Closing the Gaps through Organic Mentoring

Long before we exchanged stories over lunch, we talked across wooden desks, hunched over in too-small chairs. God planted something during those parent-teacher conferences and for years He watered it, then patiently watched it grow.

Her youngest son dropped a square envelope on my desk one morning. Inside was a note from her, brief but sincere.  She told me she was praying for me.  What she didn’t know was that my heart was breaking that day.  Deep in the trenches of infertility, my most recent loss had left me devastated.  I was smiling on the outside, but crumbling on the inside. 

Years later, when my twins were barely two, I found myself sitting next to her in a bible study class. One day I found the courage to tell her how God used that note to shine hope into my dark corner. She invited me to lunch, and in no time, it was a regular thing. She listened intently to my latest twin toddler tale, years past that stage with her own two boys.  Knowing that she survived those years with most of her sanity intact was so refreshing to me. I didn’t call her my mentor; she was my friend.

I’ll never forget the day she told me she had cancer. It was aggressive, but God was more powerful, she reminded me.  He would be with her every step. She took my focus off her illness and redirected it to the God who is mighty to save. Even as her hair fell out, we kept our lunch dates.  Some days she told me she was angry at God. She didn’t hide her fatigue.  She was honest.  And she was beautiful. We prayed for each other, confided in each other, and shared meals with each other. As we sat across the table, one thing became crystal clear:

We were both just normal women who needed Jesus.

When she died nine months ago, it left this giant gaping hole in my heart, and it’s taken me all this time to figure out why. God placed a need for this type of relationship within us all.  In fact, research shows that after marriage and family, mentoring is the third most powerful relationship for influencing human behavior. *

As women, we need another woman who’s been there and walked all the way through it to tell us to keep going.  We need her to listen to our fears and our dreams and tell us to love our husbands the best we know how.  We need her to sit across the table and just be real.  We need her to drop the forced conversation starters and tidy responses and just invite us into the hard, the ugly, the stuff in life that can’t be controlled or explained or summed up with some cheerful cliché on a coffee mug. We need to watch her face the biggest giant and do so with courage and grace and beauty, so that when we stare down our own giants, we remember her fight, her determination, her God.

There will always be a woman a few steps ahead of me, but there’s a woman trailing behind me, too.  There is a girl who needs to hear my story, my struggles, and my hidden fears. She needs me to invite her into my life and into my mess.  She doesn’t need another Facebook friend or another self-help book, and she certainly doesn’t need someone with all the answers.

The enemy hates women.  He does.  But he can only advance when we leave gaps, which is why God calls us to stand shoulder to shoulder. When we position ourselves in between the woman behind us and the woman in front, the gaps begin to close.

Soon afterward [Jesus] went on through cities and villages, proclaiming and bringing the good news of the kingdom of God. And the twelve were with him, and also some women who had been healed of evil spirits and infirmities: Mary, called Magdalene, from whom seven demons had gone out, and Joanna, the wife of Chuza, Herod’s household manager, and Susanna, and many others, who provided for them out of their means. (Luke 8:1-3 ESV)

These women were different ages with completely different social statuses walking through different life stages, yet three common threads wove their lives together in a beautiful way.

They shared a Common Message: They joined Jesus in proclaiming the gospel to all cities and villages.

The gospel is the key in every relationship. It’s the good news that Jesus came to restore our broken relationship with the Father, but He also came to restore our relationships with each other. There’s no circumstance or struggle outside His reach.

They shared a Common Need: All had been healed by Jesus and, as a result, followed Him.

We all need to be cured of our brokenness, healed of our bitterness and doubt and our unbelief.  We need to be restored after running away. We’re in constant need of Jesus' cure. All of us.  And it's this common need for Him that unites us and breathes life into our relationships.

They shared a Common Commitment: They gave generously out of their own means.

This is so much more than financial resources. It's committing to share our talents, our gifts, and life experiences.  It’s being generous with our time, and it's telling our stories. Everything we've been given is for service and for purpose.

These same women witnessed Jesus' unjust and brutal death yet even in that dark hour when it seemed that the enemy had the upper hand, what bound them together kept their hope from unraveling.  They were there together at the foot of the cross with all their shattered dreams and questions that echoed in the silence.  They held each other as He took His last breath. Together they watched the men lay Jesus in the tomb.  Then they went home to prepare fragrances for His body.  Together they got up early in the morning and walked in the dark to the tomb.  And together they were the first ones to encounter the risen Jesus.

