Ebenezer

A while back, I said that "maybe one day" I would write about the church I grew up in.

Well, today's the day.

I grew up in a church where almost everybody had known each other since before I was born.  You see, when my parents were in college, a group of college students (of which my parents were a part), and some of their spiritual mentors, broke off from the church they'd been attending, and decided to form their own non-denominational fellowship, know as Bethlehem Mission.

This group of people were all united under one purpose - to pray for revival.
They've been faithfully and expectantly praying for revival since 1982.
They pray today with as much conviction that revival is coming as they had over 30 years ago.
I have never met another group of people like them.

There are many wonderful churches in my hometown who are evangelistic.
There are many wonderful churches there who reach out to immigrants.  (Is that the appropriate word?  I use it because there is a large population of Burmese refugees, who hardly speak a word of English, as well as other minority populations.  If there's a better word, somebody tell me please. My knowledge of the English language is failing me right now...)
There are many wonderful churches who take care of the elderly and the bed-ridden.
There are many wonderful churches who appeal to the youth, the college students, the "young marrieds," etc.

And there is a wonderful little church who doesn't do those things, but welcomes all those populations into her arms when they find her, and, sends her people out to help in the ministries of those other wonderful churches.
This little church is content to stay in the background and pray for the ministries that happen in her little town, to pray for her young people who serve those ministries, and her people who have been scattered elsewhere.
This little church doesn't have a youth group, a children's ministry, a college ministry, an anything else ministry.  She trains her children, her youth, her college students, her everyone, to pray with their whole, believing heart.

She prays for revival in her town, her state, her nation, her country, her world.
And she believes it's coming.

Growing up, I remember many people who lived out of town, who would come visit our little church very regularly.  These people traveled for hours, sometimes, to come to our little "House of Bread." (Did you know that's what Bethlehem means?)
Most of them were some of the original college students who had been involved at the beginning, and moved away after they graduated college.  I remember these far-away friends referring affectionately to "the Mission" and constantly reminding me how blessed I was to be there.

But I didn't know it.  To me, it was just church.  I thought everyone had a church like mine, where there were only a few families, who were basically all like my aunts and uncles, and grandparents, and cousins.

My actual cousin, who lived in Houston and went to a mega-church (I had no idea what that even was at the time, or that she went to one) once told me a story about riding in an elevator with her pastor.
First of all, elevators in church were a foreign concept to me - my church met in an old two-story house with one narrow stair-case.
Then she started talking about how it was just her and some friends her age and the pastor in the elevator.  She said when he spoke to them, none of them could even say anything in return, because they so revered him. *not her 8-year-old words, but the same basic idea*
Well, this was an entirely new concept to me.  As far back as I could remember, I'd called my pastor by only his first name, and talked to him exuberantly about every little thing under the sun.

As I grew older, I visited other friends' churches, and my cousin's church, and began to understand how unique my church really was.  I began to realize how hard it was going to be to find a new church when I inevitably grew up and moved away.

We are a little family, and we rarely change.

We don't have big special holiday services or anything, because that's not what we're about, but every year, at the end of the year, Steve, our pastor, does what he calls the Ebenezer sermon.  The idea for this sermon comes from 1 Sam. 7:12 where Samuel says "Thus far, the Lord has helped us."
In this sermon, he mentions major events in our church throughout the past year - weddings, births, deaths, graduations, etc.  Figuratively, we raise an "Ebenezer," or a "stone of help" just like Samuel, at the end of every year.  It is an incredible reminder of how the Lord preserves His people wherever they are.

I have now done the inevitable, just like I knew I would - I've grown up and moved away.  I'm now one of those who speak affectionately of "the Mission" and tell the children how blessed they are.

I don't think they know it, but one day they will.

I won't lie - the idea of trying to find a new church was suffocating to me when I first moved.  Fortunately I didn't have to face it alone.  I had a wonderful co-worker who was "church-hunting" too.

She'd grown up in a mega-church, so you can imagine how different our expectations were.  We researched websites for churches nearby, and decided on one in the next town over, about thirty minutes away, called River Valley Christian Fellowship.

It was the first one we decided to visit, and by the end of our second sunday there, we knew we wouldn't need to visit any other churches.  We were thoroughly hooked.

It was by no means a mega-church, but it came complete with all sorts of ministries, and 5 pastoral staff-members!
For me, that's a huge church.
It was by no means a small church, but I call my pastor by his first name, and he calls me by mine, and same with the four others.
For me, that's close-knit enough.

