at a time like this

I feel obligated to talk about my grandfather. To remember and tell stories. To honor him in my own small way. To give details of the memorial service (which was beautiful) and of my long weekend with extended family (which was intensely rewarding) and of my grandfather's incredible life (which is to be celebrated).

I feel like that's what I ought to do, and yet, I know my grandfather. He would say, "Only write about it if that's what you want to write about." I'm not ready--just yet--to write about Grandpa. I'll get there. Just not today.

Today, what I want to write about is community.

About the people we surround ourselves with. About the blood-relatives and non-blood-relatives who share our joys and sorrows and do life alongside us.

Without them, the past several weeks would have been very, very different.

Losing a grandparent is new territory for me. I've never walked through this before. But so many others have. They know loss and sadness. They have grieved, and they know how to support me while I learn how to grieve, too.

My dear friends, relatives, coworkers--true brothers and sisters in Christ--have prayed for me, hugged me and held me, listened to me, and told me they love me. They have shown me patience and understanding, even when plans changed unexpectedly. They invited me into their homes and shared their sympathy-expressing cats (S&M, I'm looking at you). They gave flowers and sent cards, emails, and Facebook messages expressing their condolences.

They are the living embodiment of the Early Church and I am profoundly grateful.

This is what I mean when I talk about living missionally. Because yes, it means I desire to live in such a way that points people to Jesus--as my beloved Life Church says: loving others into a relationship with God. So there's that part of missional living. But it also includes living with other Christians. Reminding them of Christ's grace and mercy. Reflecting Christ's sacrificial love. Being Christ to each other.

I can't imagine experiencing loss without the support of the body of Christ. I believe I can speak on behalf of my family when I say we are thankful for you and for your expressions of love. It is my hope to continue to do life with you, bearing your burdens and sharing your hopes, as you have done for me.

the truth about encouragement

God gave me a big heart. True story. I mostly feel made to love on people.

(Unless you're a jerk, in which case, God is probably using you to teach me about loving people.)

In the past few weeks, I feel like God has put me in a place to encourage others. I would say this is different from the spiritual gift of encouragement, but I have had some choice opportunities to talk with dear, beloved people--people who are buried deep in the heart of God--and to encourage them.

I've been radically blessed in my own life. I've seen God show up in big ways and small ways, and I can testify to new mercies and amazing grace. Having that perspective puts me in a place to be encouraging and motivational.

But there's a drawback here; one I can't get around. I've spoken with some very broken-hearted people, people who have not seen God show up in big ways and small ways, people who can barely remember evidence of new mercies and amazing grace.
Others are just plain struggling--nothing extraordinarily awful has happened, but they feel uninspired, frustrated, not fully alive. When I talk to these people, do you know what I feel like?

A proselytizer. A phony. A lucky girl whose life just happened to work out.

It breaks my heart. I can imagine being in their shoes, and I would say to me: "Well, that's all well and good for you, and I'm glad God has been faithful in your life, but from where I sit, it doesn't look like God even cares."

So I'm torn between two reactions, and both feel disingenuous:
1. Don't believe the lie. God does care. He is near. He is faithful.
2. It may be difficult now, but I believe time will grant you perspective and answer the why

Either response makes me out to be an effervescent optimist: empty-headed, ungrounded, or worse--ignorant. Not the good kind of optimist, the annoying kind.

And yet.

I still feel that in their sharing of pain, of trouble, of stress, of discontent, of life, and in my response of joy, of hope, of perseverance, of promise, there is still a tiny provision of encouragement there.

So I press on. I can really only be two things: a cheerleader for those needing a boost, and an empathetic heart for those experiencing pain I will never know.

If you need it, I will cheer you on. If you need it, I will sit with you and hold your hand.
But either way, I'm going to tell you that God is faithful. Even when you can't see it. And that might be frustrating for you to hear. But you need to hear it, from someone who means well, from someone who believes it is true, from someone who will remind you of it until you believe it, too.

Also, to those people: you are loved. You are loved by me, a girl who received a big heart from a God who loves you even more.