.
When the tables are turned and you're the one in the crisis, you for some reason feel like it's imposing to accept help from people. Help that they offered. Help that they wanted to give to you to ease your burden (and theirs). Culture feeds us a lie that if we can handle it, then we should. But here's the thing. We shouldn't. The Bible says to bear one another's burdens and so fulfill the law of Christ. So allowing someone to bear your burden, whatever it might be, you're actually fulfilling the law of Christ. And, you're letting someone else fulfill His law too. I think what it means, when you look at Galatians 6, is that that helping one another is a reflection of the way Christ came and helped us in our helplessness. So, conversely, when you refuse to accept help, you're depriving someone of the opportunity to fulfill the law of Christ. Is that a big deal? I don't know. It sounds like one. And it says in the same passage that as we have opportunity, let us do good to others. Allowing help is giving a person a chance to obey God's word.

The Indisputable Comfort of the Gospel 

2 Corinthians talks about how we experience the comfort of Christ and because of that we are able to comfort others. Accepting comfort is difficult, but we've all accepted the comfort of Christ. For me in some of the hardest times, that comfort has come through people who have poured out their prayers and thoughts to me, shared their gifts, and carried hope for me. God's comfort is an inextinguishable light in a dark world. People notice when it's given and shared, regardless of what god they're worshiping. There is power in God's comfort, in the fact that He suffered in his life on earth to take away our sin, and He understands our suffering. It's powerful because it's the truth of the gospel. He comforts us so we might comfort others! We should not withhold it and we most certainly should not inhibit others from giving it. You know why Jesus said "They'll know you are my disciples by your love for one another?" If you didn't before now, you hopefully have drawn your own conclusions. If you aren't letting people have the chance to demonstrate His love to you, you're missing a great blessing.

Doing The Hard Thing Builds a Stronger Community

I'm not sure what it is about us that makes us chafe at accepting help. I guess it isn't easy to admit that you'd rather not do everything on your own, that you're inadequate and you can't handle it all. Maybe you don't want people to know that sometimes your house gets messy or you're too tired to take care of your kids so you've been watching Netflix for six hours. But when you accept the truth, you are identifying with the human condition. We're all inadequate. We all fail. We all have fallen short of perfection in God's eyes. Really we all need help. So it's pride that keeps us from accepting the gift others wish to give to us, and it's pride that's somehow telling God you don't need the help He sent to you through that person.

On the other end, it is also just as difficult to offer help. While signing up to drop off a meal is most often the first an easiest way to help someone in crisis, there is so much more you can do. If you know how. It involves time. It involves persistence. It involves one of my least favorite words in English: Gumption. It requires creativity. Most of all, it requires that you listen. To the Holy Spirit and to the person you're offering to help. With all of that, it also often involves a little bit of wisdom for how to handle a situation.

I think Americans are afraid of suffering. We spend so much time making our lives easy and comfortable that when someone is in a position that isn't comfortable, we don't know what to do with it. We aren't really quite sure how to embrace the ick and BE with a person. But that's just what they need. That's what bearing someone's burden looks like. It's walking into the hospital room and seeing open wounds that aren't healing. It's singing to a baby while mom goes and cries alone in the bathroom. It's stepping around clutter in your friend's house to get to the kitchen and washing their dishes. It's calling on dark nights when you know they're alone and tempted to give up. It is ugly and it's beautiful, it's tragic and trivial, it's faithfulness and failing all wrapped together. What you get when you come out the other end is someone who knows you for who you are, who's seen you at your worst and who you know hasn't decided to give up after that.

My friend Robin showed up during our second round at the hospital. She'd been praying and following my caringbridge all year. The second time back was just as hard as the first time. I'd just had a baby by cesarean three weeks prior, and so I was juggling nursing, caring for a baby, and nursing the post-surgery issues with the older sister. Husband was trying to get his hours in at work so I was alone most of the day. I was well past the "I can do this" and the pride of being able to juggle everything. I knew better. I asked for help from basically everyone I knew, and several women in the church stepped up. Women who, up until then, had been in the periphery of my life. Older ladies who knew my parents or knew me through mutual friends. Robin had spent a large portion of her life at the same hospital twenty years ago with her oldest son. She knew some of the struggles I was having, and she showed up. She came all of the days she could, held the baby, read books to sister, took sister to the hospital activities for kids. Prayed for me. Listened. Waited while I cried and gave hugs when I needed them. There were some others. The pastor's wife, who's got her own string of medical issues and has suffered at the hospital. She brought me eggs and showed me how to microwave them. She held the baby and smiled cheerfully for me. Another mom came to my house during recovery time and let me nap. Others cleaned for me. My point is, these were women who I didn't know very well at the time. And they're women who, since then, have made themselves available for my questions and prayers. I know they care about me. They built a protective wall around my heart during hard, hard times without ever expecting anything in return. They were Jesus' love poured out on me and my family, and that love carried me when I was too weak to ask for it.

That is knowing each other in suffering. That is building a community that doesn't splinter and dissolve when things get hard. It's when things get hard that we need each other. So don't give up. Don't push your people away when things are hard for you. Embrace their help. Even if it isn't the kind of help you actually need. you might find out it actually was what you needed. Or, they might find out what kind of help you actually need and provide it for you. Let your friends and acquaintances receive the blessings bestowed by bearing your burdens. Let them suffer along side of you. You'll all be better off for it in the end.

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.