The Silent Siege

you wake up, stretch your toes out as far as you can, and give an over dramatic yawn. checking the clock, you see that it’s eight. “not too shabby,” you think. “it’s still pretty early.”

 

you reach over the side of your bed, find your phone, and scroll through facebook like it’s your own little local newspaper.

 

aw, Jenny got engaged! Winston is finally going on the trip he always wanted. Judy has the cutest kids.

 

wait. what is this?

 

Ten Reasons Getting up Before Six Will Change Your Life.

 

click. open. read.

 

you slowly begin to realize just how wrong you have been looking at this your whole life. you’ve been wasting so much time and you didn’t even know it. you are lazy. unmotivated. and did you know that people who get up earlier live a longer life?

 

you jump out of bed as quick as you can and rush into your morning routine. after getting out of the shower, making the bed, and folding a load of laundry you head to the kitchen and make yourself a cup of coffee while pouring a bowl of cereal.

 

as you sit down, your phone lights up with a notification, so you open facebook again, laugh at Tony’s comment, and do another quick scroll through your newsfeed.

 

Fifteen Things Your Breakfast Says About You.

 

wow. you never realized your breakfast said so much. you glance down at your fruit loops suddenly repelled and wish to goodness you had an avocado, whole wheat bread, free range chicken eggs, and sea salt. oh and maybe some mangos, spinach, and chia seeds for a smoothie. this kind of eating will lead to depression, obesity, probably death. this kind of eating points to immaturity and lack of willpower. another thing you need to change asap.

 

you run out to the store and buy some of the more exotic sounding foods that will change your life. these things aren’t cheap, but you certainly feel more mature and empowered. you check-out and a little while later, your husband shoots you a text.

 

“what on earth did you buy today? I went online to pay a bill and saw you spent over two hundred dollars at the store!”

 

you explain all the healthy things you plan on making with the rare items you found, but your husband is not impressed. in fact, he jokingly says he’ll be eating at his parents the next few days.

 

you fume angrily as you unload your expensive groceries. there are less bags than you thought. as you shove items into the back of your fridge, you collapse on the kitchen floor, you lean back against the cabinets, cross your legs, and see if there’s anything new online to take your mind off your ungrateful husband.

 

Twenty-One Ways You Know You have Found Mr. Right.

 

you scroll through the ways furiously.

 

“he respects your ideas.” hmpf! your husband didn’t seem so respectful of your ideas today! “he’s willing to try new things.” ha! you laugh bitterly. he would be fine staying the same forever, that old grump.

 

you get up off the kitchen floor feeling like you’ve been cheated out of Mr. Right and storm to the bathroom to fix your hair.

 

you carry on with your day in a mood. it seems like you can’t do anything right, and you’re feeling like it’s somebody’s fault. probably Mr. Not-Right’s.

 

a few hours later a Pinterest notification pops up. your sister sent you a picture of her dream outfit. you look at it for a moment and then glance at the suggested pictures and posts under it. there is a picture of a larger looking woman with the heading “Forget the Thigh Gap! Eleven Reasons Why I Want My Thighs Thick.”

 

almost automatically you click it. you read through it slowly and despairingly and learn that if only you had thicker thighs, you would be that much better and have so much more fun. you don’t even realize how absurd your feelings are or how absurd this article is. you simply think about the way that you have self-consciously been a tooth-pick your whole life with barely any figure at all.

 

by the evening, you feel completely worthless.  between instagram users with perfect pictures and links to their perfect lives, facebook articles telling you how to make your life or image better, pinterest to make you feel like your house and wardrobe should belong in a Goodwill ad, and the other countless internet plugs subtly showing you all that you’re not and all that you don’t have, you feel you will never be enough or have enough.

 

whether you relate to these particular examples or not, most of us have struggled with something on the internet before. if you just gave birth to your fourth child, you may be unconsciously envious when Sue posts a casual picture of her slim figure. if you’re a guy, you may wish you could buy a motorcycle as nice as the one Tim just bought or see as many amazing places as Jon or be tempted to stare at pictures of girls you wish were yours.

 

if you’re on a budget (and most people are) you will find yourself wishing you had just a little bit more to spend on furniture or clothes or your dream car or dieting pills or a gym membership or travel or food or a house.

 

and you’ll find yourself comparing even the internal struggles. so and so looks so happy all the time... I wish I was always so cheerful. so and so’s husband bought them expensive jewelry… again… I wish my husband would buy me something nice every now and then. so and so’s wife always makes homemaking look so easy… I wish my wife would pay more attention to cleaning. so and so has a more fulfilling career… I’m just doing this to pay the bills but I wish it was fulfilling. so and so always gushes about how blessed they are… why doesn’t God send us so many blessings. so and so is so popular and outgoing… I wish I was somebody’s role model.

 

we are living in an age that hands us all sorts of ideals and opinions on the silver tray of television and magazines and radio and pictures and articles and internet and billboards and movies and advertisements.

 

we are surrounded and unless we come out with our hands up and stare this oppressor in the face, we will simply continue to sit in our homes unaware of the siege that is quietly starving us of true joy and thankfulness.

 

so how do we face comparison? we are surrounded by everybody’s lives and thoughts and agendas and propaganda. how are we not to be overcome by it?

 

some would say that we simply avoid it altogether. unplug the television. delete all the apps. no more movies. don’t pick up that magazine. shut out the world, both the good and the bad.

 

I don’t know if you’ve ever seen “The Village” but it tells the story of those who tried taking that approach. set in what would appear to be the sixteen or seventeen hundreds, a small group of people live in a very simple village surrounded by woods, living very simple lives. the parents only teach goodness and kindness in their homes but warn their children of the danger beyond. as the story progresses, you begin to realize that the fathers and mothers of this little village are trying to protect their children by telling them of a monster who lives just outside their town, lurking in the woods. soon enough though, even with being protected from the outside world, even with strong morals, sin creeps in and causes havoc in the hearts of the whole village. in one of the last scenes, a younger girl goes for help from what she thinks is a neighboring village, climbs a wall, and stumbles onto a paved road and a ranger dressed in the garb of modern America.

 

the point of the movie was obvious. shutting out the whole world will not solve the problem of the heart.

 

and closing your eyes to everyone and everything that you feel is better than you, will not solve the comparison factor.

 

that’s not to say that taking those things in moderation or taking breaks from them or not having them at all is a bad thing. it’s just not the answer to solving the heart of the matter. sooner or later you will come into contact with humanity. and there will always be someone you feel is better than you. something that is nicer than what you have.

 

so how do we stop comparing ourselves to others? how do we not read articles and feel disappointed with ourselves? how do we not look at other’s lives and wish ours was more like theirs?

 

well one way is to be thankful.

 

Ann Voskamp, in her book “One Thousand Gifts” writes, “our fall was, has always been, and always will be, that we aren’t satisfied in God and what He gives. we hunger for something more, something other.”

 

what if we took everything we have, everything we are insecure about and considered it a gift? a gift given to us directly from God.

 

the messy house you can’t seem to keep up with? who was that mess made by? your kids? are you thankful for them? are they a gift? give thanks.

 

the clothing that you want but don’t have? do you have any clothing? (I hope so.) didn’t the God who clothes the lilies of the field clothe you with exactly what you need? isn’t that a gift? give thanks.

 

even the fact that you don’t have the brown hair you always wanted or the chiseled body that you think you need… didn’t God knit you together in your mother’s womb? didn’t He know you before the foundations of the world were laid? aren’t you made in His image? isn’t that a gift? give thanks.

