It’s no secret that I’ve always been the shy girl, so it should shock exactly no one that I like being an anonymous customer. I just want to get what I came for and go, with as little human interaction as possible. I bristle when the checker at the grocery store gets nosy about my purchases. I’m irritated by the restaurant server who wants to engage in friendly chit chat when it’s clearly interrupting the conversation I’m trying to have with my dining companions. I dread the sales associate who hovers when I am shopping for clothes. I want to flee from the mega-emporium employees who interrupt my browsing reverie to ask if I’m finding everything okay (except when I actually need their help, at which time they mysteriously disappear). And I’m embarrassed that the clerk at my local convenience store is on to my Smartfood addiction. If I could shop draped in Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak—so I wouldn’t have to fend off uncomfortable small talk with these well-meaning service providers—I probably would.

But a few nights ago, something happened which taught me that sometimes, being noticed has powerful benefits.

For the past three and a half years, I’ve been meeting regularly with my sister-in-law, Angie, for a biweekly Bible study. The vast majority of those meetings have taken place at a Chipotle restaurant we selected for no other reason than we both love Mexican food, and it happens to be more or less equidistant from our respective homes. For at least half that time, there has been one particular employee who has been there nearly every Sunday night. We chat with him regularly as we pay for our food, and he knows us by name. He notices when we miss a week. He’s been known to comp our sodas. Somehow, despite my best efforts at anonymity, I’ve become a regular. One might even go so far as to say that Angie and I are the Cliff and Norm of this upscale fast food joint. And it’s unfamiliarly reassuring to be on a first name basis with the guy who takes our money week after week.

What we didn’t know until this past Sunday was that he’s been paying attention to the purpose for these weekly visits. Our friendly host isn’t necessarily the kind of person you’d expect a pair of minivan-driving moms immersed in Bible study to have an impact on. With stretched earlobes, multiple facial piercings, and spiked beard, his alternative look might be more likely to inspire one to cross to the other side of the street than to strike up a conversation about God. But it would be a mistake to judge this book by his cover, because tucked into his unique brand of self expression is a sweet, quiet guy with a steady work ethic. I’d be willing to bet that this unlikely face of our Chipotle experience is very loyal to the people in his life.

So we were pleasantly surprised the other night when our Chipotle friend approached first Angie, and then both of us, with a prayer request. He said he hasn’t always been someone who prayed, but he is trying to pray for his girlfriend about a personal difficulty in her life. He asked if we would pray for her too, and also for him as he encourages her. Apparently he has been working up the courage to bring this up with us. For me, that’s a strange role reversal. Usually I’m the one standing in those shoes, wondering how to introduce a potentially awkward topic of conversation. I’d find humor in the irony, except that I recognize it as a universal feeling of self-consciousness. I know exactly how he felt.

Angie guesses it must be the subtle pink streaks she recently added to her hair that finally made us seem approachable. She may be right. I also think it’s no coincidence that this prayer request came on the very night we were studying from the book of Ephesians on the topic of—you guessed it—prayer. But whatever the reason that inspired our favorite cashier to open up, this small step has started a conversation we can now continue.

I learned from the encounter, too. Looking back, I feel shame that when Angie and I first began our meetings, I was bashful about studying the Bible in public. I am so thankful now that we persevered anyway, that I have not been invisible at Chipotle after all, and that our new friend there knows our names. I will honor his prayer request, and I will add to his petition the prayer that through our example, maybe he will come to truly know the most important name of all.

It catches me by surprise sometimes, the reflections inspired from teaching my daughter’s Sunday School class. Last weekend, the topic was “friendship,” and we studied from the biblical example of David and Jonathan. It got me thinking…what is friendship, exactly? And what is the difference between having friends and being a friend?

Merriam-Webster defines friend as “one attached to another by affection or esteem; acquaintance.” Not to quibble with the dictionary, but my definition is a little stricter than merely “acquaintance.” To me, friendship involves a lot more of the loyalty and caring exhibited by Jonathan and David. And it’s a lot more like the sentiment expressed in Proverbs 17:17—”A friend loves at all times.”

