Belonging

I can't remember a time in my life when I didn't want to belong.

A person, a family, a club, a sport...if I wasn't welcome, if it didn't exist or it wasn't compatible with my interests, I created it myself.

I didn't have a lot of grace or finesse as a child, so that pretty much left me to my own devices.

The very first record I have of this desire is an autograph book scrawled in my seven-year-old handwriting: "Gretchen - no onions. Vikki - none. Emily - blueberries." (Because apparently, in the course of creating a club of first graders, it is important to know about allergies.) The club never materialized, becoming the first of many failed attempts to have something I could call my own.

After Stephen King's book "IT" came out, I gathered neighborhood children to search the sewers of our development for the creature from the book. I remember so clearly standing on my front porch as a twelve year old girl, a notebook of "plans" in my hand, wishing with every fiber of my being that we would find something...not because of the adventure of it, but because if it was real then the kids would all bind together in the pursuit of conquering evil. I just wanted to belong.

As I became an adolescent, it got crazier. As a junior in high school I formed a team of boys and told them all about the dreams I had: dreams where we populated the planet Kraz and ruled nations together. Except I convinced them (or tried to) that it was real. Maybe they went along with me because they wanted to belong to something as much as I did. Maybe they saw a girl who hurt so badly she couldn't even exist without an alternate reality and didn't have the heart to leave her alone. Whatever the reasons, I will always remember what it felt like to sit at the table in the library and draw maps and make plans for that night's journey.

In addition to my inane fantasies, I tried typical methods: sports, choir, boys. Like flashes of light I would be satisfied for momentary periods and then plunge into darkness when they ended.

I know that the only thing that kept me from ending my life was the thought of my future husband and children. To me, that was permanent. Someday I would never be alone.

I thank God that He brought Steve to me when I was 17. I don't know that I would have made it much longer, my depression and self-loathing at that point being almost unbearable. Steve came in as a rock. He was impressed by my fantasy-world, of stories of spirit guardians and other lives, but his reality stayed strong. He taught me that being in this world could be a good thing; that I could be a good thing in this world. I opened my heart to him, knowing that I was exposing the vulnerable side of me that I had manufactured everything to protect. And he still loved me. And I belonged with him.

We married, and I accepted Christ a year later. The thought that God loved me despite my failures; that He wanted to forgive me for all the things I had done that crushed me with guilt...it was this realization that made me give my life to Him. You would think that it would have struck me then that I belonged to God; the ultimate relationship that would never, ever fail me. But it didn't.

Having the security of my marriage with Steve, having begun the terrifying process of being the real me in the real world, I reached out again. Longing to share my life with friends, I launched myself into best friend after best friend. When I love, I love passionately; when I feel deeply rejected, I plummet just as extremely. And so friendship after friendship blossomed and exploded; a roller coaster of flying and falling. Looking back, I know exactly why: I was wrapping the very essence of my self-worth around how much people wanted to love me.

In 2000 I did it again: feeling hurt over something that was so small in hindsight, I walked away from a good friend and also a group of friends that I had started a book club with. Wounded by the rejection I had fabricated for myself, I withdrew. I spent years without deep friendships, taking that time to explore who I was in Christ and with Steve. When I came out of my "hibernation," I was more grounded. I no longer felt desperate for companionship; I knew that I could stand on my own. I began developing friendships that were meaningful again, experiencing for the first time what healthy friendships felt like.

Last month, I went to a baby shower for the one friend from the 2000 book club I had kept contact with. I knew that the other members had stayed together, and I had followed from afar the close knit group they had become. I was so nervous as I entered the house that I literally shook from it. I prayed, "Dear Lord, help me to remember that I am not the person they last saw anymore. Help them to see that I am no longer as they remember me." And He gave me peace, and I was fine.

Talking to my friend Rebecca later that day, I realized something that I should have understood years before. "I just miss being part of that group," I told her. "I miss the discussion, I miss the in-depth conversations, I miss sharing our lives together."