Pretty soon, I was leading the worship portion of the Children's service, and involved in a weekly community group where I made some fantastic friends and felt at home.
Not a sunday went by that I didn't get lots of hugs (my love language!), that I didn't have at least one person ask me how I was and really want to hear my answer.

After church, there are spontaneous lunch or coffee invitations, and lots and lots of laughter as we tear down chairs together (we meet in a middle school).
At River Valley, I am fed, and loved, and taught how to better love others.

And now I'm moving away.  It's hard and sad, but, since God brought me from the Mission to River Valley, I know that He will be faithful, not just once, not just twice, but as many times over as I need His faithfulness.

So, here I raise my Ebenezer.  Thus far He has helped me.  How can I doubt that He will continue?

New Year's Resolutions? Not My Thing.

But I'll make a resolution on any other day of the year.

Really, it's quite ridiculous, this little part of me that's so determined to not do something a certain way just because that happens to be the way everyone else does it.  For quite a while, I didn't make resolutions on New Year's Day, or Eve, or what-have-you, just because that was the time that everyone else made theirs.

Not because I-know-I-won't-keep-it-so-why-try, or because I-think-we-should-make-life-decisions-not-year-long-resolutions, or anything like that.
No.  My only problem was that everyone-else-does-it-and-I'm-not-going-to-be-like-everyone-else-if-I-can-help-it.

Don't get me wrong here - I was a resolving fool.  I could make resolutions with the best of them.  And fail with the best of them...

But starting on New Year's? Never.  Well, to be more truthful, my journal from 1999 may have some resolutions in it...

My sister, I'm sure, has quite given up being my accountability partner for any of these middle-of-the-year resolution plans, because I can justify myself (to myself at least) into or out of anything, no matter how reasonable she may be in her steady efforts to keep me accountable, or how ridiculous I may be in my efforts to get out of things.

So, you may imagine how much I surprised myself last year when I made a New Year's Resolution, albeit somewhere around January 5th or so as I recall - but still - closer to New Year's than ever before.

And, how much more surprised I was when I kept my resolve throughout the year.
I did slip once, which I justified, and which may or may not really have been necessary, but the fact remains - I proved something to myself in a major way:

It is possible to make one of these resolutions and keep it for the duration of an entire year.

Also?  Let's talk about the fact that this was a resolution not to buy myself any clothes.

NOT TO BUY MYSELF ANY CLOTHES In case you didn't hear correctly the first time.

Now, in case you haven't noticed, I'll tell you a few things:

• I'm a woman
• I care about how I look - specifically how I dress
• A year spans across all four seasons - Spring, Summer, Fall, and Winter

Shockingly, I was fully clothed at all times (not in rags either!), I had a warm coat, an embarrassment of riches in the scarf and swimsuit department, and more button-ups than a woman who works at a summer camp should ever have need of.  And dresses.  So. Many. Dresses.  Shorts were a little freak-out moment, as you may remember.  But that was the only point where this was actually mildly difficult.  And I say mildly, because really? 5 pairs of shorts is plenty for a woman who also has the blessing of a washing machine and dryer in her apartment.

All in all, I learned a lot about myself from the whole experience, and I really feel like a different person as far as shopping goes.  We'll see what this year holds as far as whether we've actually killed the shopping habit as I would have liked to.

So, lessons learned:

• New Year's Resolutions can actually make a difference in my life, and my habits
• I can actually keep a resolution if I really determine to do it

Therefore, you can bet I made a resolution this year:

I'm going off processed sugar for a year.

There.
I said it.

Guys, I'm really scared about this one, and I'm afraid it may be harder than last year
*cringe*
Throughout my entire life, I've consistently craved sweet way more than salty or sour or savory.  And I know I have got to make a change.  I've gone off sugar for a few months at a time before, but I always go back to old habits of putting so much junk into my system.  Now that I know I can practice self-control, though, I'm going to do it for an entire year, so hopefully I will learn to get my sweet tooth under control.

Now, please don't think the point of this post was to say "Look at me and what I accomplished already, and what still-greater things I'm going to accomplish, because I'm Superwoman."
The point of this post is that I need you, and you, and you to know, so that you can keep me accountable to this decision.
Also I'm hoping it's a good way to revive the faith of some of you that have experienced some difficulty in keeping me accountable in the past.

Also, I think it's worth noting that I really don't think I'm going to make a huge change in my life by breaking a habit for a year, then returning to the way I was.  I will be coming up with some sort of plan to keep myself under control this year with the shopping - maybe one item a month or something?
Not sure yet, but I'll let you know.