A friend, a genuine friend, cares through thick and thin, through both prosperity and adversity. A friend celebrates your accomplishments, mourns your setbacks, sticks up for you, provides encouragement, is willing to listen, forgives your mistakes, and laughs with you, never at you. True friends sincerely want the best for each other and invest time in nurturing that relationship. At least, this is the type of friend I aspire to be to those I care most about. Not always successfully, but it’s what I try for.

Only a limited few of my acquaintances meet this tough criteria, however. Which begs the question: Why is it so hard to find such friends? What it is that connects us in true friendship to a handful of people in our lives? Just what are those indefinable qualities that drive only some of our social acquaintances beyond the superficial into the type of deep and lifelong caring, loyalty, respect, and trust that most of us long for?

I have no answers, only questions. But I can venture some personal opinions on the subject. Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “the only way to have a friend is to be one.” I believe this is where we often miss the boat. Being a friend requires time and energy—two things not everyone is willing to give in equal proportion. I know people who are friendly enough when it’s convenient to their schedules, or when they need something in return. I’ve been guilty of it myself. I have acquaintances I never hear from until they need a favor, and others who talk on and on yet somehow never find time to show an interest in what’s important to me. These are people I am happy enough to socialize with when the opportunity arises, but they are not who I would depend on in a time of need. Perhaps they aren’t “wired” with these friendship characteristics. Or maybe they’ve simply reserved that depth of friendship for others in their lives with whom they share more in common.

It’s true that common interests bond us with certain people more than others. Common hobbies, similar beliefs, shared life experiences. I know I’ve spent the last few years growing friendships with people of faith as my own faith has become more important to me. And digging deeper into my past, I count among my closest friends those who knew me as I was emerging into the person I would become, in my childhood and college years and beyond.

Some of these people in my life advanced rapidly toward friendship, while others developed more slowly over time. Either way, these are not acquaintances that will come and go. They are friends for life. They have earned my loyalty, and I hope I have earned theirs. Their numbers may be relatively few, but fortunately, it’s not the quantity of our friends that is important, but the quality. I’d rather have a few deeply meaningful friendships than a few hundred superficial ones.

In this area, I’ve been richly blessed. For example, when Kent unexpectedly earned himself an ambulance ride and a night in the hospital last year with chest pains, a small handful of local friends immediately offered to assist with the kids if we needed it. Though it proved unnecessary, I have not forgotten the generous offers from friends willing to upend their own schedules with no notice. These are the friends I know I can count on. And I’d do the same for every single one of them. In a heartbeat.

In closing, I leave you all with this quote:

Do not save your loving speeches for your friends till they are dead; Do not write them on their tombstones, speak them rather now instead.

~ Anna Cummins

And so, to my friends whom I love dearly:

I’d like to be the sort of friend that you have been to me. I’d like to be the help that you’ve been always glad to be; I’d like to mean as much to you each minute of the day, as you have meant, old friend of mine, to me along the way.

~ Edgar A. Guest

_____________________________________

Fittingly, as I was in the middle of drafting this entry this afternoon, one of my best friends from college, whom I met on my first day there just over 20 years ago now, called for a lovely chat, just because. I can’t think of a better reason to be interrupted from writing on the topic of friendship than to talk with one of those friends. Hi, Jill!

I love Columbus Day. Inexplicably, it’s one of the holidays I get off from work, even though I’m not employed by a bank, the government, or the post office. Even my husband, who DOES work for a local city government, has to work today. And the kids have school.

Is it obvious yet why I love Columbus Day? I love it for the rarity of its exquisite, perfect, blessed silence. No TV. No music. No bickering. No interruptions. No nothing. Just me enjoying the house all to myself and basking in the pure, unadulterated solitude.

To me, that silence sounds a lot like reading. And writing. And reflecting. And praying. And utter stillness before God. So if anyone is looking for me today, that’s where I’ll be.

