It's difficult for me to articulate all of the things that I wish to appear on this blog. Sometimes things crystallize perfectly, and I write things that, to me, seem inspired on some level, or at least profound as they relate to me. And honestly, that's kind of what blogging is: a collection of the happenings and thoughts which you wish to share, sometimes because they inspire you, sometimes because they inspire others. Lately it has been very difficult to find the words or the time or even the stability to write. Even as I type sentences are not coming together in my mind as they sometimes do. However, I am afraid of losing the ability to write all together and so I try this fine evening.
Stability. Chaos. One of those words characterizes my life far more often than the other. If it were stability, I doubt that I would be writing about it right now. I crave stability. There is little that I love more than an established routine, knowing what to expect. Oh, I love thinking of the future and the joys which I know will characterize the change in my life, but when I am standing on the brink of a new transition I only want to visualize exactly what my life will be. My father pinpointed this for me better than I could ever for myself. Interesting, isn't it, how easily parents can identify core personality themes?
I digress. Stability is become a more constant theme in my life. I am not sure what is different this semester, if I simply know how to prioritize better, if I know who I am and what I want more intimately, or if something massive changed over break that I haven't put my finger on yet. Ultimately it is not important to know why. What is important is that I am looking forward to a semester filled with peace, filled with training, filled with stability, filled with Jesus.
Exciting things are happening in nearly every aspect of my life. As always, God is working in Life House in ways that I can hardly believe. If you're reading this, small blog audience, please pray for the leadership of Life House. Pray for our kids, pray for our volunteers - how honored I would be if you prayed for me. It's never easy, but I am finding more and more joy in the responsibilities I have.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
November Edition
Once the school year hits, I feel as if this blog turns into an obligatory newspaper to which I must write at least monthly. In the summer, and during Christmas break, I am bursting with things that I am turning over in my mind and want to share. When I am in Joplin, I barely have time to think through the things I am doing.
At any rate, these days I find myself longing to read. Like most girls, I have lately been looking through Pinterest. I have found the website most helpful in planning for Christmas. In fact, I found all my gift ideas on Pinterest this year, and I so enjoy making them. There is something special about a homemade gift, I think. I have already finished three of my gifts, planned three to be completed closer to Christmas, and am ironing out the details of the last five. However, my favorite thing to find on Pinterest have undoubtedly been the reading nooks. Every once in a while a "pin" will appear depicting some fabulous shelving idea or some great corner that just beckons one to come and spend hours with a good book. I can't remember the last book that I finished that I read just for myself, for enjoyment. I hope to have the opportunity to do so again soon.
Mostly my days are spent running from one activity to the next. When I daydream at the future, I am most excited for 8-5 days that are spent in one place, for evenings spent in my home, for homework free nights. However, I fear these dreams are nothing more and I will find things to occupy those precious hours. I just don't seem to be able to sit still.
If this post comes across discontent and exhausted, it is because I am. It's that part of the semester where students just long to be done. Thanksgiving break gives a glimpse of Christmas break, which glimpses summer break - a time of joyous relaxation and recuperation. And camp. Oh, how I miss camp.
I do have several things to look forward to, however. I get to spend New Years in Syracuse, NY with my best friend for her birthday, I get to have lunch with six of my very good friends that have not all gathered together since 2009, and I get to spend a few hours with a friend that I have not seen in at least a decade. And I get to visit camp.
If I can make it through the next three weeks, I will be a very happy girl!
At any rate, these days I find myself longing to read. Like most girls, I have lately been looking through Pinterest. I have found the website most helpful in planning for Christmas. In fact, I found all my gift ideas on Pinterest this year, and I so enjoy making them. There is something special about a homemade gift, I think. I have already finished three of my gifts, planned three to be completed closer to Christmas, and am ironing out the details of the last five. However, my favorite thing to find on Pinterest have undoubtedly been the reading nooks. Every once in a while a "pin" will appear depicting some fabulous shelving idea or some great corner that just beckons one to come and spend hours with a good book. I can't remember the last book that I finished that I read just for myself, for enjoyment. I hope to have the opportunity to do so again soon.