Also, have you ever seen so many colons and bulleted lists and hyphens in a single post?

Also, do I say "also" too much?

On Not Being a "Blogger"

I recently stumbled across the "about" page of a blogger whom I consistently follow.  Almost the first thing you see on this page is a casually posed picture of the blogger herself with perfectly touseled hair, an infinity scarf, a cross-body bag, a puffer vest, skinny jeans, and riding boots.  Below said picture, the girl makes a joke about that picture itself being enough proof that she is a "blogger."

Hmmm.

Does posting selfies taken with your DSLR and tripod in a perfectly coordinated outfit with "outfit details" lined out beneath them make you a "blogger"?  I would beg to differ.  That photo proves that she is a Fashion Blogger, a Beauty Blogger, or a [life]Style Blogger, but just a "Blogger"?

When did blogging begin to be about where you got this or that scarf or table or rug or blouse or hairclip?  About how many pageviews you got on a single post?  About posting selfies with a professional sheen?

When did blogging cease to be about writing?  Or did I just fall into the wrong crowd?

Now, don't get me wrong.  I'm not trying to say anything against fashion/beauty/style blogs.  I follow a lot of them, and enjoy them, but that's not what I personally choose to post on my blog, so to corner "bloggers" with the generalization that they all wear top-knots and hipster glasses and post links to where they got all of their skirts seems a little bit much to me.

Maybe I'm overreacting, but this is by no means the first time I've seen this generalization.

I thoroughly enjoy this particular girl's blog.  In fact, hers is one of my favorites.  She is witty and entertaining, and she also happens to post a lot of "outfit posts" as do several other bloggers that I follow.  But those posts are not the reason that I consider her a "blogger."

This girl is a blogger because she blogs.  She blogs more regularly than any other blogger that I follow.
Are you getting tired of the words "blog" and "blogger" yet?

This is where the rubber meets the road for me.  I have a hard time considering myself a "blogger" not because I don't post about my clothes or my furniture or my etsy business (don't have one to post about anyway), but because I don't post.

That, my friends, is a problem.  I was horrified when I glanced at my archives the other day and realized that I only made 8 posts in 2013!  What?  That's crazy.  And my writing elsewhere has suffered as well.  It's time to get that back on track.

I'm not much for New Year's Resolutions and all that jazz (more on that tomorrow), but I have recently made a decision to write daily in a gratitude journal, and (hopefully) daily in a regular journal as well.  I won't promise to write daily on this blog, but I will guarantee you you'll see more than 8 posts this year.

I believe we can even hope for more than 8 posts in January!
(Notice I didn't guarantee that.)

Black Friday

So, yesterday, as many of you are probably aware, was Black Friday.  I knew Black Friday was coming, obviousy, because of all the hype that leads up to it, but, then, when it actually got here, and it was sort of just my lets-get-home-before-Sarah-has-to-go-to-work day, I forgot that it was also Black-Friday-when-people-buy-all-the-things.

You see, for most of my life, my entire family celebrated Thanksgiving on top of a large-ish hill in Arkansas (I would say mountain, except people who have seen the Rockies would argue with me…) very far away from Black Friday specials.

We ate traditional Thanksgiving food on the first day, and cooked a whole bunch of new foods the next day (a pleasant side effect of having a cousin who has a somewhat decent knowledge of more cultures than I can ever hope to acquaint myself with).

Oh, and the first day was called Thanksgiving, and the next day was called Friday, or The-Day-After-Thanksgiving, if you prefer that.

I have literally never been to a store (except maybe the grocery store in Smalltown, AR) on Black Friday in my life, and I really didn’t intend to ever set foot in one.  It’s not necessarily that I’m an embracer-of-causes or a lifter-up-of-the-underdog or even a pointer-of-fingers-at-consumerism.  I’m really not that noble.  I just really am not attracted to huge sales and the crowds that inevitably come with them.

So, back to yesterday, Black-Friday-that-I-forgot-was-Black-Friday.  We get home in time to send Sarah off to work, and I sit down to prioritize what I’m going to get done.  Lights on the tree, check; finish knitting project, almost check, then I remember something.  I recently bought a new-to-me laptop.  My old one is dying a slow and painful death, and I’ve decided to try a Macbook, so I bought a friend’s used one from her, just to see what I think.  But I need to back all of my stuff up like a responsible person.  I don’t have an external hard-drive or anything, so, I think to myself, well, I’ll just run to Walmart really quickly and see what they have.