For a 3-month period between March 29 and July 1, 2008, I gave up on blogging. Not permanently, of course. But other activities and obligations piled on one after another, ceaselessly demanding my attention. Something had to give. My muse, rejecting the argument that sleep is an overrated luxury, finally rebelled; I cracked and took a prolonged blogging break.

I present this fact as the most pitiful of excuses to explain why I failed to document here a very significant event that took place during this time. On Sunday, May 4, 2008, our daughter Maia was baptized.

It’s a decision she had been talking about for a while, and we gently encouraged her whenever she brought it up, always letting her lead the discussion, fearful of pushing her into a decision that was not truly her own. But we knew it was only a matter of time, since the signs of her uninhibited faith had been growing steadily. I submit as partial evidence Exhibit A and Exhibit B. And those are but two examples in a long list. There are many more like them.

Sometimes I find post-it notes stuck in odd places around the house, such as inside the door of the linen closet, with messages like “I love Jesus” proclaimed in Maia’s youthful handwriting. In school (public school, no less), she openly shares her faith with her friends. Once, in an exercise related to a story the class had read, her teacher asked each student what three items they would take with them if stranded in the desert. Maia’s first response was her Bible. It wasn’t the second or the third thing she named. It was at the top of the list. She also begs to be the one to pray at every meal, especially when we are in the company of others, and often astounds me with the insight and depth of those prayers. More than once I have wondered how words so perfect for the occasion can come out of the mouth of a nine-year-old.

And so it was that she came to the decision that 2008 would be the year. Initially she wanted to follow in her father’s footsteps and be baptized on her birthday, which falls on a Sunday this year. But October was too far away, and she didn’t think she wanted to wait that long. Then she started thinking maybe in the summer, until she learned that “Bring a Friend” Sunday was coming up soon. She knew immediately that would be the day, with her baptism as a wonderful witness to the expected visitors. A meeting with our preacher confirmed what we already knew—that Maia was making her decision for the right reasons, and she was ready.

When the day arrived, she never wavered. Maia repeated the confession of faith with confidence and maturity, in front of a congregation that has been her church family since birth. Kent declined the opportunity to perform the baptism himself, fearing he would be too emotional. So we watched together, moved beyond reason as a faithful little soul accepted Christ as her Lord and Savior.

On a sunny weekend in mid-September 2001, we spent an afternoon at Walt Disney World, as we often do, being locals with annual passes. Specifically, we were at Epcot, where my brother-in-law sings as a member of the a cappella “Voices of Liberty” group at the American Adventure.

What made this performance of Americana more special than normal was that it was the first weekend post 9/11, and patriotic feelings were running particularly high. But the moment that brought me goosebumps came when the group sang God Bless America. Just as the first words from this melody sprang forth, Maia stood and began waving an American flag she had earlier been given outside. You would have thought she understand exactly what had happened in our nation just days earlier. But at not quite three years old, there’s no way she could have known what impact the solitary girl standing with her flag would have on the people around her. But she waved her little heart out and I think upstaged the singers that day.

After that, we decided to teach her the words to the song so that next time, she could sing along. A few days ago I stumbled across an old audio clip from my archives of a barely three-year-old Maia belting out God Bless America. I share it here for your patriotic enjoyment.

Maia sings God Bless America

For quite some time, my sister-in-law and I have been jointly bemoaning the fact that our church doesn’t have much emphasis on children’s programming. Someone must have overhead us, because last night was the launch of Pioneer Club, a new program for the grade 5 and under set. Did we shuffle our schedules to make Wednesday night church attendance a new part of our weekly routine? You bet we did! And possibly the best part is that now Kent and I get to attend a popular adult class taught by a faculty member from Florida Christian College. The class is currently focused on exploring bible history, and we both found it educational and fascinating. We can’t wait to go back.

But really the best part is what happened as we were leaving. In the parking lot, Maia’s Sunday School teacher made it a point to find us and let us know what a pleasure it is to have Maia in his class on Sunday mornings. Having just started third grade, she’s new to the class of 3rd-5th graders, but according to her teacher she already knows more than the kids he’s been teaching for a year or two. He said it’s refreshing to have a student who “knows her stuff” and is eager to learn.

