Best Friends

A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity. Proverbs 17:17

My two boys are 16 months apart -- 16 ½ months actually -- to the day. I remember my husband and I coming to the decision that we wanted our children to be between 15 and 18 months apart. Apparently, God took us literally and split the difference. Our thinking was that our kids will have each other much longer than they will have the two of us (God willing) and, while we couldn’t force them to be best friends, we could certainly do everything we could to foster a close relationship.

As they’ve grown, it’s been such a joy to see how close they are and how much they truly love each other. Just the other day, we came upon a video of them when Ayden, our youngest, was still a baby. They were riding in their carseats and the video captured them reaching to each other to hold hands while riding in the car. Corbyn, our oldest, was talking away to Ayden and they sat there holding hands the whole time. Not a rare occurrence, we’ve captured several pictures of them over the years either falling asleep holding hands or laying with their arms around each other.

I think the most profound example of their closeness came during a trip to the emergency room a couple years ago. The boys were at the beach with their dad and the youngest injured his foot rather severely. I arrived at the hospital parking lot just as they were getting out of the car and Robert told me how Corbyn was comforting Ayden the entire time. Apparently, he repeatedly told him “You’ll be okay, Ayden” and kept speaking to him in soft, gentle tones. He distracted him by telling him stories and reassured him so much that Ayden even stopped crying – at least, until he saw his mommy.

Later that night, after Ayden’s surgery, I was at his bedside when he awoke. He started crying and as I tried to comfort him, he asked “Where’s my brother?” It was 3 a.m. and I had sent his brother and dad home for the night a few hours earlier. I tried to soothe Ayden, but through his tears, he cried out “I just need my brother. He’ll make me feel better.” My best efforts to substitute were ineffective and he repeated this same thing over and over again, growing more panic-stricken each time. It nearly broke my heart.

At the same time, though, it was the sweetest, most touching thing I heard. He was scared but trusted that his brother would help him through his ordeal. From his own experience, he already knew “a brother is born for adversity.” (Prov. 17:17)

I don’t know how their relationship will grow and change in the coming years, but I do know they have a solid foundation of genuinely caring for each other. In part, this is a result of us being very intentional about this.  Not that we always treat them exactly the same, but we certainly tend to do that more than we treat them individually.  They've always shared a room, regardless of the availability of another bedroom.  We've engaged them in the same activities at the same time and have tended towards giving them the same privileges and responsibilities. We've created time for the two of them together separate and apart from family time and/or time with mom and dad.

But I’ve not always walked that path with sure-footed confidence. Many times, I’ve questioned whether we should try to create greater independence in their relationship and in their identities. Should we give more privileges to the “older” one and be very distinctive in how we treat them, or is it okay to treat them the same more frequently then we treat them differently?

It seems whenever I doubt how we “should” be raising them, I see how kind and loving they are towards each other and I’m reminded that God has knit their hearts together in a way that surpasses anything Robert and I could ever have imagined. Certainly, while their relationship will likely go through various ups and downs as they grow, I pray they continue to not just be brothers, but to be best friends.

Stewardship

I was reading a blog the other day that asked whether we are good stewards of the stories in our life. That question captured my attention as I’d never thought of the issue in that way before. It also convicted me as I knew that for me, an honest answer to that question would probably be “no”.

Typically, when I think of stewardship, I think of those things with which God has blessed me – finances, resources, health – things of that nature. I actually never considered stewardship of my story. As I considered the question, though, it only made sense. Why would stewardship not apply to my unique story? I’m acutely aware that God has done amazing things in my life, and I also know that hasn’t been simply so I may have a “better” life. Rather, His working in my life brings glory to Him, points others eyes to Him, helps build faith in Him and prepares me to be used by Him. My stories become my ministry. But if I’m not a good steward of those stories – if I do not share them or pass them along in some way -- His purposes in this regard won’t be fulfilled, at least not through me.

