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Remembering the Forgotten Ones

For all those who long for a child lost through miscarriage, stillbirth, abortion, SIDS, or early infant loss...

For all those who mourn alone after the flowers, cards, meals and prayers stop coming...

For all those who regretfully remove a number from the count when a stranger asks how many children they have, simply to avoid awkwardness...

For all those who remember birthdays that were never celebrated...

For all those who joyfully remember all the moments that made that life real...

You are not alone. You are loved. Your child's life matters. Your child's soul still lives. In faith, you will be reunited one glorious day.

The Joyful Burden of Motherhood

Tonight I cried for my son. He is seven years old and oh, how he struggles in school and consequentially in his emotions. I cried because tomorrow he will be evaluated for dyslexia and other learning disorders. It is an evaluation that comes after a seven month wait list, years of speech therapy, six months of vision therapy, and a year of six days a week reading intervention. Tomorrow is his evaluation and two days later he is supposed to start 2^nd grade and I’m worried sick whether he should or repeat 1^st grade. Research supports both options. Research condemns both options. Only I can make the right decision for my child. This evaluation is the final deciding factor.

And my child misplaced his glasses. Not only do they help his eyesight, but they help his confidence—a necessity for the four hour assessment he will face tomorrow.

We’ve turned the house and cars upside down. We’ve called restaurants and friends’ houses. They are gone. And the sands of the hourglass are almost gone.

UPDATE: My neighbor found his glasses in their basement prior to the assessment!

So my tears fell and he didn’t understand why I was so sad. It was so much more than buying a replacement pair. He went to sleep unphased as I sobbed in my office, on my knees before God. It is something I have done many times in this boy’s life.

First, as I prayed for God to bless my hopes for another baby to carry, nourish, and cherish in my womb.

Then again, eighteen weeks into my pregnancy as pains shot through my abdomen, reminiscent of my three prior miscarriages, I prayed for him. I pleaded for God to intervene and save my child.

From the time he was just nine months old until he was two-and-a-half, I cried to God to help him learn to pronounce ANY of the consonant sounds. I begged God to help my frustrated toddler who tried so hard to speak to us.

As a preschooler, when he would scream at me because he couldn't distinguish between a triangle or circle or an A from an S, I came to God in my helplessness.

Now I plead for my sweet and loving son who is ravaged by anger because he thinks he is dumb (even though he can build a 700 piece Avengers Lego set by himself). I cry for my child who doesn’t understand how everyone else in his class can decipher these letters and words and feels isolated even as his many friends gather around him to help him.

The burden to be the mommy he needs is great. His advocate. His protector. His interventionist. And I feel so inadequate. I don’t know the lingo or his rights. Even the things I thought I knew, such as how to comfort my child or ease his fears, seem inadequate in the presence of such mighty challenges.

Motherhood is not for the faint of heart. It is as brutal and painful as it is beautiful and life-giving. I once heard is said that choosing to become a mother is like choosing to have your heart walk around outside your body. Just as we have the honor of sharing every joy and excitement in their lives, we also bear every insult, fear, worry, insecurity, and frustration that they endure.

This burden is great. But it is a joyful burden because I can look back and see the triumphs. I remember how it felt to discover I was expecting him and how grateful I was to finally hold him in my arms, living and breathing in the delivery room. I remember the joy of finally hearing him say the m-sounds in Mommy and when he finally learned every shape and every letter.

Those times I’m reminded that God is watching over my Jonathan.  He loves him even more than I do. He is a better advocate, protector and interventionist than I am. He sees him. Just as he saw Ishmael’s life withering away in the desert to the soundtrack of his mother’s weeping, and rescued him, he sees my child. With the love of a father, he sees him. And he sees me, the weeping mother. I am Hagar and He is the God Who Sees Me. He reminds me that this joyful burden of motherhood is a blessed calling--one that I love and cherish, but thankfully don’t have to carry alone.

The Long Way Off, A Novel: Chapter 1

The Long Way Off

Chapter 1

“You are perfectly ordinary. That might be what I love most about you, Liz,” he explained. “You are just a normal girl. I don’t have to worry about you chasing after some big dream someday. You don’t have plans to backpack around Europe or devote your life to curing cancer or anything like that. I know that every day when I come home from work, you’ll be there waiting for me. And I won’t have to worry about another guy trying to steal you away. They can go after those other girls—”

“How is everything?” the waitress asked over her shoulder as she carried a tray of food for another table.

