Archive | friends

In which I have circles of friendship – and a Lobster

April 14, 2013

“Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. “Pooh?” he whispered.

“Yes, Piglet?”

“Nothing,” said Piglet, taking Pooh’s hand. “I just wanted to be sure of you.”

- A.A. Milne

As an introvert, I have often felt bad or less-spiritual because I just don’t enjoy crowds or parties or large groups. Ice-breakers and games and church-teas are pretty much the third circle of hell for me. Get-to-know-you chit-chat is a necessary evil so I’ve practiced, I’ve gotten much better at it now. But add in the aspect of being a blogger and writer who writes about All The Thoughts and Feeeeeeeeeeeelings publicly, and it gets a bit more complicated. I often write to figure out what I think, and I think I live a pretty seamless life between online and real-life, but some part of me still wants to die of embarrassment when someone in my real life actually brings up my blog or my book. (In fact, I’m rather private and I keep a lot of my life and the lives of my loved ones secret and sacred – which surprises people because, well, 2,000+ posts here on ye olde blog seem to indicate differently.) I have pretty small circles of trusted friends, and a very strong Holy-Spirit-led instinct which I’ve learned to honour.

Sometimes all the talk about “community” in the Church lately can freak me out. Not just because the expectation of CONSTANT TOGETHERNESS, or the pressure to feel guilty for my beloved solitary pursuits like walking or reading or writing and quiet weekends. It’s also the way that it can make us feel like everyone should have full and unrestricted access to our time, energy, spirit, and soul.

Years ago, when my husband was a youth and college & career pastor, he used to preach a few times a week. Today, he would tell you that he would preach and teach and lead much differently now than he did ten years ago, but the content of many of his sermons stay with me still. (He’s a good teacher.) In those days, I used to sit up in the sound booth, running the PowerPoint slides. Or I would hang out at the back of the Warehouse, alternately keeping trouble-makers in line and having little abandoned worship-moments by myself as the youth band jammed. One of Brian’s sermons was about “circles of friendship.” I’ve never forgotten it and I’ve often referred to it in my quest for understanding and practicing community.

A few friends and I were chatting about that buzzword – “community” – recently and trying to figure out why it felt weird sometimes. While we talked about our own best and worst experiences, Amber casually mentioned that we just aren’t meant for community with 500 people. This rang true for me because it articulated how I manage my own quest for community and friendship, expectations and intimacy.

Some folks think we need to be vulnerable and transparent and deeply connected with everyone and their dog and Facebook. But that’s just not so. Brené Brown says we should only share with people who have earned the right to hear our story. We’re not made for friendship promiscuity – that’s not community, that’s pearls-before-swine and it’s probably a profanity to your soul.

Community isn’t an exercise in consumerism and gluttony. Community is not more+more+more = better.

Based on Brian’s old sermon, I picture my relationships like concentric circles, progressively getting smaller.

On the biggest outside circle, there is The Crowd. These are the people in my life without any real intimacy – people you know by name or sight through church or the neighbourhood, perhaps through blogging or social media or school pick ups. You run in the same circles but you’re not really much more than acquaintances. I don’t give much energy to these relationships.

(Notice that I don’t have a circle for Toxic People. It’s not because I hate them or think God hates them. Not at all. I just don’t have room in my circles for people who make me crazy. Life is too short for me to give energy to people who poison my life or spirit or mind. This includes old relationships broken due to betrayal or lack of trust and it even includes people in public life. I know there are people who feel very strongly about “keeping an eye” on the enemy or being a watch-dog but I don’t think of people as enemies, and outrage wears me out, so I just ignore them. I know my calling in life and it’s not that. For instance, I’ve got enough going on here without losing sleep every time someone is wrong on the Internet.)

