I could write sonnets about my tribe of sisters in Christ. When I read about Christians deconstructing I often wish I could hear their personal stories as to what led them there. I’m convinced that over 75% of people that leave the church do so because they felt isolated and far from deep connection with God’s people. I’m no mathematician and I know nothing about stats, other than I got a B in that class, and because it’s math, I consider that an A. I just suspect that many folks leave the church over not feeling connected. One of my favorite quotes I say, and I cannot remember where it originated, (sorry original person, I do not intend to plagiarize),  is that “the wounds that happen in isolation, heal in community.” Friends, if you’re truly pursuing a genuine walk with the Lord, you NEED a strong faith community. You need a tribe. A group of men or women who are going to be in the trenches of life with you. Enter, Ciara. 

It was a rough morning. Caregiving had taken a chunk of my heart and externally I was a pretty beaten up version of myself. Internally, however, I had been secretly struggling and already in pain for days with a flare up that would not calm down. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it, but I have temperamental hands. Grumpy hands I like to say. Occasionally I have a bad flare up of some form of itis or tunnel and even though I use em daily, sometimes my hands don’t work well. Ever the stubborn girl that I am, (which I mention as a weakness, not a badge of honor), I still get a lot done and I just press on through the pain. Advil, KT Tape and I are pretty much besties. As a single girlie, sometimes I have to call my neighbors to come carry things for me, and they’re always willing. (I love them so much! They too are part of my faith community. Praise God!!)

Anyway, it was already a day by 9am when we sat down for breakfast at my favorite place that may as well just be called my new office, at this point. We’re chatting and laughing and enjoying each other’s company. We scan the menu and we decide to do my favorite foodie move, we choose two dishes and split them. (I love people like this!!! Folks who are willing to share and experience new things together.) We decided on a Florentine omelette and eggs benedict with hollandaise on the side. It’s important I tell you this. We split them both down the middle and enjoyed our meal. After a while, as we chatted about life, I paused. I got quiet and just stopped. In my discomfort, I giggled. She looked at me and asked what was wrong. I just sat there with my face down, staring at the food, realizing that I couldn’t cut my eggs benedict. The bread, true to its namesake, betrayed me and proved to be tough for my hands. (See what I did there? Benedict. Betrayed. I’m funny.) Moving on. 

I just sat there. Confused. Vulnerable. With a very bitter realization. 

I can’t take care of myself. 

Sitting there, in that moment, as a very grown adult, I embarrassingly giggled because I could not use a fork and knife to feed myself. I felt exposed. What happens when a caregiver can’t “care give” anymore?

Do you know how long I’ve been caring for myself? As a child of neglect I have been doing this thing on my own for what feels like, forever.  I’m not the greatest caregiver to myself and I admit that getting to weigh 500 lbs at one point is evidence of that. But when role models model hyper independence, you better believe I created some faulty systems in my life that I am still trying to undo. Nevertheless by God’s grace, here I am. Learning to break the protective armor I depended on as a girl in survival mode. Am I speaking to anyone? I know some of you be hearing me. 

So there I was. In a restaurant with someone I fully love and fully trust and I’m ready to cry that I’m too weak to cut through bread. And then she speaks. “Let me cut that for you.” Before I managed the protest, as I often do when anyone wants to take care of me, she grabbed my knife and fork and cut all of my breakfast up. Everything on that plate was bite sized and perfect. As the tears began to flow I thank her, with sincere gratitude, but also a little shame. She laughed in her beautiful joy filled way and said, that it’s nothing and that it was a privilege to do it. She said I care for everyone and that it was a privilege to take care of me! Me, the girl who has always felt like a burden to love, she said it was a PRIVILEGE. I cried some serious tears. I sat there for a long time, overcome with tears. As I was having that moment she thanked me for the beauty of it and the vulnerability. She said she’d do it for me, anytime. Then she added, “I’ll even baby bird it for you, if you want.” I stopped crying  long enough to laugh with her. I told her I genuinely believed her. And I do. But there we were. Just two sisters looking out for each other. I was taken aback by how many tears her service to me elicited. I seriously cried. I mean, it was real crying. 9am, in a public space, and I was practically ugly crying because of the love I was shown. 

See the thing is, when a caregiver is cared for, it’s a whole different kind of love. I was humbled and exposed. Praise Jesus for the hard morning that humbled my defenses and patterns of self preservation, because my exhaustion helped me receive what God had prepared. Instead of retreating to my isolated shell of strength, I sat there in the vulnerability with a trusted sister and just, cried.  Let me say that again. I just sat there in that moment, and openly, in absolute safety, I unashamedly cried. 