Mostly my days are spent running from one activity to the next. When I daydream at the future, I am most excited for 8-5 days that are spent in one place, for evenings spent in my home, for homework free nights. However, I fear these dreams are nothing more and I will find things to occupy those precious hours. I just don't seem to be able to sit still.
If this post comes across discontent and exhausted, it is because I am. It's that part of the semester where students just long to be done. Thanksgiving break gives a glimpse of Christmas break, which glimpses summer break - a time of joyous relaxation and recuperation. And camp. Oh, how I miss camp.
I do have several things to look forward to, however. I get to spend New Years in Syracuse, NY with my best friend for her birthday, I get to have lunch with six of my very good friends that have not all gathered together since 2009, and I get to spend a few hours with a friend that I have not seen in at least a decade. And I get to visit camp.
If I can make it through the next three weeks, I will be a very happy girl!
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Summary
September seems to have run right past me. In fact, August seemed to fly by as well. Each day seems to feel like a mere hour and each month feels like one week. Particularly this year, I find myself clinging desperately for each passing minute, hoping to cram more and more into my limited twenty-four hours.
I've been busy before but this year seems to be re-defining the word and not just for me. Everyone's schedule seems to be as chaotic, perhaps a lingering consequence of living in post-tornado Joplin. While my life is largely unaffected by it, friends are doing truly great things to serve the city and Joplin-ites (?) and furthering the kingdom. My involvement is limited to riding my bike past the make-shift school set up as an alternative to a building not safe for students or occasionally driving through the "tornado zone," which I find myself avoiding as much as possible because each time I see it, it seems to break my heart a little more.
Instead, I have continued to serve in all the things I anticipated this fall would bring. I love encouraging and supporting my friends and community in rebuilding but that is simply not where I am called right now, which seems strange to me. If I could give more hours or somehow acquire the time-turner Hermione used at Hogwarts, I would be there in a heartbeat. But I know that my time is spent better encouraging and supporting those who do serve and loving the kids at Life House. Most afternoons are filled with Life House related activities - especially as we get ready to kick off tutoring. My mornings are spent in class and at work, and my evenings are a dismal attempt to maintain a social life, get adequate rest, and do homework and online class. It is true that only two of those ever seem compatible.
I am learning so much in my classes, particularly at Ozark. My MSSU classes are interesting as well, but I very much enjoy this season of learning and growth. I love living off-campus and having a home to retreat to and entertain from. I love when the neighbor kids come ask if I can play and the two mile ride to campus every day. It is a busy season that is flying by much too quickly, but it is a time of growth and rest and learning.
I've been busy before but this year seems to be re-defining the word and not just for me. Everyone's schedule seems to be as chaotic, perhaps a lingering consequence of living in post-tornado Joplin. While my life is largely unaffected by it, friends are doing truly great things to serve the city and Joplin-ites (?) and furthering the kingdom. My involvement is limited to riding my bike past the make-shift school set up as an alternative to a building not safe for students or occasionally driving through the "tornado zone," which I find myself avoiding as much as possible because each time I see it, it seems to break my heart a little more.
Instead, I have continued to serve in all the things I anticipated this fall would bring. I love encouraging and supporting my friends and community in rebuilding but that is simply not where I am called right now, which seems strange to me. If I could give more hours or somehow acquire the time-turner Hermione used at Hogwarts, I would be there in a heartbeat. But I know that my time is spent better encouraging and supporting those who do serve and loving the kids at Life House. Most afternoons are filled with Life House related activities - especially as we get ready to kick off tutoring. My mornings are spent in class and at work, and my evenings are a dismal attempt to maintain a social life, get adequate rest, and do homework and online class. It is true that only two of those ever seem compatible.
