Father's Day Part 2: A Tribute to My Many "Fathers"

And now.. the the fun part of Father's Day.. all of the people I can choose to celebrate.  I told an ex-boyfriend, "You probably think you have it easy because you don't have to go through my dad.  What you don't know yet is that rather than gaining one man's approval, you have an army's approval to gain."  See, I have an amazing community and have had so many great "fathers".  I am so blessed.  Many men have stepped in to fill my father's shoes.  This post is to honor them.  

When I went to college one uncle (who happens to be a truck driver) drove my car down so that I could ride with my mom and we'd have two cars.  His brother (they're both my mom's brothers) picked him up in Waco and drove him to Dallas to fly home.  The second brother's home was a haven during college, my home away from home.  Both brothers would give me the shirts off their back.  My dad's brother is like talking to my dad.  In many ways they are day and night (I mean, literally, my dad had dark hair and my uncle has light hair), but there is a life blood that beats through both of them.  

There's my youth minister (and his wife.. but, sorry Kari, you're not a guy ;-)).  I couldn't tell you how much he taught me about myself and the Lord.  He helped lay foundations that have been pivotal for me.  The man laid down his life for us time and again.  He was there through some hard times.  He also taught me how to punch a guy (only when necessary) in such a way that it wouldn't hurt me.  I clearly remember two of my best friends and I sitting in a church van with him while he was taking us home, and him telling us to NEVER.EVER.SETTLE.. we were too valuable for that.  He instilled value.  

If it wouldn't potentially weird them out, I'd list all of the male friends I have walked with over the last 10 years.  In their own way, each has been a protector and each has taught me something about men and about myself.  They have set high standards of integrity and honor.  They've loved me well.  There's no day set aside to honor male friends, so I choose to honor them today.  :-)

Finally, I want to honor one last "father" currently in my life.  He is my zone/section leader (don't worry about the terminology).  The guy is married, has 3 kids, is an elder and pastor at our church, and recently finished law school.  He has a capacity like no one I've ever seen.  He's perhaps the busiest guy I've ever met.  But I never felt it.  He's amazing at being very present and attuned to the person in front of you.  The man is for people like no other. He is SO interested in what is going on in people's lives and hearts.  He's that guy you want at every party because he (and his wife.. but, again, Ashley's not a dude) is so crazy fun and is an amazing gatherer of people.  You also want to sit down and have coffee with him because he's super encouraging, carries others' dreams well, and is passionate about everything he does.  He covers people so well.  He is a father to many.. even though he's only a few years older than I.  

I could never say thank you enough to all of you.  Thanks for loving me well.  Thanks for reminding me that I am by no means fatherless.  Thanks for stepping in for a man many of you never knew.  You all are treasures and have many rewards in Heaven.  

Father's Day Part 1: I'm not Fatherless

If you know me, you understand why Father's Day is not one of my favorite holidays.  If you don't know, this was the 9th Father's Day I've observed since my Dad died.  Something within me wanted to write about
Father's Day.  Perhaps I wanted to feel included.  Perhaps I want a group of people (those who have fathers who are still living) to understand what they never can (what it's like to celebrate Father's day when your father is in Heaven).  When I started writing this post in my head, it was a how to on how to love the fatherless (more on this later) on Father's Day.  Then I realized that goes against everything I believe about grief because it implies there is a manual or a one-size fits all way to help.  So.. that post isn't here.. because I don't like to contradict myself. :-)  

I'd be lying if I said that Father's Day is never hard or that I'm never angry.  If you would have asked me 9 years, 10 months, and 8 days (I used an online calculator) ago if I would till be angry, I would have said no.  But I am.  Not every day, by any means.  Not even every Father's Day.  But sometimes I'm angry.  I'm angry because my dad is dead.  I'm angry because it happened when I was so young.  I'm angry for the memories that will never be made.  I'm angry that I'm angry.  (Hey, I'm a girl.. it makes sense).  Oh, and I'm angry that life feels normal without him.  I get angry that I can go a day without thinking about him.  It feels wrong sometimes.  (For the record, the angry days are few... I'm just saying they exist).