I don’t know why it seemed like a good idea to go to Walmart right at that second, mid-knitting, but I can guarantee you that Black Friday never crossed my mind, or I most certainly would not have gotten up from my comfy sunny spot on the couch.

So, I get into the car, and drive peacefully to Walmart.  As soon as I pull into the parking lot, I know something is wrong.  If you have to wait in line for a parking space at what is possibly the only remaining only-open-until-11-pm-non-super Walmart left in Texas, something very strange is happening.

I remembered then, that it was Black Friday.

But then I thought to myself, it’s not like I avoid this tradition for any noble upstanding reasons.  I just don’t like the crowds and the herd mentality that inevitably manifests itself on such occasions.  Plus, I only needed one thing.

How difficult could it be to grab one thing from electronics and get out fast?

Difficult, folks.  Very very difficult.

I walked into that store and had the most bizarre experience ever.  This is literally the tiniest of Walmarts, but there were people from out of town inside!  How do I know that, you ask?  Because they had Starbucks cups in their hands…

I live in a tiny town with a tiny Walmart, where there is never a line of more than 6 people for every cash register available.  Except, maybe when all the Summer Staff go into town at once, but that’s a story for a different time…

The sheer amount of people was overwhelming.

In fact, I was so overwhelmed that I made a small involuntary noise, which made people turn their heads and look at me.  Not a scream, exactly, but probably a scream’s very small, timid cousin.

It was weird, people.  So weird, in fact, that I had to call Sarah for reassurance that I was actually still a normal human being in a normal world.  I ended up talking to Lima instead of Sarah, which was helpful, since she’s also a human, and quite a reassuring one at that.

I don’t get anxiety in crowds, or anything, but that experience unnerved me, and served to reinforce in my head that I don’t ever want to be a part of that crowd.

I kind of wanted to cry a little bit on the way home.

Then, when I got to my apartment, I pulled into the parking lot and saw a perfect patch of sun on my porch.  After my harrowing experience, I needed something soothing and calm, so I knew I needed to sit in that sunny spot and read a good book.  But, my porch floor is not exactly comfortable, and I have no patio furniture.

So, I exercised my creative side and pulled my comfy chair out of my living room onto the porch, and boy was it a lovely few hours.  Not only did I read a book, I had some tea and even enjoyed a lovely cat-nap.

My soul was satisfied.

Then the sun set and I came back inside.

And then my cell phone died and I realized I’d left my charger at my parents’ house.  Literally no one that I know in this town uses the same phone as I do (I live in a small town, remember?)

So where does this leave us?

You guessed it – it’s still Black Friday, and now Esther legitimately has to go to Walmart.  Now, I realize that maybe this wasn’t truly a “legitimate” need, and I could have lasted a little while without a phone, but I was at home alone and Sarah wasn’t going to be home from work for a while, and, honestly, I wasn’t too concerned for myself, but I could just imagine my Mother trying to call me, and not being able to get ahold of me, so calling Sarah, and Sarah calling me, and everyone getting very concerned, and someone deciding to leave work to make sure I was okay, and, and, and…

I decided to go to Walmart.

I got in my car all doom and gloom, then this order of events occurred:

The radio was playing only the best songs, and no commercials

I found a parking space easily

I crossed paths with a lovely girl in the parking lot, who was nice, and restored my faith in humanity

I walked into the electronics section and found exactly what I needed immediately

I got up to the registers, and there was one wide open, with a sweet girl working it

Throughout all of this, I was still expecting badness at every turn, but there was something about that checker that just knocked me out of my doom and gloom mind-set and made me realize that I had just had a lovely, smooth Walmart run.  Then, I couldn’t help but count the goodness:

I backed out of my parking space without hitting anyone (not that I normally hit people, but it’s one of my biggest fears that one day I will, and while we’re counting the goodness, why not count all of it?)

I got to a rather long red light and remembered the trick of turning on your brights to make the camera see you – worked like a charm

The radio was still playing all the best music

I found Christmas lights on my way home

I don’t really believe in “luck” per se, but I sure do believe in a God who gives good gifts to His children, and He treated me in a major way tonight.

For that, I am thankful.

I would do it all over again if I could.

The first writing prompt in the Blogtember challenge was to write about where or what I come from.
First, lets just say that my cousin pretty much said it all last week with her Where I come From post.
Also?  I've already written this, and the end of this pretty much sums up what I call home.
If you want to see pictures of one of my many country homes, you can go here.
And these two poems say a lot about growing into who I am today, and what family means to me.