They shared the hard, the ugly and painful.

They shared the tragedy that made no sense.

They shared their fears and questions.

They shared their time.

They shared their resources and talents.

But most of all, they shared Jesus and they never took their eyes off of Him.

May we open our eyes to who’s walking in our wake.  May we have the courage to move towards each other with the same love and grace He’s shown us.  Just like Mary and Joanna, Susanna and the others, when we invite each other into our mess, we will always find Jesus there.         

In loving memory of Sherri

All eyes up

***

Sue Edwards and Barbara Neumann have researched this topic extensively.  In Organic Mentoring: A Mentor's Guide to Relationships with Next Generation Women, they share what works and what doesn't, and they remind us what God has to say about mentoring relationships. If you are interested in learning more, this is a resource full of truth and wisdom.

*Larry Kreider, Authentic Spiritual Mentoring: Nurturing Younger Believers Toward Spiritual Maturity (Ventura, CA: Regal, 2008), 12.

5 Words Our Guys Need Us to Learn

Be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his might. Ephesians 6:10 ESV

He's got a sword tucked in one side of his pajama bottoms and a silver wooden blade tucked in the other side. I chuckle when I realize the knife is from his sister's wooden cookie set. Today it's his weapon.

She is wearing her yellow and pink princess dress and matching pink shoes. It doesn't take me long to figure out which game they're playing. He is the hero, clearly. And she needs him to rescue her. I've seen this desire to protect her many times, and like every other four-year-old girl, she loves it. What I'm not prepared for is the conversation that follows.

He walks over to me and drops his head, visibly defeated. When I ask him what's wrong, his answer grabs my heart and for half a second I have no idea how to respond.

"I can't kill the dragon, Mom. I'm not strong," he sighs as he lays his weapons down on the coffee table between us.

"Yes, you are, Buddy,” I say. “You are strong, and you’re brave, too. Now go slay that dragon."

His eyes tell me my words will only go so far. "The dragon is too big; it's a giant dragon. I just can't," he admits, staring at the ground.

Furious, I want to know who told him he wasn't strong. But I know. I remember how young I was when I first heard the enemy whisper lies in my ears.  Choking back tears, I ask God how to navigate all this.

I tell him the story of David, pointing out that he was just a boy, small like him. And there was this horribly mean giant who was over nine feet tall. I tell him about David's slingshot and how he grabbed five stones from the riverbed, but it only took one to take down Goliath. I ask him if he knows how David had such courage. He shakes his head, no, and I can tell he's listening.

"David knew he was strong, because God made him strong,” I say. “He knew God was fighting for him. You can slay a giant, too, with God's help. He made you strong."

As my words settle, he looks up and asks, "Is it time for lunch yet?" and just like that the conversation ends as quickly as it began.

Hours later, I’m still rehearsing the exchange of words between my four-year-old son and me. If he retreats in the face of an imaginary dragon, how will he stand courageous when confronted by his true enemy- the one who's after his heart? If he lays down his weapons now, how will I ever instill in him the power of the true weapon he has access to- the sword of the Spirit, the word of God?

A warrior who questions his strength will never reach for his weapon; he will withdraw. If he believes he is strong and capable, made in the image of God, he will pick up his sword and want to learn how to use it. But he must first believe he is strong. Everything else follows.

I'm well aware how unequipped I am in this area, so I continue to pray. Five words echo deep inside my soul.  At first I think they're instructions directed towards me, but then I realize God is giving me words to pray over my son. Simple yet powerful, this prayer is for all of us- for our husbands, our sons, our brothers and fathers.

Teach him that he's strong.

We say our men are fixers, but isn't that exactly what we try to do? Fix what the enemy has broken? And we are failing miserably. Maybe it was never our job in the first place. There's only one Teacher who can accomplish this task.

God, teach him that he’s strong. Not make him strong or show him how to be strong, but teach him that he is strong. Teach him who he is and whose he is.

His strength isn't found in who he must work to become; it’s found in who he already is in Jesus.  And the work was completed on the cross. Real strength doesn't have to be earned or achieved. It resides deep within every man's soul for one reason and one reason only: He is made in the image of a strong and mighty God.

The next day I overhear them playing upstairs. He tells his sister, “Let me do it. I’m strong.”