For the record, I do not consider myself fatherless.  Weird, I know.  But come on, you probably know me.  Did you expect anything else?  My dad was a great man.  He worked hard to provide a good home for my mom, sister, and I.  Although he had no concept of time (meaning my mom had to remind him several times), he made it to almost every single Little League game I played... no matter how good (or terrible) I was.  Without a doubt, I know he loved me.  So I get a little worked up when people think I'm fatherless.  I also have a heavenly Father who loves me better than my earthly father could in a million years.  Especially since my dad died, I have seen God as my father.  He is the One who comforts me.  He gives me guidance.  

My Mom

Okay, so, I was reading a post on my friend Michelle's (yes, the one the post below is about) blog.  It was a letter to her mom.  It was incredibly sweet.  I loved being able to read it and read what she loves about her mom.  I also think it's so honoring.  So, since I consider copying to be the highest form of flattery, I'm writing a post about my mom.  Sorry, Mom, it's not a letter.

Let me tell you a bit about my mom and where she comes from.  My mom grew up on a fruit orchard in Mt. Hood, Oregon.  Her family didn't have a lot of money, so they canned and "put away" all sorts of fruits and vegetables.  When she was a kid, her dad was diagnosed with cancer.  Early in her teenage years (sorry, Mom, can't remember how old you were- like 14?), her dad died.  My mom left beautiful Mt. Hood (I've seen it- it's breathtaking) and arrived in flat, dead-looking Oklahoma during the winter.. the WORST time to be introduced to our state.  She helped her mom raise her 3 younger brothers.  When she was in college (I think), my mom was in a car crash that killed one brother and her grandmother and almost killed her mom.  During college, my mom went home on the weekends and helped her mom with all sorts of chores.  Why?  Because that's what family does.  I tell you all of this so you understand that my mom is one of the strongest women that I know.  These experiences would have broken many women or made them bitter.  Not my mom.

Fast forward to me.  The woman endured something like 36 hours of labor (with no epidural) and a C-Section (two weeks after my due date) just to bring me into the world.  (For the record, my parents had already decided to only have two children... it wasn't a decision based on how miserable the experience of bringing me into the world was).  Some women act or feel as if their children owe them something.  My mom NEVER acted as if I owed her anything.  When I think about my childhood, it is filled with memories of my mom.  I don't think the woman ever missed a school performance, Little League game, or church activity.  She carted me all over kingdom come.  She also put up with a rather.. curious.. child.  My mom taught me to dream.  To this day, she will tell you how she didn't give me coloring sheets as a child because she read "they inhibit creativity".  She gave me paper and crayons.  She read me probably thousands of books.  I can't tell you the number of "ideas" I had and told her about.  Whenever I told her about them, she listened- she didn't squash my little dreams- even when they entailed having 8 sets of twins as my children.

My mom has inconvenienced herself more times than I care to imagine for me.  Really, the woman taught me what sacrifice is.  I can't remember the last time she had both my sister and I home for Mother's Day.  Normally, she was with us because she was moving me out of college.  The ONE time I moved without my mom helping me?  She'd had major back surgery 2 weeks before and felt guilty about not being able to help.  The woman has spent the majority of her Christmas/birthday money taking my sister and I on trips.  She's lived on a much tighter budget so she could help me get my Master's.  For a long time, I thought that's what every family did- you sacrifice when someone else needs something.

I'm realizing how incredibly weird my family is.  My mom cooked dinner most nights out of the week.  Like, legitimately cooked.  Even when finances were tight, my sister and I felt UBER celebrated on our birthdays. (Yup friends, she's the one you can thank for teaching me that birthdays are a BIG deal). From the night I graduated high school, I am quoted in the local newspaper as saying I would miss my mom making me toast every morning.  Because my mom made me breakfast every.single.morning.  Even now, she spends her breaks coming down and helping my sister and I.  No matter what, I always know my mom will be there for me when I need her.  I know she would drop everything to be with me if I needed her.  The woman updated her own passport when I went to Morocco to make sure she could be there if I needed her.  Because of her, I also know that I can call my sister in the middle of the night and ask her for Sprite when I'm sick and she'll bring it to me.  My parents always said family comes first.