"But you have all of that," she said. "I thought that I would miss the intellectual conversations and fellowship I used to have in college, but after becoming a Christian I realized that now I have all that and more. Not only do I have fellowship, not only do I have awesome intellectual conversations, but they center around the most important thing in my life: our God. I might not be able to have some big literature conversation with you," she laughed, "but the heart of what you are yearning for is something you already have."

And she was totally right. I wanted friendships? I have sisters. Women who would drop everything to help me if I needed them. Women who tell me what I need to hear even when I don't want to. Women who pray with me when I'm in their presence and for me when I'm not. Women who love me for who I am.

As I stood in an amazing group of friends last night after we had watched a movie together, I soaked in the "belonging" feeling. But now, I put the credit where it is due.

It isn't that I finally took all the right steps to create the perfect "club". Some people who aren't Christians might think that's what it is. But I've tried every human way to manufacture this feeling, and it has never worked. I know it isn't me.

God longs for us to want to belong to Him. And when we throw ourselves at His feet and offer our life to Him, there's a family waiting for us. Brothers and sisters who belong to each other because we share the most important thing there is to share: eternity with a Father who gives us the ultimate belonging.

"He will never leave you nor forsake you." (Deut. 31:6b)


"The Lord Himself goes before you and will be with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you." (Deut. 31:8a)


"I will never leave you nor forsake you." (Joshua 1:5b)


"God has said, 'Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you." (Hebrews 13:5b)

In Her Words

My oldest daughter was baptized on Sunday.

At thirteen years old, she stood before the congregation and reflected on a difficult time she had last year; about being brought to her knees by the conviction of her actions. She talked about the difference between the knowledge of God she had before and the relationship with Him she has now.

Her faith is maturing every single day. Her commitment to Christ is visible not only in her choices, but in our house. So today, I bring you her words.

(Written by Kahlan and posted on her bedroom wall):

dear Lord,

help me spread Your fragrance wherever I go.

FLOOD my soul with Your Spirit & Life

Penetrate me, posess my whole being so utterly that every soul I come in contact with can FEEL Your presence.

Shine through me so my life can be a reflection of Yours.

Let me preach without preaching; not by words but by example, by the catching force; the sympathetic influence of what I do, the evident fullness of the love my heart bears for You.

Amen.

Saturated

Imagine, if you will, that I am a sponge.

I think I am sitting in the kitchen sink. Above me looms a huge faucet that is leaking water. Little droplets fall every few minutes right on top of me.

I don't know what it is about the last couple of weeks, but this image keeps coming to my mind. As little irritants that would normally roll off my back keep dropping into my life, I am getting angry.

Now that my sponge-self feels saturated, I am starting to leak the frustration I feel inside to the people around me.

Seeing the look on my children's faces when I snap at them for no reason made me realize that I can't continue like this. So rather than get angry about the fact that I am too angry, I am crying out to God:

Wring me out. Please.

"My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, because human anger does not produce the righteousness that God desires." (James 1:19-20)

Please.

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled..." (John 14:27a)

Letting go of anger is a choice. It doesn't go away on its own, in fact it grows and takes on life when allowed to root within us. Getting rid of it is going to mean granting forgiveness that I don't feel like granting, and it's going to mean accepting that I can't control the actions or hearts of other people.

It's times like these, when I feel so much like a child, that I realize how much I need my Father.

Plan "See"

I was drowning.

My body was on fire, stabbing pains echoed through my ribcage, an invisible weight was crushing my chest, and I was so weak that I had to consciously gather the energy needed to cough out the fluid that was drowning me. I knew I was in a battle for my life, and bacterial pneumonia wanted the trophy.

But this isn't about pneumonia, and it isn't about the six weeks it took me to recover. It isn't about how my husband single parented ten children, and it isn't about my renewed love for the television show Leave it to Beaver that was my only way to share time with my kids as I chose to take one labored breath after another.

It isn't about anything like that.

It's about where I thought I was supposed to be.

I am a planner. I love plans. I spend time in the shower calculating how many weeks it will take me to lose weight, or save money, or figuring out my schedule for the week for the sixth time. It brings me joy because I love thinking that I have everything under control.