The next smallest circle is My Community. These are the people with whom I have a measure of real reciprocal friendship. We hang out, do the playdate thing, occasionally open up, maybe go to church together, we have fun together. Yet these are the people who require a commitment from me. I enjoy our time together, absolutely, but it’s the “Love is a Decision” crowd for an introvert who prefers time alone. I’ve decided to love them and decided to do life with them, and so now I act like it by showing up, by being committed to our friendship. I might rather have another Thursday night to myself, but once my Home Group shows up, I love it because I love them and I like doing life with them. They make my life better. I used to dread going to a book club every week, contemplated cancelling weekly, and yet every week I came home and told my husband that I was so glad I went because it was wonderful and life-giving.

Then there are My People. These are the people with whom I feel a connection of the kindred-spirit and bosom-friend type, this doesn’t require much commitment because there is magic and pixie dust here. This is my tribe. I am open with this small gathering of diverse people because they have earned my trust. I feel I can be my real self with them – both the silly ridiculous and the deep contemplative. They know me, truly know me, and speak into my life often. They challenge me, call me out on my sin or struggles, pray for me, and have my back. I hope I do the same for them. I have them in my real day-to-day life but a handful are scattered around the country and we only see each other in real life once in a long while even if we talk daily. We have our fingers on each other’s pulse and notice changes. These people act as mentors and fellow-journeyers and they are, quite simply, My People.

(The circles are now very tiny, indeed.)

This second-to-last circle is quite small, only enough room for my sister here really. She is My Lobster (which makes absolutely no sense if you didn’t watch a lot of Friends). We have mated for life, we will walk around the tank holding our little claws together forever. I have no secrets from her. (I hope that when the tinies grow up, they will be My Lobsters, too.)

And the last circle for me is my husband, My Soulmate. I don’t think we believe in soulmates, not really, but we act like it. We are One, no secrets, full intimacy, he’s the one I’m sure of.

Kristin – who is on of My People – references these circles far more spiritually than me. She says that Jesus had the Crowd, then he had his large group of Followers, then his Disciples, then the Twelve, then just the Three – John, Peter, and James – went into the Garden with him while he prayed before his crucifixion.

So she calls her most intimate circle “Garden Friends” – the people she would want with her in the garden before death, standing watch with her. I like her way of looking at it.

Of course, I want to be transparent. I want to live without a mask. I want to be vulnerable and courageous and bold. I want to live a seamless life. And yet I believe we can’t have real, true community or real, true friendship with 500 people. I believe we were made to belong, made to love and be loved. And I also believe we’re really truly blessed if we have a very small handful people in those inner three “circles.” Most of us don’t need much more than that, not really. We can get by without the Toxic People, without The Crowd. The Community is nice, but it’s the inner three circles that make life beautiful.

Continue Reading · church, community, faith, friends, journey · 60

In which our gentleness is evident to one first

January 9, 2013

Source: forums.thefashionspot.com via Sarah on Pinterest

We had a full house of friends the other night. It was a “serve yourself from the stove” kind of evening, and Joseph hollered and crashed dinosaurs together in the living room while the football game blared, tinies danced to music, and crumbs covered the floor. After most everyone had left and the dishwasher was roaring, I collapsed on the couch, overstimulation complete. I’d lost my temper earlier in the day with one of the tinies, and I was still stinging with it.

One young couple remained behind, intending to put their little baby down to sleep at our house so they could stay a bit longer and visit. My three were sound asleep, and the house was dark, just a few lamps lit, and I waited with my knitting in hand, enjoying the quiet while this beautiful young mama tried to put her baby to sleep. But, as any parent knows, many are the plans in a parent’s heart but often it is the baby who prevails. (“Sleep alone in an uncomfortable playpen in a strange house? No, thank you, Mumma.”)

I listened to her sing soft and slow, she has a lovely voice. I couldn’t discern a word she sang, but the sound and melody of a mama-lullaby overheard melts armour, unfurls muscle knots, exhales the lungs, and releases tension. Eventually, my friend gave up to the inevitable with good grace, carrying a bright-eyed small baby back out, and she rocked her girl slow in my old red rocking chair until the baby blinked longer between yawns and lolled back. She said something so wise while she rocked, I wanted to write it down: “Paul told us to let our gentleness be evident to all*, and I want my gentleness to be evident to our baby girl, too, even when no one is around to overhear or notice but her.”

