Community

The following is an article I submitted for consideration in a MOPS International Writing Contest. The topic was community. Since there is little to zero chance that the ditty will find its way to print, I've decided to post it here. At least this way, my MOPS peeps will see the huge significance of the little things they did for us when I was down for the count.

So once again, girls, thank you. You mean the world to me.

Much Love,
Kristin

As with any tragic event, you remember it like it was yesterday. Where you were, what you were doing, who you were with. For me, I had just crawled under my comforter. It had been a busy day chasing kids, training for a 5K, and organizing the basement. My husband and I had stayed up late to watch the Olympic Women’s Gymnastics team compete. And I was beat. I think it was 1:10 in the morning.

As my head rested against the pillow, waves of pain engulfed me. Something was wrong, very wrong. I sat up and laid back down, groaning and writhing in horror. My head started spinning, my vision blurred, and my feet crumbled under me. The pain was paralyzing. “I think it’s the baby, “I cried. “I need to get the hospital.”

Hours later, following IV’s, blood tests, and ultrasounds, our worst fears were confirmed. We had lost our baby. By medical definition, it was an ectopic pregnancy rupture: excessive blood loss, major surgery, and extensive recovery. My surgeon told me it would take a year to feel normal again, but I should be thankful to be alive.

To add to the physical challenges, the heartbreak of losing a child loomed over me. Sure, we had two healthy children already. Sure, the baby was just 7 weeks old. Sure, the pregnancy was unexpected. But it was still our child, my child. On one hand I grieved the loss of a life. On the other hand, I felt shame for all those tears shed when others have had it so much worse.

The story of this loss would have ended there, had it not been for a community who rallied around us. Our families supported us, our church encouraged us, and our friends loved on us to the umpteenth degree. One such group of friends was my MOPS group at the North Way Christian Community.

Hours after the emergency surgery, emails flooded my inbox, prayers supported us, and blog comments encouraged me. A team of moms pitched in to supply meals. Not for one week, not for two, but for weeks on end, until I was able to cook for my family again.

Not only that, but they went grocery shopping for us, they cleaned our home, they stuffed our mailbox with cards of encouragement, and they watched my kids so that I could nap. DVD’s were purchased to relieve the boredom of bed rest, as were bouquets of balloons, flowers, books, magazines, and coffee to make me feel normal again.

But the practical needs were not the only needs addressed. These women allowed me grieving room; time to talk and process the whirlwind of emotions. They didn’t criticize my tears or tell me to just get over it. I have never been more vulnerable. But in this low place, I found strength that I didn’t know I had, because I wasn’t alone.

Many of the women shared their own stories with me: stories of life and loss, despair and hope, and a God who never left them all the while. It was almost as if my vulnerability ushered in theirs. And the end result? Well, that’s still in the works.

When I walked into my MOPS meeting this past Wednesday morning, I greeted friends. There was Kathleen and Kristin and Nancy and Michelle. There were layers of conversations overlapping each other. About marathon training and how cute that scarf looks on you and the next step of the adoption process.

We spoke about food additives and separation anxiety and the dinner that completely bombed. We laughed about our appearance when we leave the house most days – Cheerios glued to our shoulders, wiped noses on our jeans, and stickers affixed to our rears. We also got choked up when we heard the news that caused another mom's tears. Cause what’s important to her is important to us.

I’ve heard it said that a community is a group of people who often share an environment, as well as common interests, goals, and needs. As moms, our goals range from potty training to healthy (and edible) meal preparation to raising responsible children. We understand sleep deprivation and the need for time alone with our spouse. We desire to fulfill our own purpose in this life, as we support our children to find theirs.

But a healthy community is more than just sharing commonalities. It’s knowing and being known. It’s finding practical ways to meet needs, whether those needs are verbalized or not. It’s becoming vulnerable and risking the loss of a perfect illusion. It’s telling our stories and hearing the stories of others. It’s finding strength in weakness and hope in despair. It’s championing those around you and celebrating what makes them smile.

I am honored to be a part of the MOPS organization, particularly the community at North Way. The story of our loss is one we’ll continue to tell. Not because of the loss in particular, but because of the gain. We gained community. It’s a story that hasn’t been completed yet. Because moms gave of themselves, we will give of ourselves. We will love because we have been loved. And then there will be another story told. And another and another.

Pray

Kendall Payne performed this raw and gutsy song at the YS Conference. I hope I can be strong enough to pray these words for myself. Would you pray these things for me also, my friends?