I am learning so much in my classes, particularly at Ozark. My MSSU classes are interesting as well, but I very much enjoy this season of learning and growth. I love living off-campus and having a home to retreat to and entertain from. I love when the neighbor kids come ask if I can play and the two mile ride to campus every day. It is a busy season that is flying by much too quickly, but it is a time of growth and rest and learning.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Faith
Of late, I have had the pleasure of reading a few very challenging and thought provoking books. In particular, I have been reading about August Hermann Franke, founder of the orphan house in Halle, Germany and forerunner to George Mueller. Franke founded an orphan house that has provided food and education for literally tens of thousands of students (if not more) over the past three hundred and some odd years on less than five dollars. And of course God. If he has taught me one thing, it is that the biographies of those completely sold out to God are far from boring.
Franke was a university professor and pastor who was deeply sold out to God. As a child, he requested of his mother a private study where he could read the Scriptures and pray. Later, he went to the University and studied religion. It was in the course of his studies that he came to what he called his true conversion - the beginning of his radical devotion to and faith in God. He was regularly attacked by members of the German church for being a fanatic, but it was he who brought about revival in Germany. He preached straight from the Bible, which was somewhat rare in that day (circa 1670). When he was asked to preach in Halle and be a professor at the University, he began to notice the lack of religious instruction innate in the poor, particularly the children. Being a man devoted to the work of God, this troubled him greatly and prompted him to begin collecting donations to change this. From here, it snowballed. Franke's life is one of radical dependence on God and watching God's provision come at just the right time and amount. There were times when he had upwards of a hundred orphans to care for, plus a school and other outbuildings, and not a cent to his name. But God always came through and Franke never lost his faith. He was a man of prayer and thanksgiving, a man who sought his own betterment for the sake of bring glory to the Father. Even when he was wrongly accused or reproved, he always responded with a grace that should be characteristic of every Christian.
The life of Franke has left me pondering my own. Do I have faith like that? Do I truly believe in the God of divinely orchestrated circumstances and just-in-the-nick-of-time provision? Is my faith what drives me or is it a safety net? Oh, how I long to be a woman patterned after the life of Christ. I long to have such a bold testimony to my Redeemer as Franke's life evinced. I long to live radically for Christ, to have such a strong faith in my heavenly Father. I want to believe with every fiber of my being. And I think that I do. But I also think its a growing process, and a process that cannot be truly evaluated until the time that the product is crucial. In the meantime, I pray that I can be such a witness to Christ.
Its amazing that we humans long to believe in something so deeply, to have faith in relationships or the goodness of humanity or even in themselves or security. And to believe in those things to some extent isn't necessarily a bad thing, but they should never be the end all be all of a person's faith. Because they ultimately will disappoint; relationships end, people commit heinous acts that testify to the falleness of our condition, security vanishes, and people disappoint themselves. But I believe in a God who is bigger than all my failings or the failings of this world, a God who redeemed me from my brokenness and is continually restoring me to holiness. And I rejoice in that, though not as often as I should.
But often believing in God is the most daring and courageous thing that is available. It can be a crutch, yes, but if you truly believe that Jesus is the Son of God and that He is more than just a shoulder to cry on or some sort of divine homeboy, you know that the life that He calls us to live is far from easy. It is far from a walk in the park. In Luke, He tells his disciples that those who are persecuted, hungry, poor, and mourn are the ones who are truly blessed because of the reward they may expect in the life to come. He continues this dialogue by proclaiming that the rich, the well fed, the ones who laugh and are esteemed have received their reward in full. Honestly, that is a challenging passage. Is God calling His people to put themselves in the way of poverty and famine simply for the promise of a castle in heaven? I don't think so. But somehow I think such things are woven into the Christian life. I think we find ourselves constantly bombarded by people who are in those conditions or living dangerously close to them. I think we ourselves must be willing to be in those circumstances if they should befall them. I think that we must always chose Christ over laughter, riches, or even a piece of bread. I don't have it all figured out yet. I'm wrestling with extrapolating this from the American Christianity we have so blindly adopted and mixed with the Gospel.
But I do want a deep faith, a faith so strong that the foundations of it can move mountains and make the devil shudder and enable joy and contentment in every circumstance.
