Confessions of the New Kid

I was eight years old and my family had just moved. On the first day at my new school, my teacher, Mrs. Diangelo, assigned me a buddy named Carolyn. She hung out with me at recess and lunch, and even walked to the place where I was supposed to meet my mom after school. My classmates thought it was cool that I lived right across the street in the house with the giant oak trees hanging over it. I was the first visually impaired student to attend the school, so they were curious and eager to help instead of seeing it as a reason to be mean. If I had any negative experiences associated with being the new kid, I don’t remember them. Being new meant being special, and what eight-year-old girl doesn’t get into that?

Flash forward many years and I was once again the new kid. Well, I wasn’t exactly a kid anymore, and I had actually moved back to the city I grew up in from age eight on, but I had just left the place that doubled as my support system—a community where I “grew up” in many ways—so a part of me felt like a third-grader at a new school. This time around, sad circumstances prompted the move. Moving meant leaving the church where everyone knew me as a singer and a writer who also led one of the small groups at Bible study and taught writing workshops. It meant saying goodbye to the place where I felt . . . well . . . popular and cool for the first time since showing up in Mrs. Diangelo’s class, and the people who had just seem me through a very difficult time. Now, when I walked into church no one knew me. They had no idea that I sang, wrote professionally, or had so many friends back in Reno that I was falling behind on keeping in touch with everyone. Those I met also had no idea what brought me back. I was just me, the new kid. 

Then one day it hit, that in some ways, this could be a very good thing. The truth is I often struggled with wrapping my worth up in what I did. I often caught myself living as if my friends would forget I existed or think less of me if I wasn’t doing something impressive like singing a solo or writing a book. And then there was the ugly stuff that led to the move—the things that everyone back home knew about and so few knew the details of here. Suddenly if felt nice to walk into a Bible study with a friend and be introduced as just me. Those in the groups seemed perfectly okay with my generic answers to “So what brought you here?” When my friend mentioned that I was a writer, I felt no pressure inside to try to wow anyone. When this friend sent me a link to an announcement that the Easter choir season was about to start, knowing how much I loved to sing and missed choir and worship team, I shocked myself by deciding to wait until next year. Not that I didn’t wrestle with it, and still don’t struggle with the “Who am I now?” questions, but God is showing me that sometimes it is best to just be the new kid for a while.

        

What I Prayed for, but Not

“It looks like I found a roommate, and I think we also found an apartment.”

My son’s news was an answer to prayer. Since my youngest son and I moved and my oldest decided to stay behind where his job is, he has needed a new living situation. I have been extremely concerned that he would suddenly need to leave his temporary home and find himself with no place to go. He has been living alone, which clearly wasn’t healthy for him. The more time that ticked away without any leads on a roommate, the more I thought God might be giving me the true desire of my heart—that he would decide he was tired of being so far away from his mom and little brother and join us where we are, near his grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. Instead, he found a roommate at the eleventh hour. And an apartment. And he was clearly excited about it. 

“That’s great.”

We chatted about the furniture that was available for him if he wanted it, moving dates, and financial details, and the whole time my heart cried out, “God, this isn’t what I wanted. I thought you would send him here.”

But somehow I knew this was His answer, at least for now. At my son’s age I was already married. Most of his friends now live away from home. Joining us would mean leaving a job he loves and all his friends. Maybe he will get lonely for his family later, but for now I need to support his decision and be happy for him, which I am. At least he won’t be living alone under a ticking clock anymore. I have been praying that God would work in his life in a big way and so have many others, so living with friends must be part of that. Who knows what plan God has in mind?

When I chose to move in November, I know my friends wanted me to stay, but they supported my need to be close to family, helped me pack, gave me a going away party, and smothered me with hugs until my youngest and I pulled out of town. Now it’s my turn to do the same, because that’s what we do when we truly want God’s best for those we care about. As painful as it is, sometimes we need to recognize that we are getting what we prayed for even if it doesn’t look that way.

When have you prayed hard for someone only to be forced to let go of them? When have you seen a supposed “wrong” answer to prayer become the right one?  

 

A Week of Goodbyes

Last week was a week of goodbyes.

On Tuesday, a precious friend and writing mentor went home to be with Jesus after a battle with cancer. On the same day, another writer friend passed away after suffering a stroke.

I had a coffee date with a friend, a luncheon, and a potluck, as sendoffs  (we are saying, "See you later") before my youngest son and I made final preparations to move.

Yesterday, I sang with the choir for the last time before heading out of town.

My oldest son decided to stay where his job is instead of moving with us (he is an adult so I knew I needed to give him the freedom to make that choice), so I feel like I left part of my heart behind in Reno, Nevada.