A Matter of Influence

“The people who influence us the most are not those who detain us with their continual talk, but those who live their lives like the stars in the sky and “the lilies of the field”— simply and unaffectedly. Those are the lives that mold and shape us."

- Oswald Chambers

I love this quote. It conjures up so many names of those who have had a significant impact upon my faith life. These are individuals who have walked in and out of a season of my life, but have left an imprint that remains. They didn't set out to influence me. It wasn't in their agenda. They didn't see all my flaws and think that I'd make a good candidate for fixing. They just lived their life sold out to God. I saw beauty and hope and grace and strength pour out of them and I wanted to know - really know - every aspect of this God for myself.

There is no doubt in my mind that their impact came because they lived in Christ. They abided fully in Him and He in them. It wasn't their busyness, their mad dashing around, their long list of to-dos checked off, their continual God talk, their many church responsibilities or activities that influenced me. It was the Jesus that I saw alive in them in very ordinary, mundane tasks of the everyday. If "apart from Christ we can do nothing," (John 15:5) then in Him we can do everything.

By no means is this a thorough list of my faith influencers. A complete list would have Paul at the very top, my mom, grandfather, and Paul's parents listed among many, many others. This is just a quick compilation of people whom I wanted to thank off the top of my head - those who would never know they made any difference whatsoever. These women have helped to change my life for good. And they are continuing to work very quietly, without recognition or praise, to change the world with the influence of God in them.

Stacey - you helped me to know the God who answers prayer.
Yoshi -you taught me how to love passionately my Jesus, my husband, and my children.
Ruth- you were faithful in teaching me about Jesus, when I couldn't have cared less.
Courtney-you never forget a birthday or an anniversary and you use every chance you can to encourage me and challenge me.
Carolyn- you taught me about the God who heals deep wounds and brings joy to sorrow.

I love each and every one of you and am so thankful that God chose to send you into my life for a moment in time. Continue to live lives for God, simply and unaffectedly.

The Impossible

"Inevitably it’s only when I am in communion with God that I believe we can be a part of bringing God’s healing to kids in Africa. It’s when I’m worshipping Him that I believe my life is more than time outs and laundry. That it’s purpose is for miracles of love and restoration."

- Courtney Orrange

Please take the time to read an amazing woman's post about her impossible dream. And this woman is my friend! Man - I couldn't love her, her heart, and her vision more. You inspire me, Court! Thank you for pursuing Jesus and the dream that He's put upon your heart with everything you've got.

A Particular People, A Particular Place

Two Wednesdays out of the month, I drag myself out of bed early and hijack the kids out of bed (which, by the way, one should never do!) I scramble to get every one's clothes on, throw food in their stomachs, wash remnants off their faces, do a last bathroom call/diaper check, and pack their bags. Somewhere along the way, I get dressed also, put makeup on while holding Adden on my hip, and throw my hair back into a ponytail - because, well, there just isn't time for anything else. There are all sorts of protests in that 1 1/2 hour span, including hungry Adden screaming himself purple in the face, Selah whining because her milk in an Elmo cup instead of a Cinderella cup, and then the refrain, "No go to MOPS, no go!" once she realizes where we are headed. (Selah has recently entered into a separation anxiety phase, so she is not so thrilled about the childcare, even though she should be.)

After a 12 min car ride, we end up at the church quite frazzled and harried, but there nonetheless. If I don't have spit up all over my shirt, I think I look fabulous. I scamper to the childcare room, unpeal a screaming Selah off of me, and head upstairs with Adden in tow. We sneak into the meeting during the devotions, since we are always about 10 minutes late on a good day. Following the devotions is a message, a breakfast buffet, a craft, and lots of talking, laughing, and listening.

Yesterday wrapped up my second year in the MOPS program. I actually can't believe I've been so faithful, considering how hard it is just to arrive. But I am there almost every meeting, barring sickness or work. And I love it. The messages are relevant and informative, the food is my splurge, the craft is always cute and practical, the childcare is great, there are newsletters to take home and relish during naptime, and even the room is made to look welcoming and adorable. Every last detail is planned and organized with careful precision. But none of these components would ever keep me making the effort, meeting after meeting.

What I have come to love is the relationships that I have built. I can't tell you how much I have needed other women, my age, going through the same stage of life as me. We commiserate over sleepless nights, share suggestions about how to discipline kids, encourage one another to seek God, and laugh over our cameos in each others' dreams. I especially thank God for my small group's authenticity, the lessons they have taught me, and the listening they have done.

