Belonging gives me roots which dig deep under the black soil, holding tight in life’s winds and rain. When I belong to others, I grow confident and steadfast.
But if I stop there, I am just a barren tree.
It’s when I crave what is more—when I crave what is MOST—that my branches bud and bloom with the hope of spring.
I have friend whose middle name means “happy”. We’ve been friends since we were fourteen; he has known me longer than anyone outside of my family in the town where I now live. His father, a gentle man with olive skin, came to know Christ after the rest of his family had already done so. There is nothing that could’ve made my friend more happy. His father is from Syria.
I have a friend whose name means “victory”. She and I have shared tea together often, engaging in long conversations as she held my hand, her eyes full of tears, her intelligent mind struggling to learn our language. I have another friend whose name means “one who laughs”, who wears an almost constant wide smile (pictured above) and just moved to a small midwestern town to be a pastor. Both of these friends are from Iran.
She smiles the whole time, even as cancer ravages her body. She smiles and sings. Her smile is alight with hope as she gazes on us from her front stoop, backlit by the warmth of her home.
We shiver and sing in the bitter wind, standing on the frozen grass.
I glance around, surrounded by a ragtag crowd whose voices warm the cold air. Neighbors, co-laborers, pastors, friends. All united in love for her. I wonder if all standing there know the only One who can comfort.
Who in your teen years mentored you? Was it a coach, youth leader, parent, or teacher? What difference did it make in your life?
In my last post, I gave five simple ways to open your home to teenagers. Now I want to add five ways to open your heart.
I spend a good chunk of time parenting my teenage sons and working with the girls in my youth group, and I love it. Here are some of the lessons I am learning:
I came home cold and tired from a long winter run last Saturday morning and there were five teens in my kitchen, four boys and a girl making pancakes. (“Norwedish” pancakes, because in my childhood they were Swedish pancakes, and in my husband’s they were called Norwegians.) I had to navigate through the pitchers of batter, syrup, powdered sugar, and strawberries to make my recovery shake.
I was thankful.
Teenagers need a place to belong, and we want to be one of those places.
It starts with a great relationship with our own teens. And it grows out from there to good friend choices. These two foundations are topics for another post but important to mention first.