Needless to say, this week has been one long emotional roller coaster ride. But one thing gives me hope--in each case, I say goodbye to someone I will spend eternity with. As I accept the reality that life is full of sadness and change and letting go, I know I will one day be in a place where I can enjoy my brothers and sisters in Christ--whether friends or family--forever, with no sad "See you laters."

Have you had to say goodbye to someone you love lately? How did God help you through it?

Lessons Learned from Box Living

I'm moving this weekend. My husband, Michael, and I bought a new house and we are very excited about it. But we aren't as excited about the boxes that have been piled up around our apartment for the past week as we have been packing. It’s chaos around here. Organized chaos…but chaos nonetheless. I’m surrounded by boxes. Boxes with brightly colored labels detailing what’s inside are helpful, but they are still boxes at the end of the day.

In the past day or so I’ve learned a few things about box living that apply to live as a whole. Since sitting here and staring at my boxes has gotten old, I decided I’d share my new found revelations with you.

Lesson #1: You can’t put God in a box. When we first began packing Michael and I grossly underestimated the number of boxes we would need to complete the task. Turns out we have a lot more stuff than we thought we did. On more than one occasion I sat down to pack stuff in a box I assumed it would all fit in only to find that my size estimates were off. Who knew I have enough board games to overflow a medium box?

Often in life I assume I can force God into a box as well. I take the things I know about God and pigeonhole Him into a formula or predetermined pattern of behavior and completely forget that He is God and He can do whatever He wants. Somehow I forget He is all knowing and that He will make all things work together for good in the end even if it doesn’t look like it in the moment.Sometimes it can be hard to comprehend that God is bigger than we can ever understand. The easiest way to deal with this is to start doing what I eventually did while I was packing. Go for the bigger box. If you must use boxes, aim for the super size. God is still going to overflow it. He’s still going to break the mold. He will break your rules, and He will let you get your heart broken in the process. But then He will put all of the pieces back together and make it more beautiful than you could have ever imagined. He’s God. That’s His job. Fortunately for you, it’s not yours.

Lesson # 2: Even when it seems like it, Satan cannot pack your dreams in a box and ship them away. As I sat in my living room packing my life in a box, I couldn’t help but think back to all of the times when I felt as if my dreams were being packed in boxes and shipped away. Back when I was single I hated wedding season. Nothing says depressing quite like getting dressed up to go sit with your other single friends and watch someone else run off with your dream of getting married. I hate when that happens. But, over the years I have learned that for every “no” God has ever given me there have been one thousand yeses. They may not always be for the things I asked for, but they are for things that make my life good—good health, good neighbors, good friends, etc…Think about your own one thousand yeses and your one no won’t seem so devastating anymore.

Lesson 3#: Most people disregard the “Fragile” labels, but God doesn’t. It makes me incredibly nervous that Michael and his friends are responsible for actually moving my boxes from the old apartment to the new house. Why? Because the other day I bought some classic white wooden rockers for the new house and they came in boxes marked “Handle with Care.” But Michael actually picked up one of the boxes and threw it instead of gently placing it down. He says he didn't see the label, and I believe him. But ever since then I have been a pest of a wife in making sure that he knows “fragile” means fragile and that if he—or anyone else—throws my grandma’s crystal they are dead meat.In my life I have had many people who have somehow managed to ignore or misread the fragile label on my heart. In fact, my life still has people like that in it. No matter how hard I try to rid myself of careless people, they keep popping up. They can’t be stopped. If I closed my eyes right now, I could play a slide show on demand of the people who have crushed my dreams and shredded my heart over the years. Some of my wounds have turned to scars, but all scars leave indelible reminders on your heart. In an effort to avoid repeating past mistakes you remember past pains.

Even though people have mishandled my mangled heart time and time again, God has never done it once. Not even when He has made me bleed. A few years ago I endured a very painful time in my life that severed ties and burned bridges. In my recent packing I came across photos from that time, and I took a minute to sit down and study the faces and emotions behind some of those photos before packing them away. I thought of tossing some of them out, but I didn’t. As I looked at those photos, something new began to happen in my heart. Instead of seeing the betrayal of people I once trusted, I began to see the faithfulness of God. He carried me through that time. And now, years later, I am in a place that is far greater than I could have ever imagined back then.

Not only am I free from the bondage I used to be in, but I am also blessed beyond belief. God handled my heart with great care even when others didn’t, and healing has been possible because of that.

Anyway, this blog entry is getting longer than I anticipated (too much stuff for one box, again). But these are some of my thoughts as I am packing up my life and moving. I would love to hear your thoughts too, so feel free to leave a post below.