 

if you are unhappy, it might not be because of the circumstances you hold responsible for your feelings. It might, in truth, be the way you are viewing those circumstances.

 

let’s face it, it’s not usually our actual circumstances that are the root of the problem. it’s how we feel about those circumstances.

 

you live in a house. that’s a good circumstance. but you feel like your sister has a bigger, better house and you feel like you need one too.

 

you have a face. that’s a good circumstance. but you feel like so and so’s is better looking and you feel depressed every time you pass a mirror.

 

hopefully you have a good spouse or parents or friends. not perfect, but good. that’s a good circumstance. but you feel like they just don’t understand. you feel like they should be better, care more, fit in better with that “Top Ten Ways to Know You have a True Friend” list.

 

you feel like you should be giving more, doing more, growing more, loving more, working more, relaxing more, saving more, spending more, exercising more, cooking more, communicating more, encouraging more.

 

and not all of those are bad feelings or things to do.

 

but they are when you don’t give them to God. and they are when you don’t give thanks.

 

“Give thanks in all circumstances, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.” 1 Thessalonians 5:18

 

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything through prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.” Philippians 4:6

 

another way to face the comparison factor is to stop comparing yourself and your life to others, and instead compare it to Christ.

 

did Christ wear the latest fashion, live in the cutest house, drive the fastest car… er… chariot?

 

was Christ the most popular person on the planet? did everything He say make everyone love Him? did He care what others thought about Him? did He compare Himself to everyone else?

 

did He withhold grace from others? did He only heal those who were in a social or political position that could be advantageous to Him? did He only love those who first loved Him? did He only do God’s will because He expected physical blessings here on earth?

 

doesn’t Christ give thanks and glory to God? doesn’t everything He does and says point back to God? didn’t He sacrifice His life, His comfort, His glory for that of God?

He didn't even have a top-whatever-number of reasons to tell Him to do so.

 

what if we did the same? what if we gave thanks for this gift called life? what if instead of focusing on what we don’t have, we focus on what we do? what if even what we do have we give back to God with thanksgiving in our hearts?

 

God doesn’t ask us to be like everyone else. He asks us to be like His Son.  ^“For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you might follow in his steps. ²² He committed no sin, neither was deceit found in his mouth. ²³ When he was reviled, he did not revile in return; when he suffered, he did not threaten, but continued entrusting himself to him who judges justly. ²⁴ He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness. By his wounds you have been healed. ²⁵ For you were straying like sheep, but have now returned to the Shepherd and Overseer of your souls” 1 Peter 2:21-25

 

 God doesn’t promise us we’ll be like everyone else. He promises that “He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion…” Philippians 1:6 and  ^“For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us. ¹⁹ For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God. ²⁰ For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope ²¹ that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God” Romans 8:18-21

 

the temptation to compare and be discouraged is real and in your face twenty-four-seven. and even when we remember to give thanks and set Christ as our example, day to day, minute to minute life has a way of shoving good intentions to the furthest dusty corner of our minds.

 

so that is why the third way to face the comparison factor is simply to pray. pray that you will be thankful. pray that you will set Christ as your example.

 

and pray for others. for the one who pops into your mind as you’re reading an article. for the friend you know who is struggling with the same insecurities you are. even for the people behind the seemingly flawless accounts and pictures.

 

give thanks. look above. pray continually.

 

these aren’t new struggles. these aren't new ideas.

 

if facebook was around two thousand years ago, underneath articles like "Ten Life-changing Ways to Make Your Donkey Less Stubborn" and "Five Sandals You Must Have This Season" you might have found an article called “The Top Three Ways to Stop Comparing Yourself to Others.”

 

 

 it's an age-old struggle, and it's more accessible than ever. but we serve a God who loves us through His Son right where we are for who we are in Him. messy houses, messy hearts, messy thoughts and all.

 

 

 

now that's something to be thankful for.

The Vulnerability of Being Human

The thought struck me while staring out the window. My hands dipped in soapy, crummy water. Scraping away the remains of an earlier meal consumed and already forgotten. My head slightly ached from thinking, but I breathed in the spring air coming through my open kitchen window and stared at the fence marking the edge of our yard.

 

We are so vulnerable.

 

I first remember feeling the weight of vulnerability in second grade. My passion for Jesus and missions was flying high as I approached the desk of my teacher with hand-written salvation tract in hand. If my heart was banging a little faster than normal, I didn’t know why. It wasn’t until she glanced at it and dismissed it with a “that’s nice” that I felt that beating organ drop a little further in my chest. In less than a second, my whole life’s passion had been waved aside by a “that’s nice” I knew she didn’t mean. I felt silly. I felt like a failure. I felt… something that I couldn’t put a name to. We are so vulnerable.

 

I felt that way while walking through Chicago in the dead of winter, passing thousands of unknown faces, all hunkered down into their jackets, scarves, and hats, staring at the sidewalk, letting the bitter wind whistle over, around, and past their layered clothes. Knowing that deep down they were cold, but still they pressed on. Behind the wind-reddened faces were countless stories I hadn’t and may never hear. We are so vulnerable.

 

I remember the time I watched my dad outside the living room window. He was doing yardwork, and in a few seconds, the fate of my life would hang in his branch-trimming hands. What would he say about the boy who had told me he liked me? Would he be mad? Would he be okay? Stepping through the front door with hands in my pockets, I told him as awkwardly as possible. And he grinned a silly smile, and I began to grin as well. We are so vulnerable.

 

I remember how that crush wasn’t only a crush. It was love. And how my parents’ thought we weren’t ready for that yet. How for a season, I didn’t talk with the boy who loved me. How for a season I couldn’t be sure if he even still did. How I spent every other minute wondering what he was doing and how he felt about me. Wondering if it would ever work out. How I felt sick and depressed and angry at God. We are so vulnerable.

 

I remember how during that time, I got physically sick. How the hospital couldn’t tell us why. How my mom sat near my head, held my hand, and prepared herself for calling the family to say goodbye. How my heart rate soared and my fever worsened and I couldn’t hold my own weight. How my heart rate and fever just as suddenly went back to normal. How a nurse taking me to my MRI told me he would pray for me. How my dad bought me a Snoopy stuffed animal. How I ordered hummus and couldn’t eat it for feeling nauseas. How I told my mom while I lay in a white bed how much I loved the boy I hadn’t spoken to in so long. How the doctor’s told me I couldn’t go on my mission’s trip to Papua New Guinea. And how much I didn’t understand God. We are so vulnerable.

 

I remember the time I watched a young man sing his heart and soul out for God at a little talent show in a small wooden tabernacle on a hill beside Lake Michigan. The young man had a disability and didn’t hit a single note, but I cried my heart out and realized that even in the brokenness, God is good. A little girl who had been through more than I ever had sat on my lap and wiped away my tears and we talked about heaven and how nice it would be to see each other there one day. A man who could barely use his arms or legs made an effort to reach out his hand to me, squeeze my own ever so faintly, and smile a smile that only angels could fully appreciate. We are so vulnerable.

 

I remember loving a boy. A boy who had turned into a man, not by accident, but by choice. And how this kind of love was new and how it was thrilling and how it was scary all at once. We talked about the future and what that could look like and how we wanted it to be with each other no matter what else may come. I waited for a ring. And I said to myself, “What will next year at this time look like? Will we be married? Will we have kids? Or does God have something completely unexpected planned? Something that I won’t like at all?” And I cried at the thought of not being able to control the future. But I also remembered how God had controlled the past. We are so vulnerable.