One last thing.  I'm so thankful for a mom who believes in me and is always for me.  When my dad died, my mom assured my sister and I we would make it.  She was always sympathetic and let us cry to our hearts' content, but she made sure we knew we would make it.  When I thought there was no way I could make it through school, she assured me I was smart enough to do it.  When I was scared, she calmed my fears.

Thanks, Mom, for everything you've done for me.  Thanks for every sleepless night, dollar you spent on me instead of yourself, every inconvenience, and for not losing patience with me.  Thank you for being the person who will always pick up and who's always glad to hear my voice.  Thanks for loving me, even when I'm a flake and forget to call you back the night before Mother's Day.  Thanks for being the "weird" mom; thanks for sacrificing and teaching me how to be a better human being.  I love you more than words (or a really long blog post) could ever say.

~Leah

P.S. Does this make me your favorite?  ;-)

Michelle the Brave

In an hour, it will be Mother's Day.  My goal is to write a post about my Mom, because she really is wonderful.  However, right now, I'm writing about something (okay, someone) that's been on my heart.  I'm writing about Michelle.

I really couldn't tell you when I met Michelle.  Her name was one of those that seemed to float around me for many months before I met her.  I kept hearing about Kevin and Michelle Leach.  I swear, the girl was everywhere.  It's funny because I also remember this very clear picture of seeing Michelle and Kevin before I had any idea who she was.  I'm guessing I really got to know Michelle after I started leading a Lifegroup.  I watched her from afar.  I've told her this before- I thought Michelle was WAY too cool for me to every be close friends with.  It seemed no matter where she was, people flocked to her.  When she wasn't around, people talked about her.  Last May I was looking at some fabric at Hobby Lobby.  I had somehow gotten Michelle's number.  I texted her to tell her this particular fabric was on sale and I thought she would love it.

Then, I hung out with her for the first time.  I found out later that Michelle's life was a bit chaotic.  See, her mom was battling cancer and her baby girl had a heart problem.  We sat on Michelle's couch and she asked me about life.  Michelle met me in a really difficult season- when lots of friends had moved away.  For the couple of hours I was there, it seemed like I was the only thing that mattered.  It's one of my favorite things about Michelle.  She lives life like a saying she has in her house:  "Wherever you're at, be all there".  I saw Michelle once or twice more over the next few months.

In January, she started discipling me.  Basically, that means she's super intentional about living life with me.  She's for me and she asks me the hard questions.  Usually, we hang out once a week.  It's a highlight.  The girl oozes life, joy, and the Holy Spirit.  I know that no matter what I tell her, she is for me.  I also never have to wonder where I stand with her, because she is such a good communicator.  She's direct and honest.  It makes me trust her all the more.  She asks me the really hard questions.  She doesn't let me get away with anything, but she is so kind about it.  A couple of weeks ago, I told some people, "It's really easy to hold someone's toes to the fire; it's much less easy to stand there and possibly get burned with them".  Michelle is one who stands with people.  She is loyal beyond loyal.  She's a great friend.  Oh, and if you're having a party- I PROMISE you want Michelle there.  She brings so much life and is SO fun to be around.

About a week ago, Michelle's mom was sent home from the hospital.  You can read the story on her blog Leachlove.  Her mom started hospice.  Michelle moved in.. because that's what Michelle does.  She stands with you and makes sure you know you aren't alone.  Yesterday, towards the end of saying good-bye to her mom, Michelle sent me a text asking about something that PALES in comparison.  Why?  Because Michelle doesn't live in comparison.  Michelle loves people well.

Today, Michelle said good-bye to her mom.  Tomorrow, Michelle will celebrate her mom's life on Mother's Day.  I can't even imagine how hard that is.  But here's a secret about Michelle:  she is extraordinarily brave. She wouldn't necessarily say that about herself.  In fact, when she reads this she'll probably think about all the times she feels like she's wavered.  But those who know her know the truth:  Michelle is brave because she has chosen to partner with the person of bravery, who is the Holy Spirit.  Michelle will stand there on Mother's Day and celebrate her mom, who is now in Heaven, because Michelle knows her best friend, the Holy Spirit, will be there to comfort and celebrate with her while God gets to dance with her mom.

