A Year From Today

My divorce lawyer’s last name was Makepeace.

Really.

In Mr. Makepeace’s office, my soon-to-be ex-husband and I divvied up our property and worked out child custody plans—moving closer to separation, not peace. Once, when my husband stepped out of the room, I could not hold in the sorrow. My denial failed and became a messy display of tears and snot and hiccups. The harder I tried to pull myself together, the more I fell apart. Makepeace sat back in his chair and waited. I apologized, but he brushed it off with a wave of his hand.

Have you been there—so traumatized you can’t even function? Are you there now? I’m sorry. It’s lousy. I hate to even think back to that memory, let alone talk about it. But I will in case you don’t have a Makepeace in your life to say what you need to hear...


This post is published at (In)courage. Click here to read more.

Belly Up

All day long a lovely little hummingbird flits back forth from a simple feeder filled with sugar water. I can see him from where work at my desk—and every time I do, I smile.

I was studying a book on spiritual disciplines this summer with some women from my church, and one of the topics was hospitality. The author encouraged us to see this ministry not as a way to showcase our great entertaining skills, but to make others feel welcome and safe. He suggested that if welcoming people was too hard, to give it a try with animals.

I laughed at first—but then I thought of my hummingbird friend. And my cat. And all the animals I have welcomed to my home over the years. Providing for their needs does nothing to fill my ego; rather, seeing them lounge in my good will fills my heart with joy. I like making creatures feel happy and safe. (You should see my cat sleep—sprawled out on his back with his neck exposed, not a care in the world.)

I want to be that kind of person with humans too. Whether in my home or at church or in the grocery story or on twitter, I want to make people feel happy and to know they are safe. When they're with me, I want them to know they belong.

Why? Because that's what God does for me. You think my cat looks crazy with his belly exposed? That's what I look like in God's presence. There's no better place to be.

Friends and Strangers

I think we need a new dictionary to describe relationships.

Are people from my church considered friends or family? And does that go for people just in my local church, or the church universal? Are the people I meet online and engage frequently in meaningful conversation friends or strangers? Are the people I considered my best friends 20 or 30 years ago still my friends today even if I hardly or never talk to them?

I'm connecting with two new communities this weekend, and even though they are probably strangers in the strict sense of the word, I feel close to them. Is that normal?

The first community is Celebrate Church in Sioux Falls, SD. I'll be sharing an intimate story with this congregation on Saturday night and Sunday morning, and I've been praying for them long before I was to meet them. I did meet the pastor, Keith Loy, in person last year. We were at a church conference, and while his kids joyfully ran all over the resort, we enjoyed dinner together with our spouses. It was awesome to hear his testimony of growing a tiny church to 3000 people, and it was clear his message of love was matched only by his actions of love. If his people are anything like their pastor, I know we'll bond.

The second community is a group of women who love to blog. On Monday this exciting new project called (in)Courage will launch; and those of us who have been invited by DaySpring to participate have been emailing and twittering and chatting on forums for several months in preparation for this exciting event. Without meeting any of them (except Holley Gerth, the Big Cheese of the whole operation), I already have a great sense of connection with them. They are good, thoughtful, funny, lovely people—and admittedly a bit zany.

You may have landed on my blog because Ginny Martyn introduced you to me. I've been reading her blog and have had my thoughts stimulated time and time again because of her willingness to articulate deep concepts. Plus, she called me a triple threat. She's my friend forever now. :)

Another new friend from this group is Robin Dance. I knew her first because we have many mutual friends (there's that word again) on Twitter. I was led to her blog because of (in)Courage, and am delighted to discover that she's not only good with 140 characters—that girl can conjure up gorgeous images when she frees herself to use 140+ sentences. (I'm a sucker for word pictures!)

So is it normal to call these people friends?

I think so. I think we've entered a new era where "small world" takes on new meaning. We can connect on a deep level with folks we meet around the world without neglecting our next-door neighbor. Treasuring old friends and near friends, new friends and virtual friends enriches our lives. How does that old ditty go? "Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver and the other gold."

I hope you'll connect with your church family tomorrow—and surf the net.

Rejection

Never trust a youth pastor. Mine invited me to come on the youth missions trip, promising me I would have fun. Sleeping on an air mattress in a hot church basement five nights in a row didn't exactly sound fun; but since three of my own teens were signed up to go, I thought I should do my part. Besides, my suffering for Jesus lately had been grabbing a Chai Tea Latte at Starbucks with friends from church. (Gotta love friendship ministry.) It was time to do a little more.

The first day I was assigned to teach ten 5-year-olds. Sounds as sweet as Chai tea, right? Wrong. It was so crazy the woman on staff left after an hour. "I just have to," she said. The kids were out of control.

I'm used to being loved by kids. Larry says that wherever Heather goes, kids follow. Maybe it's because I'm such a spectacle. (With a malformed arm and missing digits on my right hand, due to a car accident, kids usually love to get into long, theological conversations about the marvel of being able to pick up a pencil with two fingers.) But I think it's really because I love them so much, and they know it.

These kids, however, knocked the confidence out of me. They didn't like me. One boy kept looking at me as if I were something you find at the bottom of a toilet, saying, "Disgusting. Disgusting." Another one ran screaming out of the classroom every time I approached, terrified I would touch her. (I considered threatening to touch them if they didn't behave, but I refrained.)

It wasn't "fun."

The next morning I read about Moses who was overwhelmed by God's call to him to save the Israelites—and how he did it anyway. It was enough to get me going. God would equip me to care for these kids. Besides, it wasn't about how much the kids loved me; it was about giving glory to God.

When we arrived, a little boy named Mikael walked over to me. "I'm not afraid of your hand," he said. "I'll be your friend." He held my hand all day, and bit by bit the other kids became less afraid of me. And they began to listen. And we sang songs and played games and wrote words and read books. Soon, they clamored to hold both my hands.

It felt good to be accepted again, but that's not what gave me so much joy. I saw hope for these kids, and I knew God would raise up leaders in this heart-breaking community to bring restoration—beginning with Mikael. And I told him that. "You are a great person, Mikael. You saw a need, and you helped. Keep doing the right thing, no matter how much pressure you feel to do the wrong thing, and God will use you in a powerful way."

He smiled. "I helped you," he said, "and you helped me."

I guess that's how God works. Thank goodness the youth pastor tricked me.