“It’s great. Thanks,” Brian smiled at the waitress. “Like her. The guy who marries her is always going to have to be watching to see if someone else is trying to woo her away.”

Elizabeth stared blankly at him. Flashing only brief moments of a courtesy smile. She pushed her spaghetti around with her fork. It was delicious; this restaurant definitely lived up to the hype surrounding its opening. She just didn’t have much of an appetite. It had been a long day.

“The thing is: life with you will be comfortable and easy. Just what I’ve always imagined. It is like God made you to perfectly fit into my life.”

Elizabeth smiled down at her plate. It was a compliment, she told herself. That had been her goal, after all; to perfectly fit somewhere. She had spent the past three years doing everything in her power to make his life better. She was available when he had time for her. She encouraged him in his studies and his ministry. She stood by his side when he received awards for his scholarship and kissed his cheek after a great speech. She fit the mold precisely. In return for her efforts, she was invited to holiday dinners, vacations, and special occasions with his family. She had someone to sit with at funerals, weddings, and the dinner table. She wasn’t alone and there is a lot to be said for that.

Yet something wasn’t sitting right.

“Well, I have to use the restroom. Excuse me.” He nodded his head, checking a message on his phone.

“Sure,” he said without looking up. “Hey, Seth and the guys say ‘congratulations.’“ He chuckled as his thumbs typed a response.

She pushed back her chair as she stood. The industrial-style heavy metal chair scraped against the stained concrete and made a wretched screech. Brian almost dropped his phone at the noise. Several people nearby turned to see who had dared to ruin their meal. A girl, one of those beautiful girls that men would fight over, sneered in her direction. She rolled her big, heavily lashed eyes and turned back towards her date.

That was the first time she saw him. He was watching Elizabeth as she absorbed the glares of her fellow restaurant-goers. She fidgeted in the center of attention; it was her least favorite place to be. He waited for her to meet his gaze. When she did, they held eye contact. Even though he was fifteen yards away, she could see his striking green eyes. He was very handsome. A great counterpart to the beautiful girl at his table, she thought.

“Jeez,” Brian exclaimed, still looking down at his phone. “Did you leave a rut in the concrete? Maybe you should have ordered that salad instead.”

Elizabeth gave an embarrassed smile as she carefully lifted the chair and placed it under the table. She pivoted on her heels and took a step, nearly colliding with one of the servers. The man fluidly lifted a tray of drinks up and over her, saving them both from causing another scene.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t….” she fumbled for words. People kept watching her.

“Man, Liz. People are going to think you are drunk because of your clumsiness. Great testimony,” Brian joked, shaking his head as he raised his water glass in the air and looked around, as if engaged in an awkward toast with all the disapproving customers.

Elizabeth didn’t respond. Like a magnet her eyes went back to the man on the date. He was staring at Brian with a look of disdain. When he turned his focus back to her, his green eyes didn’t cast a look of frustration or annoyance. Rather, they were steady and unwavering. He lifted the corner of his mouth in a smirk. With a small flick of his chin upwards, it seemed like he was trying to inspire confidence in her.

Trying to take his cue, she straightened and smoothed her dress. She mimicked his smirk and after checking for other servers, she walked confidently yet quickly to the restroom, bypassing tables and restaurant patrons who had already forgotten about her existence. She was content to be invisible again.

She did a double-take in the restroom hallway. This new restaurant was apparently too modern for typical Men and Women labels for their restrooms. Rather, they had abstract drawings signifying each. Thoroughly confused, she stood for a moment trying to decipher the symbols.

“Women’s is right there.” It was the server with whom she had almost collided. He walked briskly past her to the kitchen, the empty tray swinging in his hand.

“Thank you,” she tried to say but he was already gone. Just then two teenage girls, dressed as if they had just finished walking the stage at Fashion Week, pushed their way through the bathroom door, giggling uncontrollably.

“Oh. My. Goodness. Who does that?” one girl laughed to her friend.

Elizabeth let them pass. She recognized them from the high school where she did ministry. They obviously didn’t recognize her, or even see her. They let the heavy door slam in front of Elizabeth. Invisibility has its down sides.

