"As I was praying for
you..."
That was the first sentence in a letter I received this week, sweetly tucked in
with a beautiful gift of flowers and watercolor print. The rest of it chronicled her prayers over my life and what she could see God doing in this season I'm in. It was from one of the ladies in my monthly dinner group, and was quietly dropped off to my office while I was out running errands.
This group of women has been meeting together since the first of the year. We have a date, the second Thursday of the month, that's now blocked off for gathering around the table. We eat, we talk, we laugh, we pray, and we eat some more.
And even though I always know it's going to be fun, sometimes I don't feel like gathering. Since it's at my house, gathering means cleaning (I've tried not to worry about this, but I can't not worry about it), cooking, and finding some place for my family to eat dinner without making a mess of what I just cleaned. It never fails that I end up being tired that day and wish I could warm up a frozen pizza for my family and eat dinner in my bathrobe.
But, I am always, without fail, so glad that we gathered. Every time the last woman leaves the front porch after that one last goodbye chat, I am thrilled that I get to share my life with them and partake of theirs. They are all so beautiful and so valuable, and when we share a meal together and then take the deep breath and jump into the pool of vulnerability month after month, their beauty and value spills over the wall of their own life and flows into mine.
This is the way women were meant to be together. Friends. Confidants. Champions of each other. It's what every little girl is looking for when she heads into the lunch room and wonders where to sit. It's what grown women still long for when they find themselves in transition and wonder where their safe place is.
And it doesn't happen by accident. Because life is crazy, and families are demanding, and vulnerability is terrifying. There is only one way it happens. It happens when you decide you have to have it and that it's a vital part of shepherding your heart and having something to give to the people you love. It happens when you take a risk and throw open the door to your home and your heart at the same time. It happens when you welcome the beauty of the woman next to you into your life and tell your own insecurities they can not dictate your parameters to you anymore.
And the reward of letting go and diving in is the note and the flowers and the watercolor that speak life to your soul because someone loves you and is praying for you and listening to what God has to say about her friend.. It's the text you can send in the middle of the night when your kid is sick and you're scared. It's the lunch you know you can grab in the middle of the week that will connect your heart in a matter of four minutes, before the bread even comes. It's the long phone call when you're a mess and don't want anyone to know, but also know you can't afford for anyone not to know. A reward beyond price.
Last week, we met at a restaurant instead of my house, because life.
And I noticed the ladies around the table all had a hard time getting there, because life.
There was a lot of weariness in the eyes as we sat down, because life.
But, after thick bowls of pasta and laughing until we snorted, I also noticed that the walk to our cars looked different. We were full of energy, and our smiles were in our eyes.
Because life together.
A couple of months ago, my pastor husband asked if I would mind letting a traveling band of musicians stay in our home for a night. We were scheduled to be out of town that evening, the church was needing to find them a place to stay after they performed a concert for the congregation, and it seemed like an all-around easy solution. I said sure, it would be no problem.
Fast forward to T minus 6 days, and it was no longer an easy solution and was in fact a huge problem. What had I been thinking? A group of people I didn't know staying in my home without us there? This called for some SERIOUS CLEANING!
I've always thought of myself as a clean person. (Almost) everything has a place, and (almost) everything can be put it in its place in pretty quick order in my house. But, this was not the usual scenario for company. These people weren't just coming over for dinner or coffee, they were going to shower, sleep, prepare their own breakfast, and possibly do laundry here. They were going to see into closets, cabinets, bathtubs (shriek!), and who knows, maybe behind couches?
So, I spent the better part of two days cleaning from top to bottom.
Floors.
Couch cushions.
Bathrooms.
Ceiling fans.
The works.
And what should have been a natural display of hospitality turned into an exhausting ordeal.
All because I was worried what someone I didn't even know would think if they saw dust on the baseboards or dog hair on the couch.
Until I finally realized, enough was enough. The house was cleaner than it ever is for the people who LIVE here, so it was just going to have to be enough for those who were visiting.
My tired family was thrilled to hear this decision as it meant they were spared the deep cleaning of their closets.
The last thing I did before we left town was shut every single closet door and hoped no one would have a desire to see if I know how to fold fitted sheets (I don't) or if all the pieces of our board games have made it back into their boxes. And then I walked out, and tried not to think about it anymore.
But, now, two weeks later, I've been thinking about it. And I wonder why I allowed myself to get stressed out when our home is a lovely, homey place. It's not perfect and its furniture is showing signs of being well loved by a family of six, but it's full of peace and comfort and joy and life. It's a beautiful place to relax and be yourself. And maybe the imperfections around the house are a lot like the people who live here, the people who aren't perfect, but are growing up and changing for the better and not ever staying the same.
And maybe there are just a lot of things more important in life than correctly folded sheets.
"All the believers were together and had everything in common....they broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts, praising God..." (Acts 2:44-46)
The believers were together. They broke bread together. They were sincere with each other.
Where did it go? How do we find ourselves alone and lacking deep relationships?
As much as we hate to admit it, it doesn't really have much to do with our busy schedules. Rather, it's because opening our homes and inviting other people in makes us vulnerable.
Our houses, our yards, the food we put on the table--- we see them all as a reflection of ourselves. And it's a scary thing to put ourselves on display, with all our weaknesses and imperfections. It's easier to hole up, keep the circle small, meet people at a restaurant for dinner, or skip the family mingling all together and just stick with the occasional lunch date while the kids are at school.
But, what we miss out on is the sharing of life. The sense of being a part of a circle of friends who really know each other. The ability to say, "I'm not perfect, but I'll share who I am with you. I'll not only invite you in, but I'll also step into your life without passing judgment on your imperfections. I'll choose not to feed myself on the table that holds the wound from the last time I tried to go deep, and I'll learn with you how to live life in transparent friendship."
The day I took my family to a friend's house and stepped out to see the girls having their tea party in the back of the old family pick-up truck, something grabbed at my heart and I started snapping pictures, desperate to capture the moment.
Days later, as I pondered the images, it struck me. I could do this.
I could choose to invite people into my world without having to perfect my world first. I could share what I have in the moment without worrying that it's not enough. I could seize every opportunity to see my friends laugh at my table instead of waiting until they'll be impressed by my domestic skills, which might very well mean I would wait forever.
I could offer myself like tea in a mason jar, and we can grow to be porcelain together.