As I read the blogger’s entire post, it confirmed what God spoke to me last month -- that my stories are worth sharing. It is still a fairly new idea for me and I still feel rather timid about the whole process. But obedience to God’s direction has always been a significant motivator to me. I want to be a good steward of all He has given me, including the stories of His working in my life.

Community

I sat in the doctor’s office crying. For some, that may not be an unusual event as a doctor’s visit could engender various emotional responses. For me, however, not being one to cry around others – especially strangers -- this was an unusual scene on so many levels. I suppose, though, that life’s events sometimes take us out of who we normally are.

Though this was many years ago, the memory of that day is indelibly impressed in my mind. I was there because I wanted something to make the pain go away, the physical pain from a flared-up back injury, but more importantly, the emotional pain. Just a few days earlier, my entire world came crashing down around me. My marriage ended abruptly, I was fired from my job, my family was unavailable to me and I had nowhere to turn. Betrayed by those closest to me, I was a mess.

I couldn’t even explain my circumstances to the intake nurse. How do you tell a complete stranger “I just found out my husband raped my sister while I was out of town”? How do you nonchalantly describe being fired from your job because your bosses wanted to distance themselves from your personal life? How do you unemotionally explain that everything you thought was running so well just one week earlier had imploded in your face?

I couldn’t; and so I cried.

It wasn’t the calm, sorrowful sobbing that elicits compassion and empathy from everyone else around you. Oh no, this was the ugly, convulsive cry: the one where you are intermittently retching and hyperventilating with fluid spewing from every orifice on your face. It wasn’t pretty, but I couldn’t stop myself. By that point in time, I didn’t really care.

A nurse practitioner was sent in to try to console me. While noble, her efforts in this regard were rather futile. She did, however, succeed in revealing a stark reality about my life that I was forced to accept – a reality that has shaped who I am and how I do life to this very day.

Acutely aware that I was in great distress, she asked if I had someone who could come be with me. I went through the extremely short list of potential prospects in my mind and shook my head no. So she began asking one by one:

. . . my husband? That was an obvious no.

. . . a family member? No. They all lived in a different country.

. . . a close friend? No. My one and only friend was my boss who just fired me.

. . . a co-worker? No. I had bosses over me and staff under me, but no one alongside me.

. . . a neighbor? Not likely. I didn’t even know their names.

. . . a pastor? Nope. I had no need for God in my life, much less a pastor.

As she went down the list, the reality of the life I had created hit me full force in the face. The “independence” I wore as a badge of honor was really “isolation” and I was imprisoned in a world of my own making.

Facing what was one of the most difficult seasons of my life, I felt so lost and completely alone. I knew I would have to walk that journey without any support, and even worse, I knew I was responsible for that lonely reality. I hated that feeling and that awareness, perhaps even more than I hated the circumstances that then defined my life.

From that deep valley, came two remarkably wonderful results. First, it was in that season of being completely alone that I finally found the One who would never abandon me, never leave me, nor forsake me. While I previously thought I had no use for God, I began to realize I needed Him more than I ever knew. I'm very aware that this complete isolation was necessary for my journey to faith because if there would have been anybody there who could possibly "rescue" me, I never would have turned to Him. I never would have seen that He was standing there, all along, just waiting for me to invite Him in to my life.

Second, I now know without a doubt I cannot live life without a community. I need others every day, and they need me. I need their opinions, experience and availability to shape and mold who I am.  They need my voice, my perspective and my time as they are walking their journey.

That I was designed for relationship with God and relationship with others is the driving force behind my life now. I believe we all were. It’s part of our DNA. It’s how God wired us. It’s who He wants us to be and how He wants us to live life. Jesus was not merely being pithy when he summed up the law as follows: “Love God and love your neighbors.” (Matt. 22:34-40). Absent relationship, these instructions are meaningless.