 

A ring came. And with it joy. And with joy, work. And with joy and work, change. I held my baby sister longer and my five year old sister and I had picnics in the play-fort and I gave my sixteen year old sister my special ring and we both cried. My mom and I sat on the kitchen floor often, and dad would look at me with a mixture of sadness and pride, and I felt like my heart would burst from the change. I took more pictures. I wrote more words. I absorbed more memories and looks and dialogue than I knew how to process, and so the excess often came out in tears or laying in my grandpa’s fields. I was happy. I was sad. We are so vulnerable.

 

A wedding day came and for the first time ever, I got to play the bride. At five a.m. I sat in the bathroom and my sister did my make-up. At eight, as I got ready to walk out the door, my mom reminded me that this was my last time being a Smock at the house I had spent the majority of my life living and growing and breathing and maturing in. At the church, I got into my dress and my best friend buttoned it up. I stood for portraits. I smiled til my cheeks ached. I didn’t know how I could bear so many last moments and so many firsts all at once. But then I saw him through the window. Standing with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. His dark head slightly bowed and his dark eyes looking steadily, evenly forward. My head pounded and my eyes were wet. I loved him so much. I would give up all I had known if only I could be with him. We are so vulnerable.

 

A year of marriage went by in a flash. Every season and what it brought. Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall, and back to Winter again. “Here we go round the mulberry bush…”  We put our whole selves out there for the other to see, and our love became deeper. Not without misunderstandings. Not without embarrassment. Not without humbling ourselves and saying sorry. But with much grace, understanding, and a love deeper than good days only. I wasn’t only in love with him, I was proud of him. Beyond what I could have imagined. And knowing that he felt the same about me… how could I feel so much joy? How could God be so good? We are so vulnerable.

 

But there were other changes that were harder. And most of those involved the changes happening inside of me. Those involved the day to day grind that every human is faced with; feeling alone in your friends, feeling not good enough, hearing unkind things said and taking them to heart. Messy house, messy thoughts. Rushing here, rushing there. Always wondering about the future. Always wanting to be better. We are so vulnerable.

 

These were the thoughts that I found myself thinking while staring out the window with soap on my hands and vulnerability in my heart and in the hearts of every human on the planet. Sometimes, life is just a lot to handle. The good, the bad. The emotions, the facts. We are human. We are affected by our surroundings, by other’s opinions, by the cold, by the rain, by the amount of dishes stacked up in our sinks, by politics, by our hopes for the future, by our haunts of the past, by our possessions and our peers and our friends.

 

There are so many “Top Ten Ways to Get the Man of Your Dreams” articles out there. Along with “How You Know You’ve Found the One” opinions. There are suggestions for healthy diets. Warnings against vaccines. Thoughts on parenting. Pinterest solutions for a messy house, capsule wardrobes, and do-it-yourself’s.

 

There are so many people out there to please and with opinions on how to do that. So many people with opinions of you. Some that may think better of you than you think you deserve. And some that, no matter how hard you may bend over backwards, just don’t like you at all. There are situations to handle that feel impossible. People, circumstances, and things that will drag you down.

 

There is so much pressure to fit in with the system. To have your college education, a career, the home of your dreams, the distinguished business husband, the two Gap kids model children.

 

We are so vulnerable, but we try so hard to hide it.

 

How often do you find Instagram accounts where every post is a picture of cobwebs in the corners, several-day-old pancake batter splattered on the counter, children screaming their heads off? When do you find captions like "I thought I was content until Becky posted about her new house," or "I can't seem to get on top of things and really don't know what to do?" How often do you find the really vulnerable moments that can make or break your character?

 

How often do you ask someone “how are you doing?” and they say, “honestly, I feel so fat compared to the girls I see on tv and I’ve been skipping meals just to try to be something I’m not.”

 

You don’t find articles listing the “Top Twenty Ways to be Vulnerable.” Vulnerability is what we do best. But it’s something we don’t usually acknowledge.

 

What is my point? My point is only this. Don’t be afraid to be vulnerable. Don’t beat yourself up when you don’t feel you add up to the perfect blogger mom who has a recipe and hair product and child-rearing answer for everything. Don’t beat yourself up when a circumstance leaves you feeling hurt and unworthy. Don’t beat yourself up when you feel strongly or care deeply or love unconditionally. We are all so vulnerable.

 

The world, and even Christians, portray their standard as perfection, but God portrays Himself as perfection, and the only perfect one out there is Jesus Christ.

 

So be vulnerable. But be vulnerable in Jesus.

 

What does that look like? It looks like praying. Giving Him your cares and concerns. Your insecurities and your failures. Your joys and your strengths. Your future and your past and your present. It means telling Him, “I know I am not enough, but I also know that you are. I know I am like the flower of the grass which today is alive and confident and happy, but tomorrow will be blown by a fowl wind and begin to doubt and shrink and wither. But I also know you are the gentle rain that gives me life and sustains me through every season. I know I may feel countless feelings, but I also know that you are always with me through each and every one. I know I am vulnerable, but I also know that you are more than enough for my emotions and my beating, trembling heart.”

 

We live in a time when vulnerability is weakness. But it doesn’t have to be weakness. It can also be strength. Strength to reach out to the one in a similar circumstance as us. Strength to love even when it hurts. Strength to come along side another and work through trials and tribulations together. Strength to say “not anything that I have done, but only you Jesus.” Strength to admit fault or love firmly or discipline the rascal child. Strength to be humble and wash the feet of those around you.

 

“Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow…”

 

 

If I had waited twenty years to write this, who knows what I could have added to my list of vulnerabilities. Only God knows what my life and heart and soul will hold.

 

But for now, I will wash dishes. I will use the rawness and reality of life not as something to place behind a wall and put a flowery wallpaper over, nor to shout it obscenely from the mountain top. It isn’t something that has to be covered, but it also isn’t something that needs to be a showcase. It is something that needs to be recognized and utilized for the glory of God. Use it to bless those around you. To say “I have been there too, brother. You are not alone. You are never alone.” Use it as an encouragement even to your own heart. We are all in this together.

 

We are all so vulnerable. And those who believe are all so forgiven, known, loved by the God who made Himself vulnerable for us by becoming a vulnerable man, having vulnerable words spoken about and against Him, dying a vulnerable death, and rising again in a tangible way in which the vulnerable holes in his hands and feet could still be felt and touched.

Vulnerability is not weakness. It is finding strength in the Lord.

 

"For consider your calling, brothers: not many of you were wise according to worldly standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth. But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are, so that no human being might boast in the presence of God. And because of Him you are in Christ Jesus, who became to us wisdom from God, righteousness and sanctification and redemption so that, as it is written, 'Let the one who boasts, boast in the Lord."

1 Corinthians 1: 26-31

A Remembrance

a few years ago, on the eve of the tenth anniversary of the terrorist attacks, I wrote my seventeen-year-old heart and soul into an article. this morning I went back and found it, and now I want to share it again.

I debated whether I should retouch it or add more, but honestly, I think I said it all the first time. maybe in a simpler, less rambling way than I would now...

but somehow that's okay.