And so, months before I stared pneumonia in the face, I had a plan. My Plan A was to attend the She Speaks conference in North Carolina. It was something I had been excited about for quite a while, and as the date loomed my excitement grew. I even entered a writing contest for a free ticket for that weekend.

Then I found out that a Precepts training that I had been planning on attending was that same weekend. This was really hard for me, as I was looking forward to going to the training with a few friends, and I needed to have the training in order to teach a class I wanted to lead for church.

So I came up with Plan B. If I won the contest, I'd go to She Speaks. If I didn't win, I'd go to the training. Seemed perfect to me. That would tell me what God's will was, right? If He wanted me to go to the conference, I'd win. If He wanted me to go to the training, I'd lose. Perfect.

Then I lost, and I was devastated. I allowed for a time for the disappointment to become personal; a personal attack against my writing skills and myself. It took me a few days to come back to the place where I understood that this was God's plan and started to get excited about what God obviously DID intend for me to do: the training.

Two weeks before I was supposed to leave, things started going wrong. I was sleeping all the time, coughing, not eating, and so weak that I had to take a break just walking from one end of a hallway to the other. The pneumonia diagnosis came shortly thereafter.

Guess what I was doing the weekend of the training? It wasn't Plan A, and it certainly wasn't Plan B.

I was doing Plan "See". "See" as in, we can't See what God wants for us. "See" as in, only God can See what our path is. "See" as in, stop putting God in a box and paying lip service to Him by saying that my plans are His plans!

I learned many valuable lessons during those weeks. But the most important one for me was the reminder that I am not the one who is in control. I don't get to give God options and let Him pick which one He likes best. It doesn't mean I don't have free will and the ability to make choices, but ultimately I am not the one who calls the shots. And I don't need to be.

I still have my Plan A and Plan B, but I now know that Plan "See", when it pops up, is a detour instead of a roadblock. And God's detours have some pretty awesome views.

One More Day

"I'm going to hurt you!" my foster daughter screamed, her six-year old face red with fury.

"What are you talking about?!" I yelled back, failing in my efforts to stay calm in the presence of a little girl who had spent months doing everything she could to make me hate her.

"I don't know, but you're going to be bloody!" she threatened, punching my bed as if to punctuate her intention.

"That's it," I thought as adrenaline pumped through my body. "I'm done." I turned abruptly and walked down the hall into the kitchen. I grabbed the phone and quickly dialed the social worker's phone number. Three rings later, I was uttering the words I'd promised myself I would never say. "Come get her. I can't do this anymore."

Two days from now, I will tell this story. As I stand in front of a classroom of potential and current foster parents, I will talk about the little girl that I wanted to give up on. I will tell them that I thought I had done everything I possibly could do, loved as much as I thought I could love.

As I pass around a family picture of my ten beautiful children, I will recount the rest of that conversation from so long ago:

"Can you do it for three more weeks?" he asked quietly.

"I don't think so. I don't think I can do it one more day." Defeat was so hard for me, but with four children to take care of and my baby daughter growing inside me, I already felt like I had done as much as I could do.

"Well, it is going to take some time. I know that you feel it's impossible, but can you try?"

I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. (Phil. 4:13)

"All right," I conceded softly. "I can try."

It won't take me long to tell them what happened next. It's my favorite part of Breanna's story. Because two weeks after I tried to give up, she finally allowed a crack in the hard exterior she had surrounded herself in.

A crack was all I'd wanted. Renewed and hopeful, we blasted her with love. And just a day or two before our three week deadline, she let us into her heart.

"When you feel like you can't do it," I will say on Saturday, "when you feel like there is no hope left...you can do it one more day."

Ten smiling children. Four children we brought into this world by birth. Three girls who we didn't even know back then, who God knew would one day be our daughters. Breanna's brother and sister, who are an integral part of our family even though they don't live with us. And my Breanna... the little girl who I almost gave up on...who I can't imagine my life without.

Holding out the picture, I'll end with this simple statement: "You can do it for this."

I hope that they will listen. I hope they will take my story and remember it when they have a chance to love their own Breanna. Because I don't want to know what my family would look like today if that social worker hadn't had the wisdom to ask me to try one more time.

"For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." (Jeremiah 29:11)