You Never Have Another Best Friend...

"It was amazing. I do not at all understand the mystery of grace - only that it meets us where we are but does not leave us where it found us. It can be received gladly or grudgingly, in big gulps or in tiny tastes, like a deer at the salt. I gobbled it, licked it, held it down..." - Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies

I was like deer at the salt on Monday night at our church's monthly house of prayer.  Huddled between two of the godliest women I know, we drank deeply of that grace and received it gladly.  

I have the awesome privilege of being surrounded by a lot of amazing women and have had that privilege for a long while.  One of those mysteries of grace that I'll receive gladly, in big gulps. I get a little stunned when I look back over my life, especially from college until now, and I tick off on my fingers all of the women that I hold so dear.  Mentors, confidants, partners-in-crime, comforters, co-sojourners.  I can't even begin to write a list out of all the women I think are so priceless.  I wish that all could be surrounded by such a gathering of wise, wise friends.  

But tonight I especially want to esteem two of my dearest friends in this season of life - Jill and Alex.  I'm sure if you know me very well, you hear me talk about these two women a lot (and some of you probably even get tired of hearing me talk about them.  My apologies!).  But it's because they have played/are playing such an integral role in who I am as a Christ-follower.  Alex's fiancé Jed, now (affectionately?) refers to us as The Tribe.  "I'll just call you The Tribe." "Oh, The Tribe is meeting again." "You just saw each other less than twelve hours ago, what else could you possibly have to talk about??"  Lots, Jed, lots.  We're women.  There is always something to be said.  

As I sat at the house of prayer quietly praying over so many things the Lord kept bringing to my mind, sweet Jill walks over and, with tears in her eyes, asks if she can pray for me.  So her and I begin praying.  I'm sure we've got eye make-up streaming down our faces by the time she's done.  Then Alex walks over and sits down.  Also crying.  So then we begin sharing some Scripture and just hashing out some things that had been happening recently, things we were praying for.  Then I start praying for Alex.  Then I pray for Jill.  And by the time that all got done, we really were messes.  Runny noses, not enough tissues and too many tears.  

It's moments like that when I think, "This is what this looks like - to intercede, to come alongside, to draw nearer to one another and to Jesus, and to embrace the tears and runny noses."  Life is messy and complicated as it is.  We each are facing series of circumstances, which certainly are not unique to mankind, but to us they seem to leave us with gaping holes in our hearts - relationships from our past that haunt us in ways we didn't see coming, ones that threaten to knock us over, battles with insecurities and worthlessness, thoughts of some-day and not-yet marriages, confusion over next steps.  

But it's in those moments that grace shows up.  Sometimes it comes in the form of encouraging notes, unexpected phone calls, bouquets of "just-because" flowers.  But this time it showed up with skin on, in the form of two women who I esteem highly and who are crazy about Jesus.  I love the line from the deleted scenes portion of P.S. I Love You, when John says, “You never have another best friend like the first one you have when you’re old enough to know who you are in life.”  And it's so true.  But in this case, "friend" happens to be plural for me - "friends."  Because I'll never have other best friends like these first ones I've had when I was finally old enough to know who I was in life.  Well, maybe that's not entirely accurate because I'm still figuring out a lot about my life and those first best friends extends well beyond Jill and Alex.  But nevertheless, I'll welcome the grace that God so graciously provides.  I'll keep gobbling it and holding it down as best I can. 

Repairer of Broken Walls

A few weeks ago I went to see Snow White and the Huntsman.  (Think what you like about Kristen Stewart - I happen to really like her, especially in this Snow White role.)  As I thought about the movie and the different themes that played out, it dawned on me why I like female characters like this so much - they are healers. Strong women whose presence alone changes the course of situations.  Think of Lucy Pevensie in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.  Or Arwen in The Lord of the Rings.  It's probably why I consistently come back to these movies time and again, because of characters like those.

In one of the scenes in Snow White, the dwarfs rattle off their ailments - aching hips, throbbing legs, pounding headaches.  Then they realize those problems have been alleviated since Snow White entered the picture.  One of the dwarfs says, "She is life itself."  Her mere existence heals parts of who they are and how they view life.  And I find that so stunning for some reason.  Maybe because I want to be like that.