***

I kicked it into auto-pilot as I automatically reached for my sandwich, mechanically shoved a bite into my mouth, and instinctively chewed. swallowing required a bit of manual strength as my pb&j reluctantly slid down my throat.

you see, lunch had suddenly became a chore as I listened with all my might to what my dad was telling us. and swallowing had become extra difficult because of what he was saying.

imagine this:

you are aboard United Airlines Flight 93. it is the year 2001. and the date is September 11. you have two sons at home and a wife who is expecting your third child. you are thirty-one years old, went to high-school at wheaton academy, and were known as the soccer player who was always smiling.

your name is Todd Beamer, and your plane has just been hijacked by terrorists.

now imagine this:

your name is Lisa Jefferson. you are a supervisor for GTE and the man on the phone with you is disappointed that you are not able to connect him to his wife. this man is aboard a hijacked plane and quickly relates to you how a passenger has been stabbed to death, the pilot and co-pilot were kicked out of the cockpit and possibly injured, and the plane has just taken a south-easterly turn. he also informs you that he and the other passengers are planning a revolt. they have heard what happened earlier that morning in New York and at the Pentagon and are ready to die if it means saving more lives.

now imagine this:

you hear Todd Beamer say, “are you guys ready….? then let’s roll.” and those are his last audible words.

United Airlines Flight 93 crashed in Shanksville, Pennsylvania. all 40 passengers and crew members onboard were killed. but how many lives did they save? speculation is that that plane was intended by the terrorists for Washington D.C. and possibly for the white house.

my dad knew Todd Beamer. he went to school with him, and my dad was the one who recalled that Beamer was a soccer player, a good kid, and one who was always smiling.

Beamer was not a fictional character. he was a real-life, living-breathing hero. and he wasn’t the only hero on that horrendous day ten years ago.

many others sacrificed their lives in order to save others. many firefighters’ wives went to bed that night without a husband and many moms and dads suddenly became single parents because their loved one had put others first.

it was a devastating time.

but in the midst of the devastation, people came together, worked together, cried together, rejoiced together, and prayed together. our nation cried out to God. during the seventh inning stretch at baseball games, we stopped singing, “take me out to the ballgame” and began singing “God bless America”. people were down on their knees praying to God for help. everyone seemed to sense God’s presence and many turned to Him in their bitterness and sadness.

ten years later, have we strayed from that? have we forgotten what it means to rely on God? it would seem so. our nation has become like the Israelites in which we complain to Him and run to Him in the hard times, but when things seem under our own control, we think we can handle anything and don’t need to be dependent upon Him.

to many, the pain of 9/11 is still fresh. a woman on the news this morning sobbed as she told of the high-school sweetheart she was engaged to being killed in the attack.

I myself, cried as I watched, read, and looked up information on 9/11.

last night, a friend of mine and I were talking about where we were when the attack happened. he said that he had been sitting in his family room watching the news on tv. he saw the second plane hit.

I was at school. only seven years old at the time, I remember that the teachers were rather frantic, but trying to remain calm. whispers of two towers in New York getting attacked reached my ears, but I didn’t understand what that meant. I remember my best friend’s mom made her come home from school early. and I remember the strained look on my mom’s face as she picked me up from school, brought me home, and put me in front of the television. I saw the footage of the towers falling, but I didn’t comprehend exactly how horrible such an event was.

it wasn’t until several years later, as I watched reruns of the towers falling, that the magnitude of the attack struck me. I spent the rest of the night sobbing. Sobbing for all the brave men and women who had died. Even sobbing for all the cowards who had died.

where were you when our land was attacked? do you remember?

I think it is good for us as Americans to remember September 11^th. we need to be on our knees praying for this nation that we love. we need to turn to God not only in the hardest of times, but in the best of times. we need to thank Him for the heroes like Todd Beamer and pray for those who are still hurting.

tomorrow, I plan on dedicating some of my day to praying for our nation. for this land that I love. for our president. for our people. for our future.

and I pray that our nation will remember to honor God and turn to Him at all times.

God bless America!

An Answer

this is an answer.

an answer to a question I get a lot and never know how to answer.

how is married life?

***

Christian and I were already in bed. checking our phones before we slept like they were the evening news. the lamp was casting warm light over our cozy, cream colored blankets. it was beautifully still in the summer world outside. but I could hear my husband's breathing get a little bit heavier beside me. I looked over at him and his eyes were sparkling. sparkling with tears. his glance found mine and acknowledged my unspoken question.

"Papa sent out an email. I'll read it to you."

his usually powerful voice was quiet and choked. I moved closer and put my head in the nook of his arm as he echoed the words of his grandfather. an aging grandfather who had invested so much time into my husband's life.

"Good morning to each one of you. I get a lot of time to think as I sit in my chair all day and don't do much that is constructive. The use of my legs and arms are slowly getting poorer..."

Christian's voice went out for a moment. I stayed silent. he gained control.

"The words of a song often come to mind to challenge me, and they are 'When the Trumpet of the LORD Shall Sound'. This is a challenge to me, and will I be there? Am I trusting Jesus Christ and what He did to pay for the sins that I have committed against GOD and man?

a tear threatened to tip over my eye-lid and plummet to his shoulder.

"Then it comes to mind, have I done anything that would keep my wife, children, and grandchildren from trusting Jesus Christ for their salvation? On the basis of what Jesus Christ has done, and what HE alone has done, 'I'll be there'. My question to each of you is 'Are you trusting Jesus Christ alone?' so that you will be with me?"

his Papa went on to write out the words of the song that had challenged him. and my husband read them slowly.

he put his phone down and wrapped his arms around me. neither of us said anything.

quietness pervaded the room for several minutes. each of us lost in our thoughts. not needing the comfort of words. simply needing the comfort of knowing the other one was there.

Christian turned the lamp off and softly began to tell me as much as he knew about his grandfather's past. about how he was on the team for building the first cell phone ever. how he had met his wife. the kind of dad he had been to my mother-in-law. how he loved God. how he knew his time was approaching when he would meet his beloved Savior face to face.

he quietly talked and I asked the occasional question until we talked ourselves to sleep...

him with his fingers wound into mine.

that's how married life is.

***
I was angry. very, very angry. why? oh, do you care to see my list? no? fine.

just fine.

I stormed out of the house. tears scalding my cheeks. they were literally hot. I knew I was overreacting. but I didn't care.

I sat down at the marsh crying and thinking. then on the back step feeling remorseful. then in the car hoping he felt remorseful. hoping he felt worried and was wondering where the heck I was. hoping this would teach him a lesson.

why was I so mad, you ask? had he slapped me or yelled at me or threatened me? nope. it was over something small. something small that I had let build up in my head for too long. so long had this particular subject had been teetering precariously on a scale in my mind, that the fact that he had done the same small thing again tonight had tipped the scales and sent them crashing into one spit-fire attack being launched from my mouth.

I began to cool down. I severely scolded the general (my stupid heart) who had so hastily called for war and sat down on the battlefield (or you know, the stairs) to nurse the wounded (my pride).

I was still angry, but I was starting to realize how foolish I had been.

I finally slunk a little bit sheepishly back inside still half expecting him to rush over to me and apologize for whatever he had done wrong and beg on his hands and knees for my forgiveness. still half feeling like it would be right if he did.

but he was asleep.

quietly snoring.

of all the frustrating things in the world.

this wasn't what I expected. this wasn't what I had planned for.

my war strategy was completely ineffective on someone who was sleeping.
 
the enemy-side lay sleeping before me. suddenly, I wondered why I had gotten so mad at all. I mean, I remembered. but was it worth this? it had been over something so small.

I thought about how someone had long ago responded to me in a similar way. how physically sick it had made me and how I had sworn never to do that. never to storm out. it made me physically sick now to realize I had done it myself.

oh Lord. how much I have to learn! forgive me!

my hastily built wall of anger came crashing down all at once.

I was crying again now. crying tears of "how terrible can I be to this guy that loves me more than he loves himself?"