I'm big on being aware of your past, of knowing the building blocks of who you are today, and I think most of my poetry would tell you that.  I write almost exclusively personal poems dealing with my past - the good and the hard.

But sometimes, "where you come from" is not so distant in the past.  If you're like me, who you are today started about 5 years ago, and who you were then is someone that you hardly even know now.

I came to Camp Tejas in the Summer of 2008, hardly having any idea what I was in for.  Yes, I had learned all the facts about my job in my interview, and probably the words "Live, Serve, and Grow" were tossed around in that interview, but I had no idea just how much living, serving, and growing were going to happen in this place.

My first two summers - 2008 and 2009 - were filled to the brim with living and serving.
So much living.
And so much serving.
I was exhausted at the end of both, but so happy.  That living gave me the best friendships I could ever hope to have.
(The highlight of 2009? Meeting this girl, and knowing within the first five minutes that we were going to be friends forever.)

The growing, though, oh the growing.  That part is hard, and not always happy.  I am so glad we grow physically the most when we are tiny children and our memories are not fully developed enough to store that pain.  Growing emotionally is hard.  I can't imagine how hard growing physically is.

2010 was the year of growing - of fighting battles and learning there isn't always a clear winner.  Things aren't always as black and white as you think they are.

I stayed away from camp in 2011.  I realize now it was probably a mistaken effort to avoid more painful growth, but I also realize that it was a needed absence.  Without that absence, I wouldn't have returned after I graduated and become full-time in camping ministry.
Sidenote:  It's still weird to me to say "Oh, I work in camping ministry" like someone would say "Oh, I'm a banker" or something.

And if I thought 2010 was hard, I had no idea what was coming for me in 2012 and 2013.  I have fought more Apollyons than I thought existed in my life, and most of them stemming from unrefined parts of myself that I wish would just hide in dark corners, so I wouldn't have to chase them out.
But that's not the way it works in real life.  We have to fight those dark things out of the corners and into the open, or we will never grow.  We will never come from anything.

So, all that being said, I'm going to go ahead and cover the second writing prompt for Blogtember:

If you could take three months off from your current life and do anything in the world, what would you do?

First of all, when someone says three months, regardless of what they're talking about, my first thought is Summer - May to August - three little months in which so much happens.  I can't help it.  That is the 3-month time frame that my mind jumps to.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that the thing I would really love, more than anything else in the world is to do Summer 2010 over again - to open up to all that growth that wanted so badly to happen, but had to wait; to more quickly welcome the me who would eventually come from that time.

I've never had a big desire to travel or do something crazy different with my life than what I'm doing now.  Sure, I have dreams, and I've been to some places, and I'll probably go to some more.  As a result of camp, I now have friends in Australia, Thailand, South Korea, South Africa, Kenya, Wales, and Ireland, for goodness' sake.  I feel like I will probably do some traveling in my time, but the thing I would actually spend my 3 months on without regretting a minute of it?
Washing dishes, and fixing bloody noses, and cleaning cabins, and laughing, and crying, and growing.

She's Alive, and She's Even Guest Posting!

It is now September, and woefully past the time when I should have picked this poor little blog back up out of the dust I left it in for the Summer.  But man, did this Summer require a doozy of a recovery time.
I sat back and looked at my life the other day, and realized that, just about every season since January of 2012 I've been doing new things and learning new aspects of Camping Ministry.  Summer was the same thing again.  This Fall retreat season is the first time that I know what I'm doing because I've done it before.
That's a whole lot of growing and stretching and learning to experience.  I have succeeded at things I never imagined myself capable of.
I've also failed miserably, and received much grace, for which I am so grateful.
For curiosity's sake, I just went back and read last year's coming-back-from-the-summer post.  Friends, I could say most of those things word for word about this year and they would be equally true.  Summer at camp is beautiful and fulfilling in a way that a relaxing vacation could never be, but it sure is hard.

That's all you're going to hear about that.  I'm going to pick this blog back up (sort of) like I never left off, with my first challenge!  I've decided to participate in the Blogtember challenge this month... and since I'm already a week late in hopping on this bandwagon, we'll just have to see how it goes.  First post - about where I come from - to come tomorrow!

Now, as some of you might suspect from the title of this post, I have another first going on as well - my first guest post!  My cousin, Kassie, texted me a little while back and asked if I would be interested in guest posting on her blog even though I hadn't posted on mine in a little while.