If you are interested in Franke's work, here is the present day website of the school he began. How amazing it is that this project, started with $3.50, is still alive and well today, educating thousands??
http://translate.google.com/translate?hl=en&sl=de&u=http://www.francke-halle.de/&ei=YL1CTuT_MOStsALA09XCCQ&sa=X&oi=translate&ct=result&resnum=1&ved=0CDoQ7gEwAA&prev=/search%3Fq%3DFranckesche%2BStiftungen%2Bzu%2BHalle%26hl%3Den%26sa%3DG%26tbo%3D1%26tbm%3Dbks
Franke was a university professor and pastor who was deeply sold out to God. As a child, he requested of his mother a private study where he could read the Scriptures and pray. Later, he went to the University and studied religion. It was in the course of his studies that he came to what he called his true conversion - the beginning of his radical devotion to and faith in God. He was regularly attacked by members of the German church for being a fanatic, but it was he who brought about revival in Germany. He preached straight from the Bible, which was somewhat rare in that day (circa 1670). When he was asked to preach in Halle and be a professor at the University, he began to notice the lack of religious instruction innate in the poor, particularly the children. Being a man devoted to the work of God, this troubled him greatly and prompted him to begin collecting donations to change this. From here, it snowballed. Franke's life is one of radical dependence on God and watching God's provision come at just the right time and amount. There were times when he had upwards of a hundred orphans to care for, plus a school and other outbuildings, and not a cent to his name. But God always came through and Franke never lost his faith. He was a man of prayer and thanksgiving, a man who sought his own betterment for the sake of bring glory to the Father. Even when he was wrongly accused or reproved, he always responded with a grace that should be characteristic of every Christian.
The life of Franke has left me pondering my own. Do I have faith like that? Do I truly believe in the God of divinely orchestrated circumstances and just-in-the-nick-of-time provision? Is my faith what drives me or is it a safety net? Oh, how I long to be a woman patterned after the life of Christ. I long to have such a bold testimony to my Redeemer as Franke's life evinced. I long to live radically for Christ, to have such a strong faith in my heavenly Father. I want to believe with every fiber of my being. And I think that I do. But I also think its a growing process, and a process that cannot be truly evaluated until the time that the product is crucial. In the meantime, I pray that I can be such a witness to Christ.
Its amazing that we humans long to believe in something so deeply, to have faith in relationships or the goodness of humanity or even in themselves or security. And to believe in those things to some extent isn't necessarily a bad thing, but they should never be the end all be all of a person's faith. Because they ultimately will disappoint; relationships end, people commit heinous acts that testify to the falleness of our condition, security vanishes, and people disappoint themselves. But I believe in a God who is bigger than all my failings or the failings of this world, a God who redeemed me from my brokenness and is continually restoring me to holiness. And I rejoice in that, though not as often as I should.
But often believing in God is the most daring and courageous thing that is available. It can be a crutch, yes, but if you truly believe that Jesus is the Son of God and that He is more than just a shoulder to cry on or some sort of divine homeboy, you know that the life that He calls us to live is far from easy. It is far from a walk in the park. In Luke, He tells his disciples that those who are persecuted, hungry, poor, and mourn are the ones who are truly blessed because of the reward they may expect in the life to come. He continues this dialogue by proclaiming that the rich, the well fed, the ones who laugh and are esteemed have received their reward in full. Honestly, that is a challenging passage. Is God calling His people to put themselves in the way of poverty and famine simply for the promise of a castle in heaven? I don't think so. But somehow I think such things are woven into the Christian life. I think we find ourselves constantly bombarded by people who are in those conditions or living dangerously close to them. I think we ourselves must be willing to be in those circumstances if they should befall them. I think that we must always chose Christ over laughter, riches, or even a piece of bread. I don't have it all figured out yet. I'm wrestling with extrapolating this from the American Christianity we have so blindly adopted and mixed with the Gospel.
But I do want a deep faith, a faith so strong that the foundations of it can move mountains and make the devil shudder and enable joy and contentment in every circumstance.