*Philippians 4:5

Continue Reading · baby, friends, moments, parenting · 34

In which I catch a glimpse of heaven

December 23, 2012

We drove through the mountains in the snow, holding hands over the gear shift. It was an iron-grey day, a cold swirl of a day, and as we crossed the river coming down from the north, a bald eagle swooped down and low right beside our car. As we reached the other side, the eagle lowered one wing, and arched away, benediction rising. We drove to the base of the mountains, past a herd of bison to the log-stacked lodge. Each sentinel pine on the mountain weighed with snow, slender and distinct, there was just a hint of pink to the sky.

There were pine cones and simple jar candles lining the aisle, holly boughs with crimson berries and burlap laid out, paper hearts hanging from bare branches. At the altar the words “Rise to a better story” prophesy in the blue snow light.

It was a gathering of nations there in the snow. First bridesmaids in cream and gold saris, then Tina appeared in her bridal scarlet and emerald and gold sari, jewels through the part of her hair resting on her forehead. Kupa and his friends, his brothers, from Zambia, from America, from Hong Kong, stood at the front, and Kupa’s eyes were not satisfied with seeing, it’s a good idea to watch the groom’s face for that moment when his bride appears, that look will make you believe in love all over again.

We sang praises to God, we cried, we clapped, we fell more in love, each of us, remembering our own wedding days. When the pastor charged them to be faithful and true, love and honour, and they vowed until death do us part, husbands and wives were catching eyes and smiling. Kupa and Tina got down on their knees and washed each other’s parents bare feet with their own hands, speaking blessing and honour and gratitude to their new mama and papa each. South-Indian Christian traditions enriched the traditional English Christian ceremony: sari draped by Kupa, gold cross tied, seven strands woven, and their vows.

When they were pronounced husband and wife, we nearly lifted the roof off with our cheers. India through Dubai to Canada, Zambia through America, and they found each other, and now we’re all here, drinking wine, and laughing, eating, and celebrating with tears in our eyes, every voice a unique accent of its own.

We all agree that this is what the world should look like – a wedding supper, a global family, saris and dashikis, head coverings and hipsters, good food, thumping music, dancing, tears, and the kind of love that works and breathes and shows up.

These are the sacred moments. And the community gathered to say we see you, we affirm you, we’re with you, and may God give you lots of babies, too. Here we all are in the Canadian west, a big crazy family usually scattered across the earth. The dirt on our shoes was from nearly every continent, but we are family by birth and blood and choice tonight.

We were stomping our feet and whistling loud, kissing and hollering out for more kisses, and then we were also sneaking outside to lean over the railings, men draping coats over women while our breath formed in the darkness, all to watch the moon rise in at Christmas.

Driving home, we agreed, yawning, feet aching, yes, right there, that may have been a glimpse of heaven.

Continue Reading · abundant life, friends, journey, love, marriage, moments · 10

In which I call Rachel Held Evans a woman of valour

October 30, 2012

Nearly two years ago, I happened to hear about a book called Evolving in Monkey Town: How a Girl Who Knew All the Answers Learned to Ask the Questions.

Humph, rather weird title, I thought. I clicked over to the author’s blog. Well, hello there, Rachel Held Evans, nice to meet you.

Little did I know how that one small click would enrich my life, challenge my faith and intellect, spur my own writing career, introduce me to new thinkers and believers, and bring the gift of a true professional-and-personal friend.

I started off as a commenter and reader, and every comment I left was some variation of “Oh, gracious, you, too? ME, TOO!” Somehow, Rachel found my little corner here on the Internet, we began to correspond, develop a relationship, and now, I consider her a friend and an ally. On the outside, our current daily lives and histories are very different, and yet we had a soul-connection and theological sisterhood. (And a shared snarky sense of humour. And views on marriage.)