I crept into bed next to his sleeping form and willed that he would know that I was sorry even as he slept. I couldn't really shake him awake and be like, "hey sunshine! sorry to wake you! I know this is probably bad timing, but I'm a nutcase and I'd really appreciate it if you'd forget that little tantrum and forgive me?"

but I prayed he'd forgive me.

and the next morning, he did. at first a little hesitantly (I don't think men understand how quickly women change their minds or how quickly they can realize they are wrong, so it took him a minute to make sure I was serious). but then sweetly, completely, he forgave me just like that.

"no really. you don't have to forgive me. you can probably send me back and get a refund or something," I wanted to say.

but he didn't hold it against me.

instead we talked for four hours straight. about both of our strengths and weaknesses. about what had set me off in the first place. him apologizing. me apologizing. encouraging each other. promising prayer for each other. me promising not to respond like that again.

he forgave me. I forgave him. we don't bring it up and shove it in each other's faces.

because we both have so much to learn. and we both get to learn together. we can't keep tabs on who got angry when. we can't keep tabs on each other's weaknesses and faults. 

relationships are not perfect. relationships are so vulnerable.

relationships are having fights and saying sorry and forgiving completely.

that's how married life is.

***
 
we love breakfast for dinner. we get out all the pans we have and fry up bacon and eggs and pancakes and hash browns. biscuits brown in the oven. gravy thickens on the stove.
 
we work side by side. occasionally whacking the other and pretending we didn't. or dutifully reminding the other that that is against the rules. what rules? we don't know. but there is an imaginary rule book to our marriage and we bring it up whenever a new pretend rule needs to be stated.
 
we are ridiculous. but we don't care.
 
"HEY. TICKLING IS AGAINST THE RULES."
 
we pile up the dishes in the sink. we test the bacon for crispiness perfection. we get out plates and heap everything on. he grabs the salt and pepper. I grab us tall, cold drinks of apple juice.
 
napkins? got 'em!
 
we sit at the dinner table and hold hands. he lifts up a prayer to heaven, thanking God for food and another day of living.
 
we shovel down deliciousness and don't even speak at all. we are comfortable with silence. we are comfortable with stuffing our mouths with food in front of each other. I point out the egg on his face. he watches my biscuit crumble all over my lap.
 
we are ridiculous. but we don't care.
 
we slow down towards the end. dishes are waiting. but he offers to dry. and so while I scrub plates and forks and pans and more pans, we talk. about anything. and everything. what needs to be done. and how maybe it can just be done tomorrow because having a movie night sounds way more fun.
 
so we watch movies. and he puts his arm around me. I complain I'm cold. he tells me to scoot closer. I remark that I'm already up against him. he whines that I don't really like him or else I would come closer.
 
halfway through the movie, he tells me he thinks we should get married. I tell him that I'm already married. he moves his arm away and looks shocked. "how could you!" he says and looks disgusted with me. I laugh my heart out and gently remind him that I'm married to him.
 
"when did that happen?" he asks.
 
"a long time ago. in a dream."
 
"oh," he says. "that must have been a good dream."
 
he sits close to me again and holds my hand and kisses me with an overdramatic lip-smack.
 
"I love you," I say.
 
"I love you too, Nay," he says back.
 
we are ridiculous. but we don't care.

that's how married life is.
 
***

we make up pretend situations and act them out.

sometimes at restaurants, we pretend we are on our first date. we ask each other basic questions and make up answers in a rather bored tone of voice. half-way through our first date, I suddenly interrupt to ask him if he wants to move in with me.
"isn't that a little forward!?" he asks. I shrug. "I like you," I say and give him a wink.

people around us probably think we are crazy.

when I cry, he knows that it's better if he just holds me. trying to make me make sense of why I'm crying never works, because there's never really a good reason. besides. I calm down faster when I think he understands.

when he insists that his way of doing something is better than mine, I give in and do it his way. (I'll never make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich the same way again...)

when we eat chocolate coconut-milk ice-cream, I have learned the best way to hog it is to run all over the house in a zigzag pattern, eating while I run. that way when he catches me, I've already eaten quite a bit.

when he gets home from work, I know that he needs at least an hour to unwind before I bombard him with questions.

we split the radio station between country and... whatever it is he listens to.

we know when the other one wants to be left alone and when the other one is just pretending they want to be left alone but in reality needs someone to pay attention to them.

we say I love you way more times a day than is necessary. but we mean it every time.

we know each other backwards and forwards. we know each other's dislikes and super likes and super dislikes and yet we are still learning about each other.

I like him more everyday. and I have this hunch that he likes me more everyday too.

we pray about what's happening in our lives and in the lives of those around us. Psalms is both of our favorites and I love when he reads them out loud at night.

are you starting to see? married life has a lot of different aspects, and none of them can really be wrapped up in the word "good" when someone asks how it is.

it's good, but it's also great at times.

it's good, but it's also hard at times.

it's good, but it's also everything I ever wanted at times.

it's good, but it's also a challenge to all that is in me at times.

you know what married life really is?

it's waking up and depending on Jesus Christ every single day. just like I did when I wasn't married. just like I'll do for the rest of my life. just like Christian did before he was married. just like Christian will do every single day of his life.

the only difference is you get to do it with someone else.

so if you're not married yet and everything I've written (even my tantrum) sounds dreamy to you (I hope my tantrum doesn't sound dreamy to you) or if you are married and you relate to the good and the bad and the really good and the really ugly or NO MATTER WHERE YOU ARE IN YOUR LIFE I just want to say...

right now is a good time to put Christ at the center of your life, of your marriage, of your schooling, of your family, of your trials, of your blessings.

at every season in your life, in every minute of your relationships, in every hour of your marriages... put Christ first. trust Him in all things, all situations, all times.

He has to be the anchor of your soul. because life is a sea of ups and downs. right now I'm riding a wave of happiness, but when a challenge comes and I go speeding down down down into the depths, it is Christ who raises me up and gives me strength.

am I happy I get to sail this sea with Christian? you better believe it. happy doesn't even cut it. he is my favorite human being in the universe and I thank God for giving him to me on this journey.

but even if you haven't found your travel companion yet, even if I hadn't found mine yet, even though I have found mine...

as you walk on the unpredictable waters of this life, don't be like Peter and look away from Christ's love. don't sink below the surface in your franticness to be in control. keep your eyes fixed on Him. in every day and every thought.

He will guide you through all things with His steady hand.

because that's just how God is.

I hope this answered your question on how married life is.

If not, please accept a semi-blank look on my face and a "gooooood!" the next time I see you. ;)

A Drum Beat

the world is vibrating with a message.

a message that penetrates the toughest skin.

it infects us all.

your very heart beats with the message.

it has been the cause of too many tears. too many headaches. too many worried sleeps. too many people starving themselves or hurting themselves or hating themselves. too many heartaches. too many inward battles and depression and bitter cries. too many insecurities. way too many insecurities.

the message is simple.

you aren't good enough.

your face isn't pretty enough. your car isn't new enough. your house isn't big enough. your education isn't good enough. your dreams aren't big enough. your body isn't thin enough. your stomach isn't muscular enough. your clothes aren't cool enough. your personality isn't exciting enough. your social
life isn't busy enough. your job doesn't pay enough. your daily life isn't inspiring enough. your character isn't perfect enough. you don't look young enough. you don't act old enough.

you aren't good enough.

let's go back a few years. or maybe more than a few for some.

you take your first few breaths and you are immediately rated. and on a large scale at that.