Winn Collier said, "One of the beauties - as well as the prickly points- of Christian faith is that it is never intended to be lived in theory. Faith is fleshed out among particular people, in particular places. Some of the most important elements of our spiritual pilgrimage will be names - names of friends we've had and places we've lived. There will be people we couldn't get enough of and people who hung around way too much. There will be places that felt like home..."

I suppose that's why I keep coming back, making the effort to be there early Wednesday mornings. It just feels like home.

My Brother

I’m not really sure what makes this cat tick. He is so unlike me that he’s - at times - a shock to my system. He’s fun, daring, adventurous, and carefree. He somehow lucked out and got all of the tech-y smarts, the “I can fix anything and everything” gene. He could fix your car, your dishwasher, and your ingrown toenail. He could masquerade as Emeril in your kitchen, your favorite Calculus professor, or your best friend that just makes you laugh so hard that you cry.

Sometimes my brother sends me over the edge. When he visits, he leaves a trail of stuff in his quake – dirty socks, a chess set, a painting, his army fatigues, remnants of all you can drink smoothies, a comforter set, oh yeah – anything. He stays up all hours of the night and snoozes till about 1 pm – just in time for the kids’ naps. (Maybe that’s intentional?) He leaves our bathroom sopping wet after every bathing use. I’m still not exactly sure what he does in there – it’s quite befuddling cause the shower never runs and he only ever wants a facecloth?????? I’m thinking that it has something to do with conserving water. Well, whatever he does apparently works - he doesn’t reek, so more power to him.

So why do I love him? I love him because he makes me go outside to the park, just to fly a kite for hours. I would never do that of my own accord. I would, instead, choose to do something completely boring and necessary like stain sticking the kids’ clothes.

I love that he and my grandfather (affectionately known as Boppie) are the best of buddies. My brother will trek in the door at 3am cause he and Bop will have been up under the guise of a Stooge marathon – when, in reality, my brother has been completing odd jobs around his home and listening to him relive the same old stories, with his characteristic uncanny attention to details.

I love him because he pushes me out of my comfort zone. Like the time we went climbing on one of those indoor walls. Instead of letting me down when I didn’t think I could make it up any further – that little twerp refused. And because his will is even stronger than mine (it’s tried and true, sound Ellsworth material) I climbed to the ceiling and discovered that I had the strength within myself after all.

So did I mention that I miss him? Dan has been studying in France for the last 7 months or so. And things just aren’t the same without him. We think about him constantly and wonder how he’s doing. We wish we were a little bit wealthier to journey out there and a little bit less encumbered with two little kids under the age of 2 ½. We hope he knows how much he is loved, whether he is experiencing a letter drought from us or not. And I guess that most of all, I pray that Selah and Adden will enjoy a brother/sister bond this good - no matter how much their personalities may differ or clash.

Dan – we think the world of you and we love you tons.

Love,
Kris

Life is Sweet

Let me introduce you to Bud- my 85 year old friend. Bud is a follower of God who lives his faith out in restaurants around our area and in the quietness of his home. Since Bud doesn't cook, he journeys out to a different establishment every day. When he arrives there, he brings a HUGE bag of candy for all of the employees to share. They call him the Candy Man. His bags of candy are eagerly anticipated (of course!) and have opened the doors for him to share his faith. He knows most (if not all) of the employees by name and knows their stories too. He listens to their joys, hurts, and everything in between. Then every morning, he takes those stories to God and prays. He has a prayer list of over 2,000 names and a special list of around 80 or so that he prays for more frequently.

I had the chance to meet with Bud today for lunch. It had been a long time since we had gotten together - maybe a year or so - too long. He still looked the same, still gifted the employees with candy, and still personally connected with them. He told lots of stories today - about the family he loves, his health, his church, and his restaurants. He talked about his wife and how she'll have been gone now for 17 years. It was hard to believe that it had been that long, with the way you could still hear love in his voice when he spoke of her. I really wish we could have stayed to talk longer. I love listening to his stories, but the kids had other plans, which included a much needed naptime for both of them.

Anyhow, Bud's story is a sweet one. He meets needs the way he knows how- with candy, with listening, and with prayer. Life hasn't always been sweet for Bud, but he knows that his God is good regardless, and he lives out these convictions. I would venture to say that many - who would've never stepped foot in a church - have come to know God because of this man and his bags of candy. Now that's a story worth telling.