She stepped into the seemingly vacant restroom. It was the first time all day that she had been alone.  Although she was an introvert, she didn’t often like to be alone. Most of her life, she had been alone. She felt more comfortable in large groups. She liked the noise and the feeling of being included, even if it was a facade. Today was a day of lots of noise and a lot of people, yet she felt lonely all the same. Groups of people seemed to talk about her rather than to her. When it came to actual conversation, she preferred small groups and one-on-one conversations. It was in those situations that God could use her to help others. As far as she knew, that was her purpose in life.

As she walked to the sink and mirror, she heard the sobs. In the stall next to the vanity a girl was crying quietly, but everything echoed loudly in this bathroom with its cold, stainless steel and mirrored walls. Elizabeth resisted the desire to call out to the girl. She probably needs the solitude as much as I do right now, she pondered.

Elizabeth braced herself against the sink, closed her eyes and took a deep breath trying to steady her whole being. It reminded her of the time she went on a carnival ride with her grandpa. It spun around and the force pushed her back against the wall and held her there.  At seven years old, she wasn’t strong enough to move her body against the centrifugal force so she just endured. Laughter swirled around her, yet she just closed her eyes and waited for it to end. Her grandpa reached over and held her hand. When the ride ended, he continued to hold her hand as she dizzily walked off of the ride. He helped to steady her. She wished he was there to hold her hand right now. The sink was cold and hard, a poor replacement for a warm hand.

She opened her eyes when she heard the stall door open. The girl walked to the sink next to her. She was wearing the signature white top and black slacks that all the servers wore. Her name tag said, “Grace.” She looked familiar. She thought she might have seen her at church before. Grace adopted the same stance as Elizabeth, flattening her palms against the sink, arms taught as if they were the only things keeping her upright. Her shoulders drooped and she was just staring at herself in the mirror, the tears still streaming out of her swollen eyes and down her wet, red cheeks.

Elizabeth washed her hands thoroughly, more to wash away her discomfort than germs. She could sense Grace shift her eyes to her reflection in the mirror. Elizabeth kept looking down at the water as it splashed off her hands and spiraled down the drain. Finally, she turned off the water and turned to grab a paper towel from the basket sitting between the two sinks. Her hand collided with Grace’s hand as she also reached for a towel.

“Oh, I’m sorry. You go first.” Elizabeth conceded.

“Thank you.” She blotted her cheeks and blew her nose loudly. “I’m quite a sight.”

Elizabeth didn’t know what to say.

“Ugh…even my hair is a wreck.” Grace proceeded to pull out the bobby pins that had secured her long auburn locks into a messy bun. One of the pins fell from her shaky hands to the floor. Elizabeth bent down to pick it up and placed it on the sink next to the others.

“Are you okay?” she managed to squeak out.

Fresh tears appeared and the waitress squeezed her eyes tight.

“Some guys are just jerks!” she erupted. “They think they can use a girl to get what they want and then just throw her out like, like trash!” Her face turned to a scowl at the final word.

Elizabeth thought for a moment.

“Look, Grace…” she motioned to her name tag. “I don’t know you but I can promise that you are worth much more than this. No guy should treat you like that.”

“I am so dumb. I thought he really liked me, you know?”

“One day you’ll meet someone who treats you how you deserve,” Elizabeth offered.

“Well, it looks like you already found yours.” She nodded towards the large diamond ring on her left hand, trying to lighten the mood. “Dang, girl! How do you hold your hand up? Does he have a brother?”

They both chuckled. The girl wrapped one last tendril around the bun and secured it with a pin.

“Thanks for making me feel better. I’m sorry for making a scene. My manager is probably writing my pink slip right now.”

“No, you don’t have to apologize. I would do the same,” Elizabeth hesitated at the door. “God bless you, Grace.”

Returning to the table, she wondered how much to explain to Brian.

“Took you long enough. I already paid the bill. Are you ready to go?” He yawned and pulled his hands through his sandy blond hair and up into a stretch. “I’m tired. This has been a long day.”

“Um, sure.” As she pulled her purse out from under the table, she saw the broken-hearted redhead walking proudly and defiantly from the kitchen, past the bathroom doors with a glass of red wine in her hand. She brushed past Elizabeth and whispered, “Watch this.”

Elizabeth turned to see her walk up to the table with the blond and the man with green eyes. Grace stood over him and loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear, proclaimed, “I’m worth more than this!”