If you are interested in Franke's work, here is the present day website of the school he began. How amazing it is that this project, started with $3.50, is still alive and well today, educating thousands??
http://translate.google.com/translate?hl=en&sl=de&u=http://www.francke-halle.de/&ei=YL1CTuT_MOStsALA09XCCQ&sa=X&oi=translate&ct=result&resnum=1&ved=0CDoQ7gEwAA&prev=/search%3Fq%3DFranckesche%2BStiftungen%2Bzu%2BHalle%26hl%3Den%26sa%3DG%26tbo%3D1%26tbm%3Dbks
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
What I Love About Camp
Another great summer at West Central has come to its conclusion, a full week and a half earlier this year than last. The last few days have been filled with a thorough cleaning of the dorms and time well spent with Jessica and Duonna. The kitchen was filled with milk, delicious smells, more milk, and laughter. There were eight gallons of milk in the fridge Friday night. Duonna took one home and Jessica and I left just under two this morning. I would be content to never look at milk again.
Aside from recent dairy related nausea, it has been an incredible six weeks. I started this summer thinking that it would be my last at WCCSC. Now I am not so sure that next summer will not find me watching the pool at West Central. I love camp. And thinking that I may not return really cemented that fact. I love to watch the campers play in the pool (they are so goofy), I love to listen to their absurd conversations while they swim, I love to put food on their plates and greet them with a smile as they struggle to wake up enough to ask for more bacon. I love the kids. I love getting to know the faculty and finding myself looking forward to seeing them again. I love that Tom adopted Jess and I this year - a fact that he revealed of his own volition. I love that Duonna promised me today before we left that I could use her daughter's wedding decorations "when my time comes." I love that I have history at that camp and that I know the standard of Godliness (and cleanliness) to expect. I love watching the campers wrestle with the things they are learning and come to love Jesus more.
I love that an eleven year old camper begged me almost daily for french silk pie because he knew that I was a pushover, and had I had any leftover, it would've been his. I even love that the faculty teased me about the two popsicles and piece of pie I did give him to the point of getting him to ask me out on a date ("lifeguard, if you guess what I have in my hands I'll take you out on a date tonight....close enough! pick you up at 7, we're riding bikes!). I love to get in the water during pool time and splash the kids and to hear them chant "Lifeguard, lifeguard, lifeguard" as I go down the slide during their five minute break. I even thought it was mildly amusing when a mischievous high schooler asked me if I'd ever seen the Sandlot, and proceeded to attempt to act out the scene which he was referencing (fortunately the pool is only five feet deep and short of diving in headfirst, there was no way that could happen).
I love running on the gravel roads surrounding the camp and making mid-week Starbucks runs for appreciative faculty (and staff) members. I love to sit outside and listen to the campers sing late at night around the campfire, proclaiming their love for Jesus under bright stars and often a clear moon. I love that being at camp is a retreat for me. I love to sit and read and reflect and wrestle with the things that challenge me most. I love long talks with the nurse and celebrating crazy holidays and cooking together (which inevitably ends with her realizing just how stupid I truly am).
I feel so at home at camp. I love to do crazy things to make Tom shake his head while a smile creeps across his face. I love to say crazy things to which Duonna will invariably reply "You should. I want you to. I know you don't have morals." I love to sit with Jessica and read ridiculous books about Mennonites wearing little black dresses.
The time I spend at camp is without a doubt exhausting. There is simply no question. Yet somehow in the rigid routine and the mornings which come too early there is joy and peace. Even in the chaotic and dramatic events that plagued the kitchen for a few weeks, I wouldn't have traded the summer for anything. Camp is where I relax. Camp is what makes the rest of the year worth it. It is probably the busiest vacation in existence, but I find myself debating the possibility of saying goodbye to it as I pursue other opportunities. I know that Tom and Duonna will be proud of me no matter what and that God will provide both for the camp and for my future, but it is hard to look objectively at the idea of saying goodbye to West Central this close to being there constantly. The next few months will be filled with prayer and waiting on God, but I know that my heart belongs to West Central. And it always will, no matter where I am. Perhaps that is what makes the decision so difficult.