So thankful that I get to call such a brave woman friend.  

Covering... and I don't mean the stuff over or on your head (Part 1)

I knew I wanted to write a blog about what I've been learning about the idea of "covering".  So, I did what any child of the Information Age would do... I looked it up online.  Here are some favorites:

"something laid over or wrapped around a thing, especially for concealment, protection, or warmth"
" to serve as a substitute for someone who is absent"
"to hide the wrongful or embarrassing action of another by providing an alibi or acting in the other's place"
"anything that veils, screens, or shuts from sight"
"to cover completely; enfold. to keep secret; conceal"

I tried to look it up in a Bible dictionary to an epic fail.  Oh well.  :-)

Let me back up and explain a bit of my story.  I grew up Southern Baptist.  At the same time, I grew up with parents who told me I could do anything I set my mind to and that I could do almost anything a man could do.  I'm so thankful for parents who raised me to be independent.  Somehow, this all got confused in my head.  How was I, an independent woman who didn't need a man, supposed to submit some day to a husband?  Did that mean I gave up everything and became a June Cleaver at mercy to the wills and whims of my husband?  I knew that was most assuredly NOT me.  As with a lot of things I don't understand, I decided to shelf it until later... whenever I really NEEDED to figure it out. 

Enter my only adult boyfriend.  In dating him, I realized I had probably better start to get a grasp on this whole submission thing.  By this point I had figured out that I did not have to be a doormat.  Okay, if I'm not a doormat what am I?  Add to that my boyfriend's love/hate relationship with the fact I didn't need a man.  I can't tell you the number of times I heard that I was "too independent".  After we broke up, I started asking the Lord if I really was too independent.  I felt like He said, "Leah, it's not that you're too independent.  You just couldn't trust [insert boyfriend's name here] with your heart".  Enter sigh of relief.  Okay, so submission has something to do with trust. 

Fast forward four (wow, it's really been that long?!) years to last weekend.  Again submission is coming up.  A couple of weeks ago, I was at an event and I saw this man from my church.  We didn't know each others' names.  The only thing I knew was that within my two interactions with this man, I felt incredibly loved and covered.  Hm.  Covered.  The next day I saw another man at my church and realized the same thing- he most assuredly did not know my name.  Yet every time I see him, I feel incredibly loved, valued, and covered by him.  When I told both men, they acted as if it was the best compliment I could ever give them.  I was walking back to my seat when I felt like the Lord said, "Leah, you were made to be covered".  What?  Then it seemed to click.  I, as a woman, have it written into my DNA to be covered (in the safe and proper way) by a man/men.  Yes, the world has taken this and distorted it, as it has done with most godly principles.  Being covered meant that someone else was at least partially responsible for protecting me.  As women, we like to feel safe.  It seems men, at least the godly ones, like making us feel safe.  Duh.  Making us feel safe is as much in their DNA as it is in our DNA to be covered. 

I've finally realized that I can value covering without being a doormat.  It all comes back to trust.  Stay tuned for the next installment in covering... and eventually some musings on trust. 

The gifts I never wanted

So I'm sitting here watching The Ultimate Gift (which, if you've never seen it, you should... like now), which is all about a spoiled rich kid learning the gift of things like work.  Recently, I've been thinking about all of the "gifts" that I've received that sure did NOT seem like gifts at the time I received them.  In the midst of everyone else's thankful posts, I wondered if I could come up with 100 things I was thankful for and 100 "gifts" I'm now thankful for.  As a disclaimer, I would trade almost every single one of these "gifts" for another way of getting the end result.