It’s not the first time we’ve heard this type of feedback about Maia’s faithfulness. Several months ago a fellow deacon in our church told Kent that his wife, who occasionally teaches the 1st-2nd grade class, often talked about Maia at home with the same kind of praise. And during the summer the substitute leader for her junior worship service told us she’s the only one who actually took him up on his “homework” assignments to look things up in the bible and came prepared with the answers each week.

The thing I’m most proud of is that she is so engaged despite the lack of other kids around her who display similar zeal. She’s an amazing kid with a heart full of love. Both of my kids are, for that matter. Not to mention that they’re both extra adorable sitting here at the kitchen table in PJs as I type this, silently munching Pop Tarts for breakfast with the glazed eyes of kids who’d much rather still be in bed.

My kids have inspired me today.

First came the Easter eggs. I helped Maia and Noah color them this afternoon, a day later than normal due to a busy day yesterday, and some of the fruits of their efforts are pictured in this photo. Every egg designed by Maia had a theme relevant to the meaning of this special day. Every single one. The full text circling the blue egg on the left, written in magic crayon, says “I love the Lord.” And Noah insisted that crosses adorn nearly all of his eggs; which he got, with a little help from Mommy.

Then came the sidewalk chalk. While I was inside cleaning up remnants of Easter Bunny chaos and then rearranging kitchen cabinets to make more functional sense for our high traffic use, the young’uns were outside playing with the chalk that came in Maia’s Easter basket. When I later went out to inspect the damage, the proclamation in this photo was the very first thing I saw outside the front door. “Donahues love Jesus.” I think I can safely say Maia speaks for us all.

The next thing I saw was this announcement that “Jesus is the King.” Our front walkway is actually graced with two of these—one labeled with Maia’s name (pictured) and another with Noah’s name—and Maia proudly showed them off.

I’m convinced that God is whispering in Maia’s ear, the same way I have heard Him whispering in mine. She’s certainly not shy in talking about God or showing her love for Him through prayer, song, and, apparently, Easter eggs and sidewalk chalk.

I can’t wait for the day when both of my kids make these types of statements in front of our church congregation as they are about to be baptized. That will be a celebration, indeed.

“Deacons, likewise, are to be men worthy of respect, sincere, not indulging in much wine, and not pursuing dishonest gain. They must keep hold of the deep truths of the faith with a clear conscience. They must first be tested; and then if there is nothing against them, let them serve as deacons. In the same way, their wives are to be women worthy of respect, not malicious talkers but temperate and trustworthy in everything. A deacon must be the husband of but one wife and must manage his children and his household well. Those who have served well gain an excellent standing and great assurance in their faith in Christ Jesus.”

1 Timothy 3:8-13

A couple of weeks ago, my exceptional husband received what is, to him, an important call from an elder in our church. They have invited him to be a deacon. His first thoughts were of his deceased father, who was a deacon in their church when Kent was growing up. He is proud to be following in those footsteps, and I am proud of him.

After meeting with a couple of the elders the following Sunday, Kent accepted the invitation, because, as he put it, "How can I deny the Lord?" So he’ll be on the ballot at our annual congregational meeting in a few weeks. Apparently the elders have had their eye on him for a while. And it’s no wonder—he’s so friendly, and talks to everyone. Kent is one of those people who always manages to find something in common with everyone he meets. I think he’ll be a natural in whatever ministry he takes on.

I’m so thankful every day that God led me to such an outstanding specimen of human being, thankful that God used Kent to lead me to Him, and immensely proud to be married to and loved by someone of such high moral character, who is so selfless in serving others. 

I love you, Kent, and I’m very proud of everything you do.

http://www.mayyoubeblessedmovie.com/

Check it out. Definitely worth five minutes of your time. 

That’s what I wrote to a friend yesterday. That I wanted God to be lighting my heart on fire all the time. The words and imagery stuck with me, and I have decided it is time to speak openly about that which has been foremost in my mind for quite some time now. Readers, if such subjects turn you off, you have been fairly warned that this post is a departure from my usual material and may not be for you. But I hope you will read on anyway and be inspired.