Even with such a difficult decision glaring back at me, I can look back on an untarnished summer of crazy tan lines and constant Starbucks, dropped calls and spotty cell phone service, knowing Jesus more and living in wonderful community. Oh, how I love camp.
Our last night of Duonna lovin'
Aside from recent dairy related nausea, it has been an incredible six weeks. I started this summer thinking that it would be my last at WCCSC. Now I am not so sure that next summer will not find me watching the pool at West Central. I love camp. And thinking that I may not return really cemented that fact. I love to watch the campers play in the pool (they are so goofy), I love to listen to their absurd conversations while they swim, I love to put food on their plates and greet them with a smile as they struggle to wake up enough to ask for more bacon. I love the kids. I love getting to know the faculty and finding myself looking forward to seeing them again. I love that Tom adopted Jess and I this year - a fact that he revealed of his own volition. I love that Duonna promised me today before we left that I could use her daughter's wedding decorations "when my time comes." I love that I have history at that camp and that I know the standard of Godliness (and cleanliness) to expect. I love watching the campers wrestle with the things they are learning and come to love Jesus more.
I love that an eleven year old camper begged me almost daily for french silk pie because he knew that I was a pushover, and had I had any leftover, it would've been his. I even love that the faculty teased me about the two popsicles and piece of pie I did give him to the point of getting him to ask me out on a date ("lifeguard, if you guess what I have in my hands I'll take you out on a date tonight....close enough! pick you up at 7, we're riding bikes!). I love to get in the water during pool time and splash the kids and to hear them chant "Lifeguard, lifeguard, lifeguard" as I go down the slide during their five minute break. I even thought it was mildly amusing when a mischievous high schooler asked me if I'd ever seen the Sandlot, and proceeded to attempt to act out the scene which he was referencing (fortunately the pool is only five feet deep and short of diving in headfirst, there was no way that could happen).
I love running on the gravel roads surrounding the camp and making mid-week Starbucks runs for appreciative faculty (and staff) members. I love to sit outside and listen to the campers sing late at night around the campfire, proclaiming their love for Jesus under bright stars and often a clear moon. I love that being at camp is a retreat for me. I love to sit and read and reflect and wrestle with the things that challenge me most. I love long talks with the nurse and celebrating crazy holidays and cooking together (which inevitably ends with her realizing just how stupid I truly am).
I feel so at home at camp. I love to do crazy things to make Tom shake his head while a smile creeps across his face. I love to say crazy things to which Duonna will invariably reply "You should. I want you to. I know you don't have morals." I love to sit with Jessica and read ridiculous books about Mennonites wearing little black dresses.
The time I spend at camp is without a doubt exhausting. There is simply no question. Yet somehow in the rigid routine and the mornings which come too early there is joy and peace. Even in the chaotic and dramatic events that plagued the kitchen for a few weeks, I wouldn't have traded the summer for anything. Camp is where I relax. Camp is what makes the rest of the year worth it. It is probably the busiest vacation in existence, but I find myself debating the possibility of saying goodbye to it as I pursue other opportunities. I know that Tom and Duonna will be proud of me no matter what and that God will provide both for the camp and for my future, but it is hard to look objectively at the idea of saying goodbye to West Central this close to being there constantly. The next few months will be filled with prayer and waiting on God, but I know that my heart belongs to West Central. And it always will, no matter where I am. Perhaps that is what makes the decision so difficult.
Even with such a difficult decision glaring back at me, I can look back on an untarnished summer of crazy tan lines and constant Starbucks, dropped calls and spotty cell phone service, knowing Jesus more and living in wonderful community. Oh, how I love camp.
Our last night of Duonna lovin'
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Home is Whenever I'm with You
Sarah's flight is probably preparing to take off as I write this.