At that, she poured the glass of wine on the front of his freshly pressed, stark white shirt. There was a gasp across the restaurant. The two teenage girls howled in laughter. One of the hostesses clapped approvingly. A manager near the bar yelled, “Grace!” The blond at the table jumped up.

Grace turned and assuredly sauntered to the kitchen, throwing Elizabeth a sly smile as she passed. The manager wavered between following her to demand her apron or helping his customer attempt to soak up the merlot.

“Do you know her?” Brian asked. Elizabeth didn’t hear him though. She was caught in a stare with the man with the green eyes and burgundy-streaked shirt. The smirk remained, even as his date berated him with questions and demanded their meal be paid for out of that “maniac’s check.” Elizabeth couldn’t help but smile back at the ridiculousness of the situation and his ability to remain cool and calm under these circumstances. Brian grabbed her arm and led her to the door. 

Walking through the front doors, the quiet of the city street welcomed them. The students for the fall semester wouldn’t start arriving until tomorrow. After the commotion of the restaurant, it felt peaceful; a nice end to a chaotic “best day of her life.” At least that is what others might call it. It hadn’t been a bad day by any means. There had been many worse days in her life. She was happy, of course, but she hoped that this was not the pinnacle of her life. If it truly was the best day of her life up until this point, then she chose to be cautiously optimistic that it would not remain so.

They walked to the car parked down the city block. The air was thick and warm. In the flow of the streetlights she saw the end-of-summer bugs swarm above their heads.

“That’s what I was talking about,” Brian began.

“What were you talking about?” Elizabeth smiled at him, proud of having such a man of integrity to marry. She couldn’t imagine him treating a woman the way the man in the restaurant had treated Grace. She wrapped her arm around his.

He continued, “Pretty girls cause so much drama. It makes me all the more thankful for you.” He playfully squeezed her close to him.

Her smile melted away. She looked down at her newly ornamented finger. She thought it might take her whole life to get used to the weight of it. She splayed her fingers out in front of her to get another look at it. In the scurry of the actual proposal, then the gathering of friends, and then dinner, she hadn’t really taken the time to examine the massive diamond. Standing at the stoplight waiting to cross the street, the stone reflected the green light. Her thoughts went back to the man with the green eyes at the restaurant.

**If you liked this chapter and would like access to the entire novel, contact me and I will add you to the facebook group!

Marriage is Hard: An Honest Look at the "Love Your Spouse" Challenge

I was challenged by several of my friends and family to post pictures in a facebook challenge to celebrate my love for my husband. I love this idea and this is not meant to discourage anyone who has already or is currently participating in that challenge. However, for me, this isn’t as easy.

I have been married to a wonderful man for fourteen years. He is a great man. He is highly respected at his work, at our church and in our social circles. And he is a perfect husband. Or at least he would be to a woman with a very different personality than mine. He is an imperfect husband to me though. And the same is true about me.

For some other man, I would be a dream-come-true wife. Although I joke that if I was married to someone more similar to me we would be living in a van down by the river. (Yes, babe, I did just quote Chris Farley—you see, readers, the perfect wife for my husband would ALWAYS appreciate Chris Farley’s humor. I do not. Imperfect Wife, right here.)

If you were a betting man, you would bet against our marriage. We have not had easy circumstances. We have moved eight times, suffered three miscarriages, birthed three baby boys, adopted one baby girl, lost four grandparents and one parent. We have battled Satan over various sins through the years. We have two wildly different personalities that make us see EVERY SINGLE SITUATION differently. Big things and little things.  Every one of the situations listed above were handled differently by each of us. George always took the logical, reasonable approach. I always took the emotional, verge-of-breakdown approach.

Prior to March 15, 2002, we were unaware of the challenges we would face in life or how our differences would impact us. On our first grocery shopping trip after our honeymoon we fought over the shape of tortilla chips. He insisted on round chips. I insisted on restaurant-style triangle chips. (We agreed to disagree and bought both kinds). We also had no idea what demons would be appearing in times of stress. Neither of us knew that I would struggle with various eating disorders or significant bouts of depression that almost destroyed me and us in the process.

People often talk about how marriage gets better with time. Am I the only one that thinks it gets harder? We have added four more strong personalities into our family dynamic, not including our two demanding dogs. Our once simple life has grown from a one bedroom $500 a month apartment to a multiple bedroom, constantly messy and loud single family home.