1. My father's death- Let me just reiterate that I am not thankful that my dad is gone.  I would likely give back every single lesson I've learned to have him back.  What I'm thankful for is what came out of it.  Friends and family rallied around.  People stepped in to help fill the void that he left.  However, something even more amazing came from this- I was able to pass along the gift.  My freshman year a girl on my hall's sister died suddenly.  The other girls on my hall looked to me wondering how to be there for her.  A couple of years later I shared my story in Juarez and a guy on the team said it made him want to repair the relationship with his father.  One of my best friends from childhood lost her dad; I could assure her she would make it.  Most recently, another friend lost her dad.  I remember what it was like wishing someone knew how I felt.  I am incredibly thankful to be able to be that person for other people.

2.  Being rejected-  Kids are cruel; so are adults.  Like every other person on the face of the planet, I know what it's like to feel rejected.  In the moment, it hurt; it cut deeply into my soul.  I wondered if I would ever be accepted.  Good news:  I was.  :-)  And because I was rejected, I think it made me a more sensitive and caring person.  That feeling made me realize I never wanted to make another person feel that way.

3.  Arguments and hard times with friends-  I can't count the number of times I've had conversations that were anything other than fun with close and dear friends.  At the time, I was by no means thankful.  Looking back, I'm thankful for friends I could argue with.  I'm thankful for friends who I was comfortable enough with to be myself.  I'm thankful for friends committed enough to work through the hard times.

4.  Being jobless-  Okay, there were DEFINITELY parts of this that I was extremely thankful for.  However, at some point, I was SO ready to have a job.  I never realized how much of my identity and feelings of worth were wrapped up in whatever I was doing at the time.  At some points, I felt like I was wondering around aimlessly as I kept waiting for jobs.  I'm thankful for the reminder that what I do is not who I am.

5.  Being lonely-  Loneliness sure didn't feel fun at the time.  It also felt like it was going to last forever and that I would never again have friends.  Well, it didn't.  Shocker:  I made friends.  Every time.  And every time the friends I made were worth the loneliness.  I'm also thankful because the Holy Spirit became a dear friend.

I'm sure there are more things I could be thankful for, but the post was getting a little bit long.  What about you?  What's a gift you didn't want, but you're currently thankful for?  

Why are we afraid of grief?

Today I went to see the movie Courageous with my sister.  It deserves its own blog, so we'll deal with it at a later date.  What's relevant for now is that it reminded me of what I lost 9 years, 1 month, and 21 days ago (I used a date calculator; I wasn't committed enough to figure it out myself).  It reminded me of the great sense of loss I felt and how the Lord met me in it.  (Well, I guess we have another blog... or 5).

Then I came home and got on Facebook.  I saw a former classmate talking about how she missed her grandfather and wished her girls had the chance to know him.  The very first comment on her status was a very well-meaning friend, I'm sure, who talked about how her grandfather was with her and how her girls would know him through their mother.  I know she meant well.  I know she wanted to provide comfort.  The part of me who knows the pain of loss and the pain of knowing your future is forever altered wanted to quietly, yet matter-of-factly say, "It's just not the same".

So I started thinking about why the woman felt compelled to respond.  I thought about all of the well-meaning things people said to me that really didn't help.  In fact, some of them hurt- they made me feel like I was a failure as a Christian for missing my Dad.  Why do we do this?  Why do we have this compulsive need to make things better to such a point that we find ourselves saying ridiculous things in an attempt to comfort?  It seems we're afraid of grief.  We're afraid to admit that we don't know what to do or say to make it all better.  Perhaps we even feel like failures when those we love hurt.  Then I thought about another response.  Where are the people willing to say, "Your sadness and anger don't scare me and they don't scare God," as they hold you when you cry?  Where is the friend who fixes everything with one look that says, "I hurt deeply for you because you hurt, yet I know I can do little to make you feel better"?

That's the friend I want to be.  I want to stare the person in the face and say, "Whatever you're feeling doesn't scare me and it's really okay that I can't fix it".  Then, hopefully, at some point I can point them to the person who CAN fix them, who CAN heal their sorrows.  I'm not saying don't try.  All I'm saying is that your response to another's grief and struggles should be about them, not about making yourself feel better or like you did what you were supposed to do.  It's hard, I know.  We WANT to make things better and there's nothing wrong with that.  I'm simply suggesting that perhaps your part is to sit and just be okay with the other person's feelings.