Isn't that who we are called to be as Christ-followers, healers and menders of that which is broken?  Broken systems, broken relationships, broken societies, broken hearts, broken pasts, broken dreams, broken hopes. 

As I had been reflecting on that idea, God, in his usual way, allowed this concept to play out in my own life.  The general idea is that I was faced with a broken relationship in my life and it wasn't getting any better.  I was, in fact, contributing to making it worse it seemed.  And the more and more I thought about it, the more and more I realized that I can't let this go on.  I can't let this disrepair continue.  If I'm to say that I am a follower of Christ, then it means I can't just pay lip service to a set of ideas about restoration and reconciliation.  It means I actually have to do the work of making this relationship right.  As Beth Moore says, "We gotta do the thing, girls!"  So I did the thing and went to work, mending and repairing as best I could, as best I knew how. Stone by stone, you rebuild the wall, repave the streets and bring people to a place of healing.  In our own little corners of the world, we gotta do the work.  I have to do it in my workplace, in my family, in my church, in Kenya, wherever life takes me.  Just like Jesus, his presence alone changes the course of situations.  It should be the same in our lives.  Not in some magical, mystical kind of way.  But in a rubber-meets-the-road kind of way, in a way that makes people take notice, in a way that brings about life.

I love how Isaiah 58:9-12 says it:

“If you do away with the yoke of oppression,
with the pointing finger and malicious talk,
and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry
and satisfy the needs of the oppressed,
then your light will rise in the darkness,
and your night will become like the noonday.
The Lord will guide you always;
he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land
and will strengthen your frame.
You will be like a well-watered garden,
like a spring whose waters never fail.
Your people will rebuild the ancient ruins
and will raise up the age-old foundations;
you will be called Repairer of Broken Walls,
Restorer of Streets with Dwellings."

I want to be a repairer of broken walls and a restorer of streets with dwellings.



   

There is No Plan B

As time draws closer to leave for Kenya, the questions and the fears get a little more overwhelming.

"Are you sure you want to go?"

"How long will you be there?"

"Is it safe?"

Yes, I don't know, and probably not.

The doubts from others start to crowd in and their voices get a little louder with each passing day.  You can bet there are days that I have my own doubts, days when I second-guess and wonder.  I'm like Toodles in Hook, wandering around the house, incessantly muttering, "Lost, lost, lost..." "Lost what?"  "I've lost my marbles."

But I always come back to the same conclusion:

There is no Plan B.

This, what I'm living, is Plan A.  And there is no Plan B. 

There is no Plan B when it comes to Kenya.  It never crosses my mind to not go, to not go because of fear.  It never crosses my mind that in the midst of Somali pirates, planes crashing into crowded neighborhoods, and bombs going off in churches, that I wouldn't ever go back to Africa.  Because it's the only thing I know how to do.  I don't know what else to do or who else to be.

In the movie We Bought a Zoo, Matt Damon's character said, "You know, sometimes all you need is twenty seconds of insane courage. Just literally twenty seconds of just embarrassing bravery. And I promise you, something great will come of it."

Maybe life needs to be lived twenty seconds at a time.

Because there is no Plan B.

Bed Spectacles

This past week hasn't been a whole lot of fun.  My back decided that now would be a convenient time to be in a constant state of pain, leaving me frustrated and limited.  For whatever reason, I woke up last Monday morning and pretty much ever since it hurts to do just about anything - walk, stand, sit, drive, etc.  Although, as my friend Alex pointed out - it could be worse.  This could have happened a year ago when I was moving back from Missouri and getting ready to catch a plane to Africa.  Good point, my friend.  My cousin and I had plans to go to Kings Island for the day on Friday but I told him there's no way I'm getting on a roller coaster at this point because I'll probably never be able to walk again if I do. 

But amidst all the pain, what I have wanted more than anything is a pair of bed spectacles.  What are those, you ask? Well, if you have ever seen the movie The Bucket List, you know exactly what I'm talking about.   Jack Nicholson wears a pair in the movie and nearly every single time this week when I've been either flat on the floor or laying on my bed trying to watch TV, I always think, "Man, those bed spectacles would be so handy right about now."  No matter how crazy they make you look.   I mean, who doesn't need a pair of bed spectacles at least once in their life, right? :)