Off and on over the years, I’ve felt the need for more of God in my life. Kind of a nagging notion that I should take more responsibility for my spiritual growth. Except I never really did much about it. We’ve always been the kind of family who dutifully attends church on Sundays and prays with the kids every night, and… and… and… nada. That’s it. At least for me. Sure, I’ve had bursts of enthusiasm here and there. After 9/11, in prayer at church was where I most wanted to be. But that has been the exception rather than the rule.

My Christianity has never been a secret, but I’ve always claimed to be uncomfortable talking about matters of faith. Partly because it’s felt personal — something that should remain between me and God. But if I’m really honest with myself, it’s also because I’ve been afraid of being found out for my lack of spiritual maturity. How do you talk to people about what you believe in when you don’t know why you believe what you do? And how can you explain that you’ve called yourself a Christian for so many years now without ever having made any serious attempt to study God’s Word?

Somehow, all that has changed. My love for God has been pent up, and it wants out. I can’t put my finger on any one event that triggered it, though I have tried. It’s a confluence of people and experiences that have all converged over the past year or so with God’s perfect timing. A sister-in-law who has been eager to learn together. A biblically themed project at work. A former employee who referred the client, seeing past my silence to understand that I would be receptive to taking on such an assignment. A friend in ministry who asked the right questions to get me talking, giving me the courage to speak up. A daughter who has been showing interest and asking questions of her own, leading to the realization that I should be setting a better example. A book that left me tearfully longing to experience the joy of God’s love all the time. A minister whose timely sermons always seem to speak to exactly whatever is on my mind. A year full of abundant blessings that I can only attribute to God’s divine influence. And a husband, whom God used to lead me to Him in the first place, who is ever supportive of my renewed desire to seek a deeper relationship with Christ.

God is all around me. He’s trying to capture my attention from every conceivable angle. It’s perfectly obvious, and I’m listening. It’s tempting to ask “why,” and “why now?” I certainly have asked, though perhaps it is wrong to question His motives or timing. I’m not sure what God is preparing me for, but I’m certain He has a plan. In the meantime, I’m bordering on information overload, trying to quench my appetite. Everything I read fulfills me and lifts me up. When I fall behind, I get restless. I have embarked on a bible reading plan. I am engaged in bible study with my sister-in-law. I keep a devotional journal. I talk to God more, and more sincerely, than ever before. I talk to my husband and my children about God more than ever before. And my learned youth minister friend is patiently answering questions and allowing me to “practice” and build confidence in my God language.

And so here I find myself with no greater wish than to model my life after the example and teachings of Jesus. I’m not always as successful as I’d like. I often fail completely, but I’m learning. I know He loves me and forgives my imperfections. And I know He’ll always be there in my times of need. All I have to do is ask. There is so much hope and promise and relief in that truth. Jesus is preparing an eternal place for me in Heaven, and someday I will join Him there, along with many of my loved ones. It will be a glorious day indeed.

Friends, some of you may be surprised at my candid talk and the depth of my conviction. You may have never heard me speak on this topic much or at all. Nor are you likely to at any great length, unless you express interest. Even now it remains far outside my comfort zone to share my feelings so boldly. I have not become a bible-thumper and I will never preach to you, but if you are in the neighborhood, I might invite you to church.

So it is that what I have written here today is not for your benefit or mine, though I will be blessed if you take something from it (I hope you do). It’s for the benefit of my children, who inspire so much of what I record here. Someday, when they are old enough, they will read this material. They will laugh at many of the stories I have written, delight in seeing themselves in the occasional starring role, and maybe learn a thing or two about their old mom. And therein lies the key. I want them to recognize that God is important enough to me that I am willing to share Him with friends and strangers alike. I want them to see beyond my quiet but unwavering belief and know something of my personal journey in getting there. They’ll probably know anyway, but I’d like them to read about it all the same. I pray they will share in my enthusiasm.

And now that this blog author has poured out all that her heart, lit with fire, feels on this subject, we return to your regularly scheduled blog programming.