"why, he is the smallest, most beautiful baby in the world!!"

welcome to a planet where small and beautiful is a good thing. and you are the smallest and most beautiful. in the world.

until ninth grade when you are trying out for highschool varsity basketball. where they want you to be big and tall. and could care less if you're beautiful.

you see, keeping up with being "good enough" is a tricky thing. as you grow, what's expected of you changes.

when you learn to walk, it's a good thing. when you walk into the street, it's a bad thing. when you start to talk, it's a good thing. when you say, "NO MOMMY!" it's a bad thing. when you get good grades in school, it's a good thing. until the other kids don't like you for it and bully you... then it's a bad thing. when you tell your best friend a secret, it's a good thing (to them). when they go and tell someone else, it's a bad thing (for you). when you are excellent at something, it's a good
thing. when you talk about yourself being excellent at something, it's a bad thing. when you have energy, it's a good thing. until you are at a fancy dinner, then it's a bad thing.

there's also the issue of balance.

if you wear too much make-up, you're trying to attract attention. if you don't wear any make-up, you don't care about yourself. if you wear a skirt that's too short, you're trying to be sexy. if you wear a skirt that's too long, you're a hypocrite. if you eat a lot, you're fat. if you don't eat
a lot, you're annorexic. if you're outgoing and friendly, you're a flirt. if you are reserved, then you have an attitude. if you talk a lot, then you're self-centered. if you don't talk a lot, then you are probably judgemental. if you try to do what's right, you're a goody two shoes. if you don't try to do what's right, then you're probably a bad word and other parents keep their children away from you. if you struggle with your emotions, then you are a drama queen. if you don't, then
you're heartless and cold.

and don't forget to throw in expectations and the speed of life.

you're in highschool so you're immediately asked about your college choices. you're in college so you're immediately asked about potential girlfriends/boyfriends. you get a girlfriend/boyfriend so you're immediately asked about when you're getting engaged. you're engaged so you're immediately
asked about wedding dates. you're married so you're immediately asked about having children. you have children, so you're asked about your work. you have a good job
so you're asked about your children's education. you get old, so you're asked about your grandchildren. you get too old, so you stop getting asked anything.

life is all about what's next. and if you're doing it good enough, fast enough, balanced enough. you've felt the pressure almost since you were the smallest, most beautiful baby in the world.

feeling dizzy yet?

while I was working at a BBQ restaurant a few summers back, I had a complete stranger ask me about my education. he was maybe in his fifties. I had just graduated high school a few weeks ago.

"so where are you going to college, young lady?"

"I... um... I'm not really sure yet. there are a lot of different things I want to do, but my mom just had a baby, so I think I'm going to take a year at home and help..."

"just make sure you DO something about that college education! you don't want to be a burden to your parents."

really, sir? really? were you listening at all, or were you listening to the constant beat of life? the drumming statement in your own mind... "you'll never be good enough."

his words haunted me nonetheless. because I can hear the beating in my head too. the insecurity arising. the I'm-out-of-control questions pounding at the door to my heart.

life begins to feel like a juggling act. we feel secure about where we are, but oh! not with who we are.

and there is a difference.

some days, I'm just so happy to be here, married to Christian, running my own house, making my own food. but then it hits me. "I sounded like a little old married lady the other day talking with
so-and-so. they seemed normal and exciting and busy. but did I? oh gosh, am I getting boring!? oh no... EVEN MY CLOTHES WERE BORING THAT DAY! I wonder if people think
I'm boring. I wonder what they think I do all day... do they think I'm lazy? what do they think of me?!"

other days, I'm happy with who I am, but not where I am. "I am a wife. I am married to my best friend. what more could I want?" *Pandora ad comes on about a local college* "what am I doing here!?!?!? being a wife isn't enough!!!!! I need a career too! I need fulfillment in my life! who cares about washing dishes or folding another load of laundry!!! there are way more important things to be doing! show me what I'm supposed to be doing, Lord!"

and other days, I'm happy about who I am and where I am, but I feel unbalanced deep within myself. "I don't text people often enough. I wonder if they're mad at me for it. I wonder if they even like me anymore? I wonder what they say about me. I wonder what people say about me in general. how do I come across? I wonder if I sounded rude when I said that the other day. I was only kidding. they knew I was kidding right? do I come across as too much of a jokester? but then I post way too many serious things... maybe people think I'm too serious or dramatic. maybe they get tired of my pictures or think I'm being self-centered. I wonder if they think that? I wonder if they can see
all my struggles? if they could see what those struggles are would they still like me? if they could see how I've messed up, would they still give two pennies about anything I say? am I good enough? how can I ever be good enough?"

and the world beats on with it's message. it beats on your heart, mind, and soul. from without. from within. because most doors are two-ways like that.

will I ever be good enough? for others? for myself? for God?

I guess if we are asking ourselves what "good enough" is, we should be asking ourselves what "good" is.

and maybe we should ask the God who created the word and the meaning behind the word.

it's simple really. have you kept all His commandments perfectly?

no. no you haven't. you have lied. you have stolen. you have disobeyed. you have wanted what someone else has. and I'm sure you have broken more of God's commands. I know I have.

so actually, you really aren't good enough. because God is holy. and accepts nothing less than perfect.

in fact, you and me? we deserve Hell and eternal separation from God. complete separation from the source of goodness. for as long as you can imagine. and then that length of time again. and again. and again. forever. eternity.

it makes my concern over face acne and how it affects my beauty in other people's eyes seem a bit... lame. and dismally pathetic. and pointless? yeah. pointless.

we aren't good enough.

but that's actually okay. because we don't have to be. because someone else is.

when Christ took our place on the cross, He became our "good enough". when His flesh was hammered and nailed into a piece of tree, His perfect blood was our "good  enough". when His dying words were uttered "it is finished!", they became our "good enough". when he bore God's wrath for our "not good enough", He became our "good enough".

why is it that we who believe and have been made righteous in God's eyes through Jesus Christ, still sit around trying to be good enough?

isn't He good enough? who are we trying to impress? what are we focusing on more? ourselves and our "not good enoughs"? or Christ and His "good enough"?

God made the grass. He made the ocean. He made the whole freaking world, and the whole freaking sky. and by made, I mean He spoke and there it was. He said a word and the sun and the moon were born from nothing. not made from some particle of dust evolving over millions and billions and trillions of years. they were born instantly. born of the very voice of God. He said a word, and all the stars hung themselves throughout the night. He said a word, and there were living land creatures. He said another word, and there were living plants.

He took some dust, and formed man from it and breathed His own breath into him "and
the man became a living creature." (Genesis 2:7)

He breathed into dust and we were living. we are dust. but we are dust made living from God's own breath.

isn't that good enough?

the very same God who made everything around you with His words is still speaking. He's telling a story right now. and you are exactly at the part of the story He is telling you into. and He's not making you walk that story alone. He's holding your hand through it, fighting the battles alongside you, catching your tears as they fall, pulling you closer in the scary parts, loving you desperately in the desperate parts, using each sentence He tells and you walk through for His glory. He has
spoiled the ending. He has promised you a life of eternal goodness with Him at the end of it all.

isn't that good enough? isn't right where you are in His story good enough? isn't who you are in His story good enough?

instead of worrying or complaining or trying to push ahead to the next part, shouldn't we just stop and give thanks for right. now. ?