Right there in that moment, I whisper gratitude to the God who is strong enough to hold his heart and teach him that he's strong.

When Your Heart Craves Adventure

My girl hates color by number, I just learned. She is devastated that someone else decided which colors she should use and where to apply them. Her brother, on the other hand, is happy someone took the time to show him exactly how it’s supposed to look.

For Valentine’s Day, their Ammy gave each a Color By Number notepad, complete with little black numbers painted on tiny markers. The two of us exchanged baffled looks that night at the difference in their responses to her thoughtful gift.  Jake was ecstatic, Lilly near tears. Eventually, we convinced Lilly it's ok to do her own thing. This morning I found both coloring pads out on the table when I got home from taking them to preschool.

I am bent toward coloring my life by number, choosing the predictable and playing it safe. I love adventure, but I’d much rather God give me a travel itinerary of where we’re heading so I can plan accordingly.  (Apparently, that’s not His thing.) My limited mind decides the sun should only be yellow, but God paints sunrises in blues, reds, oranges, and sometimes purples. No two pictures ever look the same. Real adventure spills outside of the lines, unexpected and completely magnificent.

I crave adventure, but I have a very limited scope of what adventure truly is.

The Israelites’ adventure is documented in the book of Numbers.  Reading the long lists of names and numbers, I wonder how they could possibly relate to me, here and now.  But this record kept by Moses reminds me that I am on an adventure with the same God who led the Israelites to the Promised Land all those generations ago. He led them every step of the way and He’s leading me, too.  He commands both my going and my staying.

At the command of the Lord they camped, and at the command of the Lord they set out. They kept the charge of the Lord, at the command of the Lord by Moses. (Numbers 9:23 ESV)

Adventure, to me, is charting new territory despite the risks that exist outside my comfort zone. Staying doesn’t seem adventurous.  Camped in Hebrew means ‘bent down’ and I can’t help but think about the humility that’s required to wait on God to move.

I’m in a season of God whispering, “Stay put.”

And can I be honest? I hate camping.  I want to know why we’re here and how long we’ll be staying, but God is just so silent about all that. My venting reminds me that anger on the surface always means fear within. This feels more like a standoff than an adventure, and I’m afraid I’m missing out.

Towards the end of Numbers is a detailed account of the Israelites’ travels. I can’t get over the repetition… and the monotony.  For over forty verses, there’s a familiar cadence: They set out and camped... and they set out and camped… and they set out and camped… and they set out and camped… (See Numbers 33:5-49) I am struck with how unadventurous the whole thing sounds. Maybe I've been looking at this adventure thing all wrong.

The people knew exactly when to move and exactly when to wait because God appeared to them in a cloud by day and a pillar of fire at night.  This visible representation of the Presence of God hovered over the tabernacle, their tent of meeting. God lived among His people and He communicated with them. When the cloud moved, the people moved.  When the cloud hovered, they lingered, waiting for God to advance once more. 

The God who colors wildly out of the lines chose the most fascinating way to lead His people, and He never left them, not once. It was a mysterious and passionate way to display not only His power, but also His desire to be among His people. But the ugly presence of sin meant the people could only approach Him through the high priest and by the blood of animal sacrifice. The cloud was only a shadow of what was to come. God already knew that one day, generations later, He would replace the old way with a new, more perfect way.

But when Christ appeared as a high priest of the good things that have come, through the greater and more perfect tent (not made with hands, that is, not of this creation) he entered once for all into the holy places, not by means of the blood of goats and calves but by means of his own blood, thus securing an eternal redemption. (Hebrews 9:11-12 ESV)

Fully God and fully man, Jesus is the perfect depiction of God's glory.

He is the visible representation of the invisible God.

In Him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell. (See Colossians 1:15,19)

And still, the people missed it.  Just like me. They were so focused on where they were going or where they were staying, that they missed out on the adventure right in front of them. True adventure is more than the waiting, the pausing, or camping. It’s more than the wonder of new places and the thrill of new experiences, and it’s more than my miniscule part in His great story. We serve a God with an uninhibited heart who created adventure for us to experience with Him. And He loves us recklessly.

The adventure isn't found in the staying or in the setting out; true adventure can only be found in the God who dwells among us.

Listening for His voice, seeking His face, trusting His promises- these are the makings of an enchanted and riveting adventure.  When your heart longs for risk and you crave adventure deep in your soul, look no further than the One who left His throne in heaven to rescue you and make you His forever.

