Gotta love that Lisa-Jo.  Here we go.  It’s Five-Minute Friday:

[T]here is a weight to this word: community.  It gets stuck in my mouth a little. Like peanut butter.  Which I love.  But, also, it makes me a little worried, too, if I’m honest.  I love it, and I also worry about the consequences of it, what it will require of me.  If I’ll get sucked in too much and feel guilty about indulging this heart of mine, later.

I’ve been in so many groups — the first before children, when my  husband and I joined three other couples and shared our lives for a good almost two years — before the Silicon Valley bubble crashed, and then everyone moved away.  And then, with our first baby born, I joined a mother’s group, and I thought I would die if I missed a Tuesday and couldn’t see them.  It was the being together, not so much what we shared but the love of the Father helping us to physically get there, together, despite all crazy motherhood obstacles, that made our hearts sing.

And then the couples group — four other couples that each had two kids, and then almost all had three, all our kids the exact same age — that we shared our hearts with for over five years.  {Or was it longer, friends?}  And that ended . . . as parenting seemed to sap us dry for a bit, calendars pulling us each away. It seemed we had forgotten how to fight for each other.

And then there is My Girls – and here – where it all begins again.  Community that sings to my heart and heals and where there is no pressure to be a certain way. The Spirit leads, and that, there, is the beauty, the magic sauce, the sticky wonderfulness of it all.  We don’t have to do a thing to stay connected.  And that is what I finally learned, through it all.

He brings the community.  It is only my job to listen close and trust that these friends He gathers up are fine to love, and He will show me how to do it too, and trust with His heart, no matter how sticky it gets.  He wasn’t afraid to get messy, His hand in the jar.  I want to be just like Him.

STOP

I want to add that I am overwhelmingly blessed by this community, this one, right here.  He gathers us up in this place, all together.  We are His girls.  I hope you feel all that sticky yumminess that He brings, here, too.

I stand, microphone clipped to my collar, to tell these women, a community I’ve known for ten years, since my oldest was 10 months old, that I don’t have it all together.  I share the time I yelled at my son and hid behind my bedroom door, telling him I didn’t want to hear what he had to say.

I tell about how, the year I co-led the mother’s ministry at my church, I was stretched and fought for by my Father but hid that, behind the scenes, my marriage was not being cared for.  I chose me, my agenda, over my husband and my children.

I tell them about how I spent a year encouraging these women to boast about their weaknesses, for then, in Him, they are strong, and I refused to be truly vulnerable and controlled what people saw of me.  After all, I want to be liked.  The ugly stuff is better if it is hidden, I believed.

And then my friend, brown eyes sparkling, smile widening, looks at me in love across the table last night.  She lays it down:  we are hurt when we are not vulnerable with each other, when we don’t let these people we call our friends in, to truly see the rough around the edges, gritty glory of Him coming into the mess that is our hearts and trusting the community He has given to let ourselves be loved, and redeemed.

Let me shine in sharing the grit that is me, Father.  Beautiful, glorious me.

I trust these relationships, these connections He builds here, too, sweet friends.  I am so glad we are here, gathered up.  Let’s share some of this beauty-filled grit together.

Tomorrow I will be over at Sisters in Bloom (my first post as a contributing writer over there!), talking about how I spent years (decades!) of my life believing I didn’t need community.  Boy, I was wrong.  I hope you come on over there tomorrow, as I would love to know what you think about community, too.

In His love,

Jennifer

She sits across the table and I’m seen.  I need this, this abandonment of self she models for me as she listens, as we pour out the hard stuff, the embarrassing stuff, the things I need to confess but am so often afraid to say.  I don’t want to admit that relationships can be hard, that house payments and finances that unexpectedly change can wear me down, that I struggle to balance passions and duties, responsibilities and play.  I have trouble not wanting to try doing it all myself first, on my terms.  I have trouble laying it down.

And she listens, and she shares, too.  And I cradle the coffee mug she hands me, this chilly California afternoon, and I sit in the warmth of her kitchen, our kids running and laughing in the next room. And I am connected to the Father. Here, the light of His face illuminating truth: He is here.  It is an illusion that there is disconnection from the Father.  I am nowhere else but completely with Him.

I am so glad y0u are here, where we get to connect over a virtual cup of coffee and cozy kitchen table!  What sets the stage for you to be real, to feel “connected”?