So with this challenge, I don’t celebrate how perfect my marriage is. I celebrate that in spite of the imperfections, we are still engaged in the battle. And that is what it is. It is not easy. I don’t imagine that my marriage ever will be. As long as I have an emotion in my heart and he has logic in his brain, we will struggle. But I tell you, if we ever figure out how to combine George's wisdom and efficiency with my compassion and heart, then Satan be damned because we will be an unstoppable force in the kingdom. I hope that happens in our time on earth, but if not, it will happen in heaven and it will ALL BE WORTH IT!

Here are a few “Love Your Spouse” pictures that paint a more realistic picture of marriage.

1. Our first post-honeymoon pic in our shoddy apartment. Poor kids...they have no idea what is about to hit them.

2. At first look, this is a beautiful picture of the Great Smoky Mountains on our 6 month anniversary trip. In reality, it was horrible and we fought the whole time and left early. Here I'm wondering what the heck I committed to.

3. After our second miscarriage, George bought me a puppy. A horrible little thing, she was meant to bring peace and she brought puppy-toothed destruction for the first year. Of course, she has redeemed herself the last 11 and Molly has been a great counselor to us in our marital turmoil--mostly because she always takes my side. This is him sleeping with her the first night in our home because she wouldn't stop crying. LOVE!

 4. Jonathan's first birthday. We have no couple picture at this time because we were actually separated for a few months. For me, this picture is draped in sadness. Fortunately, our kids were unaware.

5. A few months after Jonathan's first birthday, we attended a Family Life Weekend to Remember Getaway. We had already reconciled but our struggles had not disappeared. It was a great weekend, but marriage conferences aren't always the solution to marital differences. This is us trying to recreate Family Life's iconic pose for their conference. Notice the strain of muscles. I think George threw out his back.

6. My husband and I don't stay up until 2am talking about our hopes and dreams. That was my definition of love prior to marriage. Now, Love looks like your husband being willing to wear chaps because you decide to dress up like this for Halloween and he needs to match. (Can you tell I had just read Redeeming Love?)

7. Love also looks like sitting in 20 degree weather to watch the Thanksgiving parade in Estes Park because your wife demands that we make happy family memories. Look at that happiness.

 8. (Eight because seven is so cliché.) Running a marathon in New Orleans, together but not together. We both love to do races. George runs. I jog. We will never run together. The last family run we went on, a tornado hit our neighborhood right afterwards. That was our sign. Still, he encourages me to do what I love. He even puts up with me when I spend the whole weekend fawning over Mark Wahlberg because I saw him and we made eye contact.

 9. The most important one, imo. This is a fraction of the books that I have read to try to better our marriage. (I could not find the classic "When Pleasing You is Killing Me"). Some see this as a sign of weakness. I don't. It means I'm fighting. And so is George. A less faithful man would have left long ago.

Note: I have many wonderful friends who despite all their efforts, could not save their marriage. And I watched how God has loved them through it (even when some Christians have not). I do not judge you. I love you and I hope the best for you!

Perhaps one day you will see me showering social media with love-filled pics where no disclaimer is necessary. Until then, I'll be fighting alongside my husband to make this thing called marriage work. Our efforts are worth it. And maybe then we will have that Family life pose nailed down!

The One Extreme America Needs from the White House to our House

I am certainly no political science expert. I don’t hold an advanced degree in law. I haven’t served political office. But one qualification that I do have is that I have 36 years of experience dealing with people all over our country.

What I have found is that people do not like extremes, especially when it comes to views and beliefs. We fear them, actually. This is why the upcoming presidential election has our citizens so worried. We have multiple candidates who have extreme views on issues that we care very much about: immigration, abortion, the definition of marriage, terrorism, gun rights, healthcare, education, etc.

However, there is one extreme that is not nearly prevalent enough in our society.  It is very rare in our neighborhood, families, communities, internet comment sections, congressional houses, and the supreme court. It is also seemingly nonexistent in the hearts of our presidential candidates from every political party. In my opinion, it is the MOST IMPORTANT trait for the leader of any entity to possess, especially the President of the United States.

It is compassion.