As you may have guessed by the cheesy title, this post will take a turn for the sentimental. It may even become downright sappy. Don't say I didn't warn you. I've spent the past week with my best friend, a girl I've known since before I can remember. In our earlier years, our days were filled with office playdates (her mom worked at the church with my dad) and Thursday afternoon outings (our parents got so tired of our constant begging that they finally established a set day for Sarah to come over or for me to go to Sarah's; while that helped, I still remember asking my dad if Sarah could come over nearly everyday). We'd drink half of our Dunkin' Donuts chocolate milk (to the chagrin of my mother) and eat our donuts as we chatted away. Between the two of us, there was never a quiet moment. Ever. We'd run wild through the church building as our parents worked, getting into everything and having grand adventures. There is no one that I remember having so much fun with, except perhaps Tina (since we lived together).
Then one day, a car carried her away to Remsen, NY - a place about which I had never heard. Though we promised faithful correspondence, our barely passable writing skills never quite lived up. We were, after all, only in first grade. The summer after she moved (the summer after second grade), my parents agreed to detour to her farm on our traditional vacation to Kansas. I remember feeling something beyond excited. Despite our failed attempt to keep in touch, I had entered a story about her in my school writing contest. I hardly remember it now, though she swears its somewhere (I gave it to her on that trip). I wrote, illustrated, and published (sewed the binding on) this little story for which I was recognized in front of the entire elementary school I attended (it won 'Best Best Friends Story' - I was a good writer even then). We spent an afternoon together, but had to move on far too quickly. I remember flashes of that day, mostly memories jogged by a few photos we have.
After third grade, my family moved to Missouri. I was devastated to learn that, instead of visiting Sarah, we'd be spending a few days in New York City. Few girls are as disappointed as I at spending time in the Big Apple.
From there, we kept in touch spottily. A few letters here and there, an occasional phone call. Around seventh grade we became very faithful about our Saturday afternoon conversations. That was before texting and before everyone had internet. I'd count the minutes to when I knew she'd be available. We'd talk for an hour or so - until we got kicked off. Even in middle school - even now - there's always something to talk about.
The summer after eighth grade was the first time we saw each other face to face. She flew to Kansas City for a week. We were so excited. It was a very fun week but we didn't account for how much adjusting to each other we'd have to do. As a farm girl, she found it physically impossible to sleep past eight. As a city girl, I found it physically impossible to wake up before eight. She was (and still is) very extroverted. I am very introverted. Despite our differences, the week was practically unforgettable.
The next summer I flew to New York. I am not a farm girl - I learned that real quickly. But I got up before seven to milk cows - until I got horribly sick. The last few days I was there I caught some terrible virus that knocked me out for a while. But I did get out of chores.
The following summer, Sarah returned to Missouri. I could drive now, and we relished the thought of the keys and the open road.
Next year I found myself back on the farm, faithfully (and healthily) doing chores. We went to Water Safari that year, a water park that we drove through the Adirondacks (the mountain range she lives so close to) to find. We also visited her grandparents in Massachusetts and went to a family reunion in Connecticut. It was so much fun! I took pictures with "my" cows - the cow Sarah named after me and its babies - whom I got to name (Penelope and Sherlock, if you're wondering).
The next summer, we had graduated high school and Sarah flew to Missouri to celebrate. We had professional pictures done by a friend of mine, we drove to Kansas and stayed at my grandparents' for a few days (she met the whole fam), we drove to Joplin and I showed her my school and Precious Moments - it was a wonderful trip.
The next summer neither of us had time to travel - or money. Which brings us to this year. After two years apart, it was wonderful to be reunited. Honestly, it was a chill trip. We did some shopping, we did some henna, we went to Joplin and spent a morning volunteering. She got to meet some of my friends, we rode bikes and took walks and laid out, watched movies, cooked delicious food, and spend lots of time talking. All in all the trip was a smashing success.
The thing that I treasure most about Sarah is that I can tell her when I need space. We are nearly opposite in everything which makes us an odd pair to be so close. We've both said that if we hadn't grown up together, we would not be friends with each other. I'm way too type A, organized, and driven and she is way too relationally driven and extroverted. After a week together, we tend to get a little rough around the edges.