When is the last time you sat in discomfort and just observed it? When was your last cry that you didn’t justify, explain, analyze, or judge? That’s the crying that happened that morning with a truly trusted sister in the trenches of my physical brokenness. I didn’t realize how impactful the moment was until I was replaying it in my mind later. I was so moved because I felt so safe. So loved, so seen. They were tears shed in safety, much like a child that does not have to excuse or hide their pain, I cried very real tears that came from the depth of my soul that day because when I didn’t have working hands, Ciara gave me hers. 

Reminds me of the Savior who saw me when I didn’t have any righteousness and He in turn, imparted to me, His own. 

I’ve been meditating on 1 Corinthians 13 a lot lately and examining the type of love Paul describes. Often in the last few months this passage has come up in counseling settings and I am certain the Lord counsels me as I counsel others. 

Paul states, “Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” -1 Corinthians 13:4-7 (ESV) 

Verse 5 there, “it does not insist on its own way,” has been such a conviction to me lately. I’ve been meditating on this verse for weeks now. It convicts me for two reasons. As a caregiver, it’s easy to do things that make the work easier for me. Simple things like keeping the hospital bed high so I don’t hurt my back. But then there are preferential things like the way I enjoy silence in the morning but my person is rather chatty first thing in the morning. If I do not dominate my emotions or impatience, I can be rude and insist on my own way. This has been so convicting. 

The second way I am moved by this verse is the reality that I often insist on my own way of being loved too. I had no idea that morning that Ciara’s love would be so impactful. I do believe the hardness of the morning set me up to receive something my usual armor would not have allowed. But I realize sometimes I want to control the way the Lord loves me. I insist on my own way by convincing myself that Jesus doesn’t want to hear from me after sinning, or when I personally judge myself a failure. I withhold my own connection with Him, because I put myself in the judgement seat. How often have we thought, “I’ll get right with God when…” sound familiar?

Paul reminds us in another book, “Through him we have also obtained access by faith into this grace in which we stand, and we rejoice in hope of the glory of God. Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us. For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly. For one will scarcely die for a righteous person—though perhaps for a good person one would dare even to die— but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” -Romans 5:2-8

While we were still sinners, enemies of God, Christ died for us. Take that in. If that isn’t a very real picture of  “baby bird” love, I don’t know what is! While we were helpless, hopeless, unable to attain any righteousness of our own, Jesus accomplished the work! He imparted His very own identity, His very own standing with the Father to those who have entrusted their souls to Him. I am a new creation because of the work of King Jesus. I am able to bond with this tribe of women who love me in a way my stubborn heart cannot protest to. Even though I try. They see me. Hear me. Care for me. Force me to listen. They pour kindness and grace over me. They feed me. They point me to Jesus. They cut my bread for me. 

Friends, the work of Jesus has availed such a rich inheritance of grace! Have you trusted Him? Have you surrendered to the beauty and joy, and yes, let’s be real here, the emotional risk of bonding with your God-given spiritual family? If you don’t have a tribe, go pursue one! Jump in. Get connected! Yes I do know that’s easier said than done. But ask yourself this, what have you forced yourself to do in order to learn it? How many of you knew how to scroll or binge videos or shows right away? No one. None of us knew how to be addicted to a thing right off the bat. We learned it. We’re willing to take those lessons but unwilling to join things or allow others in? Practice really does make progress. We must practice availing ourselves to love. I know there is hurt. I know THERE IS HURT.  “But you don’t understand, this church hurt me, that church broke me.” Friends, I really do understand. I have church hurts too. I carry church baggage too. The church is full of hurt people who hurt people. The goal of attending is not to meet perfect people, but rather to meet people who want to walk this walk with you in honesty and safety. Now hear me correctly, just because one goes to church does not a safe person make. You must practice discernment, always. For those who have been taken advantage of or hurt by someone who pretended to be safe and turned out to be a wolf, I am so sorry for the safety you’ve lost, and I encourage you to read Romans 12. The Lord is clear about them and their future. Take the emotional risk. Allow others in. Connection heals us from addiction, brokenness, and pain. I know people hurt us. Know this, only Jesus can undo what has been done. Sit in the discomfort. Be vulnerable and let yourself be loved. Don’t receive love from the Lord especially by insisting on your own way. Surrender. Jesus has made a way for what’s broken to be made whole. Receive it. 

(If you do not have a fellowship, wherever you are, leave a comment and I will do my best to help you find a trustworthy church to connect to.)