Our country and our people have a history of lacking compassion. From our roots as an English colony, Spanish territory, Dutch settlement, etc., we have consistently charged ahead towards our physical and philosophical Manifest Destiny while turning a blind eye to the pain we have caused others in our wake. In modern times this has been less physical and cultural damage and more relational and communal damage. We may no longer enslave our brothers and sisters, steal their land or demand cultural assimilation, but instead we presume the worst about those on the other side of the philosophical or political aisle and we demean, disparage and disconnect from those around us. It is tearing apart of families and our society.

From our leaders and our neighbors, it is not more rhetoric we need, but more compassion. It is easy to give compassion to those who are like us. It is very difficult to bestow compassion on those with whom we differ theologically, ethnically, culturally, socioeconomically, philosophically and politically. We can’t possibly understand how someone could act, think or believe differently than us and we don’t even try.

But sometimes difficulty indicates necessity. For the future of American society, it is absolutely necessary that we learn how to have compassion on others with whom we disagree.

We need to look at those on the other side of the religious, political, or socioeconomic aisle not as enemies, but as individuals with whom we disagree on this one issue.

Individuals with a story, past hurts, and enviable strengths.

Individuals with a vision, a passion, and a hope for how things could be in a better world.

Individuals who have seen what we have not seen, heard what we have not heard, lived what we have not lived.

(And thank the Lord for that. Thank him that we have not ALL been blinded to the same wrongdoings, societal ills, or communal needs. Thank him that we do not individually have to carry every single worldly burden on our shoulders. Thank him that we do not individually have to be experts on every single issue confronting us. Thank him that we do not have to individually endure every hardship of humanity in order to minister to others.)

So what does this mean for us in a harsh political climate?

For the environmentalist it may be to give grace to the non-recyclers for trying to heal their personal or family struggles before trying to heal the planet.

For the pro-lifer, it might mean understanding that many women who choose abortion do not do so lightly, but rather out of desperation, fear, or uncertainty.

For the proponents of traditional marriage, it might mean recognizing that what is a religious or political issue at the societal level for you is an extremely sensitive, personal issue to someone else.

For the advocate of the Black Lives Matter movement, it might mean understanding that very few white people will ever be able to truly comprehend how generations of institutional racism and prejudice can affect the modern day lives of others. Most do not know what it is like to be followed around in a store, or questioned for simply lingering too long in one public place.

For the supporter of the welfare system, it might mean realizing that most opponents of government handouts actually give a significant amount of money to charitable organizations because they do believe in the idea of people helping people.

Of course, for each of these there is one or more counterpoints. For instance, for the opponent of the welfare system, it might mean learning that sometimes people are trapped in circumstances beyond their control and beyond the reach of other charitable organizations.

If there is an issue on which we cannot demonstrate any compassion, then we must seek to further our understanding. We must be willing to hear stories with an open heart.  My own eyes were opened the day I stepped back into the college classroom. I heard the story of a Syrian refuge trying to survive. I learned about how drastically different one Muslim student was treated before and after 9/11. My heart was broken as I learned about one student’s parents being deported. It is impossible to hear such stories and maintain a lack of compassion on key issues.

It is important for us to remember that our convictions are not compromised by showing compassion to those with whom we disagree. Jesus himself taught us this. He was constantly showing compassion to men and women who were leading a life with which he disagreed. When the woman was caught in adultery, he stood by her side. He didn’t condone her sin. But his intervention in the situation saved her from all those who wished her to be punished for it. In his last words, AFTER he had stood by her and AFTER he had showed her love, grace, and compassion, THEN he implored her to reconsider this lifestyle which almost took her life. “Go and leave your life of sin” (John 8:11).

If we want people to hear our side, our beliefs, our opinions, we must first show respect, grace, and compassion to them. We must stop turning a cold shoulder to others when we disagree with them.

Fellow Christians, it is our belief that we were all created by God out of love. He loves each and every person whether they love him, believe in him, or follow his commandments and teachings. So must we. So whether we are vying for political office or voting for it, whether we have a large circle of influence or a small one, if we must be called extreme in any area, let it be our compassion.