I owe much of my current work and its odd season of success to Rachel’s generosity and influence. Few would dispute that Rachel is a kingmaker among progressive evangelicals: she was even named one of Christianity Today’s 50 Women You Should Know. When she began to share my work and her platform with me (and many others), I freely benefitted from The RHE Bump. When a publishing house asked me about a book proposal out of the blue, I turned to her advice, even signed with her agent, and trusted Rachel’s advice for many of the decisions I had to make during the proposal writing and contract signing phases. As my blog traffic grew over the years, she has helped me navigate the increased attention and its attendant criticisms, supported my endeavours, counselled me in my decisions and boundaries. I’m very thankful for the DM feature on Twitter, because we keep it busy, us girls.

Rachel has always genuinely cheered me on with a generous heart. Anyone who likes to harp on the intrinsic jealousy of women needs to meet my friend, Rachel. She’s unselfish and truly believes that her influence comes with responsibility; she makes room for other voices, other experiences, and celebrates freely. She makes me work harder at my craft. She believed I had a voice that was worth hearing, and then she gave me a bit of space on her platform. She makes me think. She makes me laugh. She makes me feel less alone, and less crazy. She points me to Jesus. She’s witty, wise, loyal, and fearless.

I am so blessed by her friendship – professionally and personally.

Today, Rachel releases her second book, A Year of Living Biblically: How a Liberated Woman Found Herself Sitting on Her Roof, Covering Her Head, and Calling Her Husband “Master”.

For a year, she took all of the Bible’s instructions for women as literally as possible. But the book isn’t simply about biblical womanhood or complementarianism vs. egalitarianism. It’s an insightful, wise, and disarming book about how we read and interpret the Bible, how we wrestle with our theology, how we try to live out what we think and believe we know about God.

The book is a game-changer, a turning point, and it’s a damn good read. Fascinating, funny, erudite, wise, complex, I couldn’t put it down.

One of my favourite sections of the book is the chapter about the Proverbs 31 Woman. Rachel writes about the need to “take back” Proverbs 31 to its original intent – a celebration of women of valour!

“Eshet chayil is at its core a blessing – one that was never meant to be earned, but to be given, unconditionally….We abandoned the meaning of the poem by focusing on the specifics, and it became just another impossible standard by which to measure our failures. We turned an anthem into an assignment, a poem into a job description.”

Ever since I read this, I’ve adopted the phrase “Eshet Chayil, woman of valour!” Yes, I’ve reclaimed it. My daughter reached out to a lonely kid at school? Eshet chayil! My friend decided to try intentional Christian community again? Eshet chayil! My sister went back to work to help support her family? Eshet chayil! My mother in law graduated university at the same time as her daughter? Eshet chayil! My friend, Mary, boldly advocates for child sexual abuse victims? Eshet chayil! Another woman graduates from Mercy Ministries of Canada? Eshet chayil! A thousand times! I see women of valour everywhere around me; it’s a beautiful and brave sisterhood, and it’s worth celebrating.

Eshet chayil, Rachel! We are so proud of you!

We honour your intellect, your guts, your bravery, your wisdom, your wide open heart, your leadership, your thirst for knowledge, your life-giving marriage, your humility, and your generosity. We honour you for your heart after God, your faith, your fearlessness. You do us all proud.

Well done, sister.

Eshet chayil! Woman of valour!

This post is part of an online celebration for Rachel Held Evans. Her friends wanted to throw a book launch party for her, but since we’re scattered all over the world, we are throwing a virtual party. So my glass is raised, I’m looking south to Dayton, Tennessee today, and I’m smiling big and crying just a bit, too, we’re just so proud of you, Rachel. You can read other “toasts” to Rachel at JR Goudeau’s blog.

*affiliate links used. and yes, I read good books over homemade apple crisp. it’s what biblical ladies do, don’t you know?