"lead me to the rock that is higher than I, for you have been my refuge, a strong tower..."(Psalm 61)

when we are not balanced, He is the rock that is higher than our insecurities. He is the refuge from our fears. He is the strong tower against our own silliness.

we spend too much time being insecure, when we have security.

we get caught up in the rythem of trying to be the best, look the best, have the best.

even as Christians, we get caught up in looking like we have it all together. many a Sunday, I have tried to quickly "pull myself together". sometimes I've been spitting out angry, bitter words in the car, only to rush into service and look the part of a happy worshipper.

most of us honestly want to have it all together and not just have to act like we do. when we let ourselves down though, we get caught up in bashing ourselves and telling ourselves what? that we're not good enough. we should be telling ourselves that Christ is good enough. we should be telling others how good HE is and how much WE still have to learn.

because no one has it altogether. everyone has been sinking at times. and I'm pretty sure we've all been to that point where we feel unworthy to even speak to God. a friend I hadn't spoken to in a while was messaging me back and forth a few weeks ago and telling me about her life. "I don't even feel like God can forgive me," she said. "I know all the 'Christian' answers, but still, I don't feel worthy of God's forgiveness."

it broke my heart because I have been there too. I have been on my knees crying and literally telling God that I'm not sorry, but that I want His forgiveness and I certainly don't want Him to give up on me. I opened up and told her about a time in my life in particular when I felt beyond God's grace. and you know what? it was hard for me to tell her. because what if it changes her opinion of me?

but God. He knows we aren't perfect. He sees our struggle. He knows our hearts. He knows we're going to walk away from prayer and sin two seconds later.

and still He loves us. and no matter what we feel, He really does forgive us. because Christ. Christ covers us. Christ is good enough. we don't have to be.

as Christians, we get discontent over where we are. we get caught up in thinking that the only way to serve God is through missions in far away places or in loading our lives with ministry or in having some outstanding testimony where we can say "look where we were before Christ & look where we are now!"

but right now, right here is where you are supposed to be. right now is your testimony. right now is your ministry. your ministry can be helping the homeless, or it can be speaking kindly to your family or taking a moment to pray for someone you barely know. it really can be doing dishes and folding laundry. it really can be being a super young wife with no idea what's going on. it really can be being a young person in college who still isn't sure where they will go after their studies are complete. if you are a mom, then be the mom Christ is calling you to be. right now. if you are a child, then be the child Christ is calling you to be. right now. if you are a butcher, a baker, a candlestick maker, then be that to your fullest. exalt Christ to the fullest. through your attitude. through your joy. through your thanks. through your heart.

you don't have to be great to be a servant. you have to have a servant's heart.

and as Christians, we still will struggle with personal insecurites. knowing that Christ is good enough, doesn't mean I suddenly am happy about the shape of my chin or my skills at friend making. but as Christians, we need to work on setting those insecurities aside, and focusing on others instead.

insecurities are selfish. focusing on others is selfless.

it will take a lifetime of practicing, but keep laying those insecurities at Christ's feet, and set Him and others first in your mind. you'll find there is less and less time to be insecure.

it will take a lifetime of not feeling good enough. and you know what?

on our own, we are not good enough.

but He?

He is good enough.

and in Christ?

you are more than good enough. you are a child of the King.

A Chapter of Our Story - Part 1

God's life-writing is my favorite. His sense of humor woven throughout His stories is overpowering. His descriptions are beautifully painted in sunsets and hands being held and deeps breaths and fireflies and long nights lying awake. His verbs aren't always what we would choose. Wait. Stay. Trust me. His pen travels places we didn't expect. It works in ways we didn't see. In ways we didn't see for years and years. In ways we still don't see and perhaps never will. His patience. Oh His patience! He develops us characters in ways we don't always like. We fight battles. Some we win. Some we lose. He so often writes "Christ's blood covers you" over us when the battle is lost and we lay in a gross heap of sins. He grabs us by the hand, pulls us to our feet, holds us in His arms. He forgives. He walks with us into the next battle we face. We are never alone in our battles. He's the author who never leaves our side.

The following is one of His stories. And it also happens to be mine. Christian and mine.

I've struggled with writing our story out, because parts of it are hard to explain. Parts of it I regret. Parts of it I love so much I'd rather keep to myself. So I may not write it all. But what I do share, I hope touches your heart and encourages you. God doesn't require perfect people to fulfill His perfect plan. His grace is unending. His forgiveness is free. His love is abounding.

This is not a typical love story. But is there such a thing? It's not the cookie-cutter example of what the perfect relationship should look like. But somehow, I wouldn't want that.

So this. This is our story.

***

We met when I was born. At least, I’m told we did. Not the exact day I was born, of course. But most likely a few days or weeks later.

I don’t remember it at all. Being a squawky, sleepy baby when I first saw him, it wasn’t exactly love at first sight. I probably closed my eyes throughout the whole meeting. And being two, he probably glanced at me for half a second and then toddled away.

At the baby shower our church had held for my mom, his baby brother, Calvin, stole the spotlight and got a ton of pictures taken with MY clothes being held up to him. Whenever I look through those pictures now, I shake my head. I guess Calvin and my teasing rivalry started before I was even out of the womb. Sixteen years later, it would be Calvin and I betting who would get their license first. I won, for the record. But to be fair, he won our long standing practical joke contest by dumping vinegar into my coke and causing me to spit it out all over the table in front of the adults.

I’m not sure where Christian was while Calvin was stealing the show at my baby shower. Probably at home with his dad. I’m told they used to eat dinner in front of the tv and watch Wheel of Fortune together when Mrs. Higgins was out. (basically the cutest thing ever.)

Sometimes I’m sad that I don’t remember meeting him. And my first memory of him doesn’t even come for a while. I remember vague details about our early years and play-dates, but most of them come from pictures and I can’t tell if I’m remembering or just imagining I’m remembering. I feel bad for not remembering him more. But that’s just how it happened.

Our lives were already intertwined, but not significantly enough for me to have noticed.

He was homeschooled from the very start. But I was sent off to public school. While he was learning at home & roofing houses with his dad & going on field-trips with friends, I was at school begging not to be at school.

For awhile, our lives were very different. And they would have only grown further apart if things hadn’t changed.

But they did change. All because I would cry about going to school.

Even in third grade, I would cry. It was embarrassing. None of the other students cried. But I couldn’t help it. And my parents didn’t know what to do.

Looking back, I don’t even know why I didn’t like school so much. I didn’t struggle with the schoolwork. My teachers all liked me. (One of my teachers even kept a picture of me up in her classroom for years and years afterwards.) I had friends. (And they were the best too. One of my friends was a boy from Denmark and we could barely communicate with each other when we first became friends. We spent a lot of time playing basketball together and slowly he learned more English. My other friend was a tall, hilarious, red-headed girl I thought looked like a Barbie doll. Her, the Danish boy, and I made the funniest three friends you ever saw.) I didn’t get picked on. But I wasn’t super popular either. I just sort of existed and tried to keep peace with all.

Due to my good grades and peace-keeping skills, I often got seated between the “bad-behavior kids.” Because I was supposed to rub off on them somehow.

Instead, they made it even harder for me to go to school. My third grade teacher would get so angry at them, and because I was seated between them, it often felt like I was getting yelled at too. The two boys I sat between would say all sorts of nasty things, and I would often go home and ask my mom what such and such a thing they had said meant.

Besides having a rough time with those boys though, I didn’t have any reason to hate school. And yet I begged and begged to be homeschooled. I see now that it was God all along. Because finally, at the end of third grade, God changed both of my parents hearts on the matter, and they pulled me out of school.

I still barely knew Christian. But now we were both homeschoolers going to the same church. Our parents had known each other since high-school, and our grandparents had known each other since they were new parents themselves. It would seem like our paths were bound to cross soon.

But then the Higgins had to up and go to Mexico to do missions work there. And I honestly forgot all about them.