The Lord is good to all; he has compassion on all he has made. -Psalm 145:9

The Best Compliment

Last week, my two year old daughter gave me the best compliment I’ve ever received. It was not a morning of good mothering. As I frantically prepared lunches for my three boys and shouted short-tempered directives to them so they wouldn’t be late to school, she came up to me, wrapped her arms around my legs and said, “Momma, I like being with you.” My scowl melted away as I looked at this sweet girl, born to another woman and brought into our home when she was five weeks old. In this one interestingly-timed compliment, she calmed, at least for a time, one of my biggest insecurities as an adoptive mom: What if she wishes she were with someone else? Especially when I'm struggling in motherhood to show her the unconditional love she deserves? When I'm not the "fun mom"? When I'm the "yelling-because-I'm-overwhelmed" mom?

This insecurity goes much deeper than just my fears as an adoptive mom. The fear of not being “enough” to make people want to be with me has followed me my whole life. I believe that I share this insecurity with most, if not all of humankind. It is the reason why breakups hard. It is why our feelings get so hurt when we see that we weren’t invited somewhere.  It is why we drown ourselves in the lives of tv or book characters; we get to share in the joys and triumphs of another without the fear of getting pushed out or left behind. It is the painful knowledge that sometimes people, for one reason or another, don't "like being with" us.

When we feel rejected by those around us, we may seek relational refuge in social media friendships. We feel safe with our surface level friendships, comprised of likes and friendly comments, until we see something like this

 

and are reminded that we are only as cared for as we are useful to other people.

This insecurity is why we seek options to remedy our flaws. Perhaps we think others (especially those from the opposite sex) may like being with us more if we could remedy our physical flaws: lose a few pounds, wear more makeup, change our hair color/texture, undergo surgery, etc. Perhaps we think others would like us more if we could remedy our character flaws: say less, say more, be more positive, complain less, laugh more, be more spiritual, be less spiritual, etc. Perhaps others would like to be with us if could remedy our behavioral flaws: drink less, party more, swear less, let loose, gossip less, gossip more, etc.

This insecurity is particularly heart wrenching when you are undergoing a long term circumstance such as ongoing sin, chronic pain, a sick child, struggling marriage, infertility, depression, etc. Humans have an extremely small capacity to remain in the presence of others (emotionally and physically) when they are undergoing a circumstance that is not easily fixed. The times when we are hardest to be with are the times when we need companionship the most.  Even Christians fail each other in these moments, but we attempt to justify our absence by overusing the idea of “healthy boundaries.” The fact is that few people will choose to be with you when you are at your ugliest and few people will walk by your side when your night is the darkest.

In general, people only like being with us to the extent that we are likable.

On the flip side, it means all that much more when someone appears at your side when you are in a hard place.

When the friend babysits your kids for the umpteenth time…

When the friend prays for you again and again and again…

When the spouse comes back to a difficult home and marriage night after night…

When the child makes you a valentine even though you grounded them from their electronics…

When the mentor listens to your repeated mistake over and over…

When the neighbor brings you dinner for the third or fourth time in your illness, injury or postpartum time…

Have you ever wondered why so many people still believe in God, in spite of the fact that He is unpopular, uncool, and the lifestyle he encourages is outdated? It is because He offers something completely unheard of in this life. He wants to be with us unconditionally. He sees us in our ugliest, our most soiled, our most depressed, our most stubborn, our most depraved, our most tainted and our loneliest time and he STILL longs to be with us. He longs to be with each one of us so much that he allowed his very son, Jesus, to die a tortured death on the cross so that we may be with him for eternity.  This is THE singular reason why I began a relationship with Jesus Christ 19 years ago.

How is he able to love us without condition? Because he doesn’t NEED anything from us. The nature of human relationships involves a reciprocal meeting of needs. When someone no longer meets one of our needs, our emotional response is fight or flight, not love and linger. God alone is capable of loving and lingering in our lives because he doesn’t need anything from us for him to keep being God.

The bible is full of stories where Jesus chose to “be” with people in spite of their circumstances, flaws, and failures. Jesus stood with the woman caught in adultery, the tax collector cheating his neighbors, the prostitute, the woman with the constant relationship drama, the woman with a 12 year illness, the sisters in mourning, his best friends who denied him on his hardest day. Jesus lingered. He loved. To use the words of my daughter, he “liked BEING with them.”

In conclusion, here are a few questions to ponder:

Who do you “like being with?” How can you tell them so?

Who do you NOT like being with but needs you to stay faithful to them in their hard time? How can you find the strength to persevere and love unconditionally?

Who “likes being with you” and why?

Do you believe God “likes being with you?” Why or why not?

Sincerely,

Janine