The Power of a Female Pack

I am not saying that I need a lot of girlfriends to survive. I am just saying that there are reasons women travel in packs to the restroom, there are motivations for why we call each other for a brief 90-minute chat about our feelings and dreams, there's a primal urge we feel to connect when life deals another blow.

We may not need each other, technically, to survive. But without positive female interaction, we wither like a geranium in the high desert. Our energy wanes. Our creativity drains. Our lifeforce dwindles.

There is power in the female pack.

That's never been more obvious to me than it was this morning at a brunch of eight amazing women in their 30s and 40s. I was visiting from out of town, looking back on some rare and beautiful friendships, wishing I could cling to these girls and do life with them on a daily basis. Wishing I could pack up the energy swirling, whirling around the room and take it back to my little home, a state away. There was power in the conversation, as it quickly flitted from our husband's snoring, fertility and hormones, life dreams, health problems, apparent miracles in 2008, the power of faith, and the zany ways God provides for us--the ways we know that we can keep trusting him through it all.

I'm here to testify, I felt the power of the female pack. And as respect flowed around the table, mingling with genuine affection, a few tears appeared. Delighted exclamations, too. Nods and encouraging words. Graciousness and laughter. Friendship and fellowship. Precious and potent.

I

miss

my

friends.

Not too long ago, I read a book about relocation. It said that I must learn how to transition to my new life, and there is one thing that would help me: discover the difference between clinging and cherishing. Clinging to the old life I had will not help as I seek to build the new one. I have to let go to grasp something new. But, cherishing, that's another matter. Cherishing allows me to thank God with fondness for the deep and beautiful relationships he has woven into my past. While anticipating the new things he is doing in my future.

That's where I want to be--and who I want to be. But for today, I smile and sigh, and am a little amazed at the energy and warmth generated by today's female pack of 8. Thank God for shared sisterhood. Thanks for the ability to even cherish something so precious.

A little bit of our first Christmas

Just 6 days. Approximately 144 hours. It's the nightly advent readings that get me truly excited. We light our advent candles, now burning lower and lower, and read from the book Jotham's Journey, a remarkable children's fiction book that leads up to the birth of Christ (which incidently should probably be rated PG-13, due to the cruelty of the world Jesus was born into). We're getting excited. And it's not just all the festivities and parties. It's the knowledge that our Savior, God with skin on, was sent in a small package. Never mind that he arrived, 2000 years ago, and changed history. We're back in the moments and days and months before Mary went through childbirth. We're rejoicing with Elizabeth, whose babe kicked up a storm in the presence of the unborn Christchild. We're marveling at Joseph's calling, and Mary's "yes." We're full of hope and anticipating the joy.

And this is a little bit of our Christmas:

Our table

Our snow

Our half-Christmas tree (thank you jcpenney.com, it fits flat against the wall!)

Our cranberries, now strung up for all to see

And our Advent wreath

We're keeping it simple, and trying to keep it real. What am I looking forward to the most? I love that my mom will be traveling to spend Christmas with us. But I'm especially happy that our church has a simple, beautiful Christmas Eve service planned. A time to worship. A time to sing for joy. A time to celebrate the rescue that meets our deepest need. I'd like to bottle this hope and keep it shining all year through.

Broken things

It started with the Christmas newsletter. Completely deleted. The day progressed with a broken crock pot, shattered...completely my fault, with no one else to blame. And then the brand-spankin'-new 1000-watt blender several days later. A result of a failure of the bottom of the blender to latch. Again, user error.

It reminds me of the IT guy who said most computer problems happen between the chair and the keyboard. Hmmm.

I really, really want to stop breaking things.

This morning, I finished a whale of a book titled The Hour I First Believed. I can't recommend it to you, mainly because of the profanity and immorality I found in its pages. I almost gave up on it myself. What kept me going was the hope of redemption. The protagonist's wife was a nurse in the library at Columbine during the shootings, and let's just say the axis of the main story line is how this quite certainly ruined their lives--post-traumatic stress led to drug addiction, drug addiction led to hitting a kid with a car, which landed her in jail, which....

Well, anyway, the characters are tormented at times. And they keep asking themselves, if there is a God, how could he ever let these terrible things happen, how could he let evil have free reign? The book went on and on, exposing the characters at their weakest, as daily trials came their way. But I was hoping, from the title, that the main character, Caelum, would find redemption, like I said. I was hoping he would find a loving God who hates suffering as we do, who offers a way of redemption, who will give us hope despite our present sadnesses and the twistedness of the world.

Instead, Caelum begins to suspect there is a higher power. And he sort of sees how history progresses and that good can still happen. And that is THE HOUR HE FIRST BELIEVED?

I wanted to weep. Because with his wife dead, and the character's mother and father's histories, his three marriages, alcoholism, etc., I wanted him to find more than a glimmer of hope. Something in me wanted him to find Jesus. To be broken so he could be filled up. What I didn't want was a sappy Christian ending. What I did crave was a resolution that fills the God-shaped hole in our hearts. A surrender.

I read page upon page of brokenness, lust, greed, envy, pride, and hatred. And I happen to know personally that those who are most broken most see their need of a God who rescues. I know this personally, from some really tough struggles with depression. I know something about how my heavenly Father "binds up the brokenhearted" and "proclaims freedom for the captives." I have been the one at the end of her rope. And he so patiently rescued me--more than once.