Until one day they were back and we were having them over for dinner.

“How old are their kids, mama?”

That was a super important question as a child. The fun-ness level of the whole visit depended on the answer.

“They have three boys that are close to your age and two little girls,” mom had answered.

Boys? Oh boys. What was I supposed to do with a bunch of boys?

I had neighbor boys that I was super close with. But that’s because we had spent years playing basketball & getting muddy & imagining we had a time machine together. I knew them. I felt comfortable with them.

I didn’t know these boys. What if they liked legos or something equally frustrating? What if they were quiet and awkward and weird?

I didn’t want them to come. I dreaded them coming. I thought about how awkward it was going to be. And I wondered what on earth we would do.

But they came. And it was awkward. Because I was right… they were quiet, awkward, weird boys. What could we possibly have in common?

The adults wanted to eat outside and told us young ones to eat inside at the big dining room table. So we ate. And didn’t say anything. And avoided looking up from our plates lest we accidentally make eye contact and be turned to stone or break out in warts or something.

Mom came in to get something and commented on how quiet we all were, then left again.

Now Lauren is cursed with the desire to giggle during quiet situations. Especially when someone points out that it's quiet.

So she started to giggle.

And when she starts to giggle, I start to giggle.

And Caleb, well, he giggled too.

Suddenly we were all laughing. Hard. We were looking each other in the eyes now, and laughing at the other's awkwardness. Every time the laughter would start to die, and things would begin to get quiet again, someone would let out another giggle. And then we were all laughing all over again.

And that’s how true friendship is born. When you can laugh about absolutely nothing with someone for an entire meal.

I’m pretty sure we played a game that night. Because I remember Calvin helping me clean it up, and saying “Don’t you hate how your parents make you clean the house before guests come, and then the guests get everything dirty?” I couldn’t have agreed more.

By the end of the day, they weren’t just boys. They were friends.

Christian, however, was kind of old (I mean, he was like thirteen! A teenager! Practically in his grave!) & I didn’t know exactly what to make of him because he was pretty quiet and didn’t really notice me. Calvin was good-friend material. He was only a couple months older. He was snoopy like me & had all sorts of cool equipment we could use to make movies or spy on people. Caleb was three years younger. So he was slightly annoying and easy to fight with. But he was also hilarious. Him and I could (and did) laugh until we cried over the stupidest things. Once, we made up a story about a buck-toothed woman from Walmart and we still laugh about it to this day.

I didn’t realize how close we would all become. I didn’t realize how our friendships would grow. I didn’t realize that the oldest, mysterious Higgins boy would notice me one day, and that I would notice him back.

***

Flash forward a year or two.

We’re at a campground. Their uncle’s campground. Our little pop-up campers are set up & the parents are working on dinner.

One of the most important things about camping, is building a fire. It’s not important because you need to build a fire. It’s important because you want to build a fire. As a kid, it’s a contest and a way to show off.

I literally used to wake up as early as possible while camping, just so I could rush outside and be the first to build a fire.

That way (in my head anyways) everyone else would eventually wake up, come out of their lazy beds, see my roaring fire, and praise my super crazy impressive woods-woman skills. Quite possibly they would build me a throne made of oak and moss and bring me a crown of flowers and a cape of fur and all the little woodland creatures would rest on my lap and everyone would know that I was the best at building fires in all the land!!!!!

Christian, Calvin, and Caleb always beat me to it though. Joy killers.

They went fishing at unearthly hours.

The only time I actually remember succeeding at being *the one* to make a fire, was the time I built one in a neighboring fire-pit, forgot about it, went to the lake, and almost burnt the campground down.

Fortunately, someone saw it as the grass was catching on fire, and they put it out. Unfortunately, no one praised my fire making skills or built me a throne.

This particular camping trip stands out in my head though because of our hunt for firewood.

The five of us older ones went out on a firewood search-party. It was the best when people left free stacks of wood they hadn’t used behind. We would gather them up and proudly carry them back to our own fire-pit. Any large sticks & small dry twigs or leaves were added bonuses.

We searched for quite awhile, and finally found the jackpot. A whole pile of potential s’more-making wood stood stacked in a lonely, empty spot.

We didn't have a wagon with us, so carrying it by the armload was how things were going to have to go.

Christian began hauling his share away, while the rest of us gathered ours.

This next part gets a little confusing. It happened quickly, and being a child, I’m sure it was a lot worse in my memory than it would be if it happened to me today…

There was a man approaching us from across the campground lane. I remember him looking dirty. And dangerous. Dangerous in the sense that he looked like he wanted our treasure. And duh… there was no way we were gonna let that happen.

“Is this your wood?” he asked with a greedy smile mysteriously similar to Captain Hook’s. (or so I remember it seeming that way…)

“We found it!” we said challengingly. I'm surprised I didn't add an "aaarg!" It felt like we were dueling pirates now.

“Well I hope you don’t mind if I take some for myself.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.

He picked Caleb right off the ground and moved him out of the way. Then started taking OUR wood!

Somewhat disappointingly, not much of a commotion followed. I was horrified. Some of us complained. But we were only a couple kids. So we gathered up as much wood as we could and ran back to our campsite.

We were angry at what he had done. I was angry that he had even DARED to touch Caleb! We were fuming that he had taken our precious find!

But obviously, It really wasn’t that big of a deal, and you may wonder why I even brought it up.

That was the first time I remember really feeling protective over my Higgins boys. Over us. We were a team. And we had all stuck together. I remember feeling SO CLOSE to them on that camping trip. The kind of closeness that has zero motives or reasons. I didn’t have crushes on any of them. I knew that they could be annoying. They knew that I could be annoying. But we were like brothers and sisters.

My desire for brothers suddenly felt appeased. I had the Higgins boys. They had us Smock girls. It was good.

The more years that went by, the closer we all grew.

We saw each other so frequently that occasionally we ran out of things to talk about because not much had happened since we last saw each other. In those instances, we would all gather round and watch movies together.

One of the most memorable movie nights was when we watched Fiddler on the Roof. Lauren and I hadn’t seen it before, but they all had.

We squished on and around the couch. I remember Christian singing “If I Were a Rich Man” in his deepest voice. I hadn’t seen him be so funny before, and I laughed my head off. We all laughed and talked through the movie. We passed around pillows and fought over blankets. And once again, I felt so close to them.

One evening we showed up and found Calvin and Caleb working in the backyard. They had built a miniature log cabin out of firewood. Complete with a fireplace and an actual fire and a roof and a door. It was close to dusk and the little cabin looked beautiful in the fading light. I remember being so impressed I could hardly keep my mouth shut. We played with the fire until Calvin became concerned that the whole cabin would burn down. He told me to grab a nearby bucket of water so he could put it out, and the magic of it all was just too much.

During this time, Christian was still that old, semi-mysterious person who didn’t really pay much attention to me. Sometimes, I spied on him with Calvin. because Christian often talked with the adults, and the adults usually had interesting things to say.

One afternoon, I sat at the kitchen table with Aunty Beth (as I called Mrs. Higgins) and told her that Christian wasn’t ever going to get married. She looked shocked but laughed and asked why. I explained that he didn’t notice girls and liked hunting too much.

“He would sooner notice a deer than a girl,” I said.

Mom joined in that the girl who caught Christian’s fancy would have to be wearing antlers.

We all laughed, but I really did believe what I had said.

Funny how it wasn’t long after that that our whole friendship suddenly bloomed. Funny how one afternoon at their lake house could launch us into becoming best friends. Funny how one summer of talking could propel us towards now. Towards forever.

to be continued….