The Mystery of the Giver

The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away.

Praise the name of Yahweh. Job 1:21 (HCSB)

I put the book down halfway through to wipe tears that fall onto my daughter, asleep in my lap.  Have you ever inhaled the words of another and wondered how they could echo your own? I’m lost in Sara Hagerty’s story, graciously spilled out onto crisp pages. Every Bitter Thing is Sweet. The parallels in our stories convince me she is a close friend, but what really links our hearts is a common discovery of the God who gives. 

It’s there on page 134 and again two pages over:

“I assumed, again, that growth would come through disappointment, not fulfillment. It had always been safer to expect that God allows suffering in the interest of refinement. While I still believe this is a significant aspect of His nature, Uganda had given me the chance to discover new frontiers of His generosity. For He also allows joy.”

Through the recent birth of my daughter, I’ve glimpsed this God who gives.  The same cup I held out in pain, wondering if He withheld blessing, now overflows. My heart is shifting to make room for the Giver. I’m reaching out to receive joy. I’m terrified to hold joy fully, though, because what if it’s not mine to keep?

The God who takes away lovingly stripped all that once stood between my heart and His. Loss has shaped my faith. Everything I thought would satisfy only led me empty-handed to the feet of Jesus.  I found my fill in Him instead. I know the God who heals me, the One who is sovereign and in control of my mess. I know God, my Rescuer; His power has broken my chains and led me in the way of freedom.

But I'm just now discovering my Father, the God who gives.

Embedded deep within me is this idea that to receive, I must earn.  To be blessed, I must do. Jealous of the grace given so freely to the prodigal, I try to work for what I already have in abundance. And I’m just as lost as the one who ran away. I’ve run away from the Father, too, only in a different direction.

 As they were eating, Jesus took bread, blessed and broke it, gave it to the disciples, and said, “Take and eat it; this is My body.” Then He took a cup, and after giving thanks, He gave it to them and said, “Drink from it, all of you. For this is My blood that establishes the covenant; it is shed for many for the forgiveness of sins. Matthew 26:26-28 (HCSB)

Take and eat is the invitation on the table. The words are recognizable, yet I don’t have a clue what they mean, not really. I am Eve’s daughter, deceived. Doubting the goodness of the Giver, I attempt to guard my own heart. When Eve took the fruit and ate it, the death sentence followed.

The Father knew there was only one way to bring His children back into communion with Him: a gift in return for the offense.

But not just any gift. This gift came at a great expense. It cost God dearly.  Infinitely.

Take and eat, Jesus says to the same ones who stole and ate, inheriting death.  Take and eat is the invitation to the gift of life, an eternal inheritance. Take and eat proclaims that truth conquers the lie as He prepares the table for me in the presence of my enemies.

And He took bread, gave thanks, broke it, gave it to them, and said, “This is My body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of Me.” Luke 22:19 (HCSB)

Jesus’ blood bought my forgiveness; His body provided life.  Accepting that I’m forgiven is not my issue. I know the way to the Father. But receiving this abundant life is my daily struggle. My heart exchanges truth for lie when I hone in on what I must do without regard for the gift.

In recognizing the Gift, I become more acquainted with the Giver.

So I’m making space to commune with the One who placed the full life within my grasp. To commune is to “talk together with profound intimacy” my dictionary declares. Communion is so much more than conversation; communion with the Giver is a lifestyle.

Jesus is my link to the Giver because Jesus is the gift.  He is my joy.  He is the peace that holds me in the midst of uncertainty.  Jesus is strength in my weakness. He is wisdom when life makes no sense; He is comfort for my heartbreak and hope for the days ahead. Jesus is God’s love all wrapped up and given… for me to give away.

The enemy is determined to keep all this hidden from my heart, because knowing this silences the lie whispered down through generations.

Communing with the Giver is more than asking Him to give; it's saying yes, I receive You. Every day. On the desperate days and the together days. In seasons of much and seasons of little, and every space in between.

The longing pleas of my past left me reaching out to receive more of Him. So it is with blessing.  The arms-out-accepting also leads to receiving Him. No matter how my now looks, God does not change. He is creatively searching for new ways to give Himself to me more and more each day, because He will always be the Giver.

You make known to me the path of life;

     in your presence there is fullness of joy; 

     at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.  Psalm 16:11 (ESV)