Isaiah 61

 1 The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me,
       because the LORD has anointed me
       to preach good news to the poor.
       He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
       to proclaim freedom for the captives
       and release from darkness for the prisoners, ^[a]
 2 to proclaim the year of the LORD's favor
       and the day of vengeance of our God,
       to comfort all who mourn,
 3 and provide for those who grieve in Zion—
       to bestow on them a crown of beauty
       instead of ashes,
       the oil of gladness
       instead of mourning,
       and a garment of praise
       instead of a spirit of despair.
       They will be called oaks of righteousness,
       a planting of the LORD
       for the display of his splendor.

The Hour I First Believed is just a book, you say. And that is true. But the themes in it ring true and loudly: does a God who supposedly create the world care about me? And if so, how could he ever allow this &*%$ chaos to happen.

It's universal, my friends. Talk to your neighbor or your mail carrier, your mother or your mentor. Underneath, we're all asking the same questions, in different ways.

Let me be clear on one thing: it is true. All of it. Jesus really does love the whole world, and you and me specifically. We can all find the rescue our hearts long for. Keep searching. And while you're at it, read the book of John in the Bible and one particular Psalm--Psalm 139.

What about you? Is our Abba-Father restoring the broken pieces in your life? Do share...

The Monday morning blues

The Y around the corner practically bursts at the seams on Monday mornings. You think I'm exaggerating, but believe me, people are doing penance. Sometimes they even talk about the nasty things they ate over the weekend, which they will burn off with a simple 30-minute session on the elliptical. At least that's the hope.

But working out brought on the blues for me this morning, due to a couple of perky, blonde, 20-something fitness instructors who were using the nautilus pull machine next to my mat. The nerve. 

I gotta tell you, I laughed at Anne Lamott's story of "The Aunties" in her book Traveling Mercies. I mean, I've read it two to three times, to be honest. Her tale of woe about her aging body in an ill-fitting swimsuit always made me feel better. Those teenie-boppers around her will get older, she said, and then they'll see. Oh, yes. And I always thought that was just a funny line.

But now I get it, Anne. Oh, I feel your pain...and your justification. Call me. We can commiserate.

Cause as I was lying on the floor mat, dutifully doing some crunches, stretches, and stability ball exercises, the two perky instructors and their two twenty-something friends started gabbing. They were laughing at their pregnant friend and discussing ways to get rid of stretch marks. And then one of the instructors blurted out: "Yeah, my SECOND kid always acts like that." And I was like, oh, my goodness, how many children does that skinny thing have??"

And that was my ugly thought for the morning, that surprised even me in its intensity.

And then came my second thought, equally as troubling: your body is 36-years-old and starting to droop. If it ever happens to produce a child, said body will likely not spring back into even its present droopy state. Oh, dear. I am now the older woman wishing for the younger body. How did this happen? On what day? 

All this time, I've been a big health proponent, eating well, exercising moderately, etc. And I thought I really believed that size does not matter, and that I should try to be a healthy person and leave the rest to God and nature. I used to be called "skinny" and hated it. Now I'm calling someone else the same, if only in my head?

Self-awareness is the first step to recovery, friends. And so I'm going back to chat with God this morning about the important things. He'll correct my skewed view of my tummy and my thighs, and I'll ask him to help me focus on how I can serve him and others today, instead of worrying about the big droop.

Somehow, I'm starting to feel better already...got a body image story of your own? Please post. You, too, Anne Lamott! Ha.

The Arranged Marriage Gone Right

Finally, a picture of the happy couple I mentioned a few posts back. The arranged marriage, 46 years strong, filled with ministry and many wonderful memories. We are thankful to have these dear missionaries in our Sunday School class now--they are a true gift from India!

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The husband and I had a warm and welcoming time at the Sunday School Christmas party last night. There was Christmas punch with raspberries, chicken wings, delicious dips, and some beautiful homemade candies. I have to tell you, we did indulge. But the best part was the fellowship of friends. This morning in S.S., our teacher, Doug, spoke up during the "praises" part of the prayer time. He was thankful, he said, to be friends with David. To wonder all these years why such a nice guy had not found a good wife. And look what God has done this year, he said. We're so grateful.

That's make three of us, Doug. You, me, and David, too. As I always suspected, we are most grateful for the things we ache and pray for the longest. How many hundreds of thousands of prayers paved the way for this, our first Christmas together.

Joy to the world has taken on a whole new meaning. It still means the same thing--but this year, the joy in my heart feels brighter, more boisterous, even rambunctious. 

Oh, joy.

Things a girl might learn on facebook

Facebook is fun...but also funny.

Take for instance, the way my mom didn't want to be listed as "single" on facebook. So when she changed to no status, it said "she is no longer single" with a heart next to it. Oh, dear.

Just today, I learned that a friend showered, that "people suck," and who went to whose house for Thanksgiving by viewing photos. I have been zinged by lots of snowballs (finally discovered how to "block" this feature) and reunited with folks I might never have seen again, including two friends from high school.

All of it still feels a little surreal. A little like a parallel universe. And so....so, I am trying to develop a new habit of only checking my facebook account once a day. Really. I'll have to let you know how that goes. Perhaps I'll have to start communicating the old-fashioned way...via email. Ha!