Guys, I've seen guest posts on other blogs and thought about how fantastic and exciting it would be if I ever got to do one, but that was always in terms of years and years from now when I actually have time to focus on blogging.  I was blown away and so incredibly honored that Kas would ask me to guest post for her.

Kassie and I have been friends from day one.  So many of my friends talk to me about how they don't really know their cousins or family members, and every time I have that conversation, I am so grateful to have the Kitchen family in my life.

From blowing out each other's birthday candles and wearing each other's clothes when we were tiny to Sushi and cupcake dates today, I wouldn't trade my friendship with Kas for anything.  So to have her admire my writing enough to want it on her blog was so encouraging.

What I would trade?  My entire wardrobe for hers any day...

A Buzzword Study

Christians have a lot of buzzwords, almost to the point where it's kind of hilarious. (Dare I say a little ridiculous?)  But, I have to say, some "buzz-words" really do strike a chord in my heart and express, quite well, what we're all about.

One of those words is community. Christians are called to live in community. If we really wanted to be like the early church, we would "all be together and have all things in common." (Acts 2:44)
That's a big calling, and one that I don't see a lot of people living out on the daily. I know I hardly ever live it out - maybe once or twice a year when I get a sudden urge to make dinner for my friends.

Living in community is a huge calling and one we're never going to excel at because, lets face it, we're humans and we're selfish, and we're sinful. That's never going to change.

God does give us times in our lives, though, where it's easier to do the community thing. I'm in one of those right now. Ironically, it started about the time I moved off camp.

When I lived on camp, I was literally living out the whole "they were all together" part of Acts 2:44. There were somewhere around 30 of us believers (including children) all living on the same piece of land (in separate houses, thankfully, but still...) and I rarely took advantage of the opportunity to "fellowship" (sorry, you know I had to fit that one in here somewhere) with the others. Yeah, we had monthly pot-lucks, but I left as soon as I was done eating, and yeah, I ate dinner at people's houses, but I was usually one of the first out the door and I never bothered to have people over to my house. I was totally ignoring the whole "they had all things in common" part.

But since I've moved off camp, I've found myself lingering longer and longer in the evenings and not rushing off. I've found myself being hyper-sensitive to the little evidences that we are a community, and, though we (I) may not always get it right, we do sometimes get it pretty close to right:

A few months ago, we (the ladies in the office) were discussing the menu for the day and Paul was working away, but still listening, apparently, because, when we named lunch, he practically jumped out of his chair with a gasp and an over-joyed (and perhaps over-dramatic?) "We're having Hawaiian Stack-ups?!"

We share meals together quite frequently. Also? We all know what Hawaiian Stack-ups are, even if we don't all love them as much as Paul apparently does.
We live in community - we have food in common.

A while back, I was walking past my car, which had been parked in the same spot in front of the office all day, around mid-afternoon, and noticed a styrofoam cup sitting on the back of it. I didn't have to think twice - before I even walked over to it, I knew it was a full cup of coffee that Mike had left there. A few hours later, I teased Mike - "hey, you left your coffee on my car." He replied "yeah, I realized that later on, but then I though 'ah, Esther will know its mine and she'll have thrown it away already.'"

We know we each have our own little quirks, but even better - we know each other well enough that we're okay with knowing that other people know our quirks.
We live in community - we have quirks in common.

This past Spring, I was privileged to be a part of the first "Community Group" I've ever been involved in.  All my growing up years, I went to a small church that definitely believed in community, but we are an unusual church.  We have a very specific purpose that has been laid on our hearts by God.  Maybe one day I'll write about it.

But, because of the fact that we have that purpose, we don't have many of the "bells and whistles" (beautiful bells and whistles, might I add) that characterize so many churches in our American Christian culture.

Being a part of that community group was a very eye-opening experience for me.  I realized that living in community is not at all easy or natural.  I had to work hard to make sure that I actually made it there, and I won't lie, there were nights when I didn't particularly want to make the 30-minute drive to get there, but I did, and it was so worth it!

In our community group, we shared stories, we invented ways to help others with our meager resources, we learned, we grew in our faith, and we walked with each other through difficult times.

Also?  We walked together through good times - through baptisms, lunches at Ramos, happy-baby-days, weird baby TV shows, and cook-outs.

That's the thing about Christian community - it's not reserved just for sitting in a circle and talking about Jesus and how to love Him more and how to be more like Him (although that's one of my favorite parts), it's really about sharing His gifts with each other and facing life together whether it requires laughter or tears...or both at the same time.