This awareness, however, does not mean I get it right every time. While I am significantly motivated by this core belief, I still struggle as this is not easy for me to do. The reality is I don’t make friends readily and quite frankly, I’m not always a very good friend myself. I don’t feel a need to talk to my friends on a daily basis and have even lost friends for this very reason. I don’t need girlfriends to shop with (I don't really like shopping) and I don’t always have a lot of natural activities that involve friends. But still, I know I need them and they need me, and I don’t want to wait until crisis comes along to try to meet those needs.

So I push myself beyond my comfort zone. I risk reaching out, even when it feels uncomfortable. I share my heart, though it may be the scariest thing in the world for me to do in that moment. I’ve had to learn how to be open and vulnerable and how to let others in. I’ve had to learn how to ask for help. With my extremely independent past, this is still really hard to do. Regardless of my fears, though, I remind myself that they are nothing compared to the devastating isolation I felt that day in the doctor’s office. I pray I will never go back there again.

Stories

"My Stories Are Worth Sharing."

I sensed the Lord whispering that message to me as I returned from a 4-day Leadership Training in Colorado. The conference included moms who are interested in writing, speaking and/or blogging for MomHeart Ministry. Sally Clarkson, who has been a mentor mom to me (even before I actually met her) directs this ministry with her husband Clay. Among other things, they seek to encourage, equip and support moms who are committed to restoring and pursuing godly biblical motherhood. I love their message and the fact that whether a mom works in- or outside the home, whether she educates her children at home or sends them somewhere else for school, whether she is a single mom, a mom with babies or a mom with grown kids, whether she even knows God or not, the message of the ministry is still relevant.

Quite honestly, I went to this training without any real sense as to why I was going. I mean, I have experience and gifts in speaking and writing and thought God may want me to use those skills in some way to further the goals of this ministry. When I prayed about it, I sensed I was supposed to go. If nothing else, I thought I would have an opportunity to hone my skills and perhaps see where God may direct my path.

Of the three focuses of the conference (writing, speaking and blogging), I was definitely interested in the first two, but had no interest, passion or direction regarding blogging. Outside of participating on a family blog designed to keep our geographically scattered family connected, I’ve never felt any sort of desire to put my life out there in such a manner. On any given day, the internet is inundated with bloggers who are busy espousing their opinions and beliefs, sharing their daily activities or struggles, boring us with the minutia of their lives, hawking their wares, advancing their own political, social, religious or economic agenda – you name it, I’m sure there’s a blog for it. I’ve never felt compelled to join those conversations. I tend to be more of the belief that unless you have something new to say, there’s no need repeating what’s already out there.

But then, in Colorado, I was forced to challenge that belief. A couple of the speakers -- well-known, published authors -- raised this very issue, suggesting that even if the topic is not new, the filter of one’s own life experience changes the message such that it is then worth communicating. I had to pause and think about that for a minute.

Later, one of the speakers noted that “if someone has a talent, skill or an opportunity to use words, in some measure she is called.” Reasoning from the Parable of the Talents in Matthew 25, she affirmed that God gives us talents and wants us to multiply them. That forced me to question myself: how do I do that if I’m limiting the way I will use these particular talents? I spent the rest of the day allowing that idea to ruminate in my head. Later, a comment Clay Clarkson made again brought this issue to the forefront of my mind: “God has put a special spiritual message in each of our hearts that only we can give and we need to determine how to work that message out to be able to deliver it.”

Right then, I started to pray about this. Wouldn’t it be just like God to take the one thing I’m not interested in and call me to pursue that? Of course, I already knew the answer to that question all-too-well!

As it turned out, I didn’t seem to need to pray very long, for as I walked through the airport to catch my flight back to San Diego, I sensed God telling me “Your stories are worth sharing and you need to start a blog.” I was so certain of His voice that I hurried to the boarding area, pulled out my computer, and secured the domain for the blog name He gave me. On the airplane, I started writing some ideas.

And so I'm choosing to walk in obedience and to share my stories -- even if it means talking about really difficult things. My story is not for me alone. And so, with this blog, I begin that journey.