Perhaps that is why I always feel surprised at the profound sense of loss I feel as we arrive at the airport, check in, and one of us goes into security while the other watches - knowing that the amount of time between our next reunion is never set in stone. As I walked away from the gate this evening, I was moved nearly to tears as I reflected on our friendship. Sarah and I don't always see eye to eye. She drives me crazy sometimes. But I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I love her more dearly than I could ever think possible. I treasure her so deeply that I know that our friendship could never really end. I don't know why God put us together, but He did and for that I am grateful. Sitting beside her, I almost lose track of where she ends and I begin. There are very few people who have an unlimited license to hug me but she is one of them.
Saying all of this, it dawns on me that it is almost like a romance or like being in love. While I can assure all of you that it is entirely platonic (we are both too boy crazy for our own good), she is one of the few people in the entire world that I am not sure that I could love a boy more than. I trust her with everything. Literally. I wish that I could be there when things are going badly, but I am relegated to being the friend on the phone. I wish we could celebrate the little victories, but I can only send my congratulations via technology. Still, I know that we have something special. We've been friends for twenty years - a bond not easily shaken. There may come a day where the chaotic push and pull of life forces us to fall out of touch but I have a strong conviction deep within me that even in that circumstance we won't stop loving each other, we won't stop thinking of each other, and we'll make it work. Because we always have. We are pros at the long-distance thing.
A few letters I dug up:
The summer after we graduated:
The summer of '08 (the last of the cow days):
Friday, July 1, 2011
Urgency
Repent for the kingdom of heaven is near.
-Matthew 4:17
Urgency is more or less the buzzword of our generation. Vocalized or implied, this three syllable word seems to motivate nearly everything we have or do. "Now! Now! Now!" chants the class of twenty-somethings taking their place in society. "Give me the nicest, newest toy now!" "Give me the best job now!" Urgency is an undeniable theme by which we are governed.
Yet how often am I urgent when I preach the Gospel? How oten do I speak such a simple message of truth? How often will I leave my daily tasks - my livlihood, my social agenda, my all - for Jesus?
Far too rarely, I fear. I so admire the twelve for their immediate reaction to the Christ Incarnate. They knew less than I, yet were far more willing to respond to the call of discipleship. After the crucifixion, resurrection, and ascension, they earnestly proclaimed the kingdom. I wish that I would step up with the same boldness for Jesus - to proclaim the Gospel instead of sneaking it into some care package of social justice and missionary support. I wish that I was less often a cheapener of grace and more often a proclaimer of the true, costly grace that I have received.
But in a society turned off by the explicit statement of any one religion, how can one do that? Paul gives us some help in Acts 17, but I still feel more or less lost. Is it a lack of courage that stills my tongue or is the Holy Spirit preventing a fumble? For now I am still wrestling with that discernment.
But the kingdom is near and millions have not heard.
-Matthew 4:17
Urgency is more or less the buzzword of our generation. Vocalized or implied, this three syllable word seems to motivate nearly everything we have or do. "Now! Now! Now!" chants the class of twenty-somethings taking their place in society. "Give me the nicest, newest toy now!" "Give me the best job now!" Urgency is an undeniable theme by which we are governed.
Yet how often am I urgent when I preach the Gospel? How oten do I speak such a simple message of truth? How often will I leave my daily tasks - my livlihood, my social agenda, my all - for Jesus?
Far too rarely, I fear. I so admire the twelve for their immediate reaction to the Christ Incarnate. They knew less than I, yet were far more willing to respond to the call of discipleship. After the crucifixion, resurrection, and ascension, they earnestly proclaimed the kingdom. I wish that I would step up with the same boldness for Jesus - to proclaim the Gospel instead of sneaking it into some care package of social justice and missionary support. I wish that I was less often a cheapener of grace and more often a proclaimer of the true, costly grace that I have received.
But in a society turned off by the explicit statement of any one religion, how can one do that? Paul gives us some help in Acts 17, but I still feel more or less lost. Is it a lack of courage that stills my tongue or is the Holy Spirit preventing a fumble? For now I am still wrestling with that discernment.
But the kingdom is near and millions have not heard.
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