The title is deceiving. Neither are mentioned in this post. BUT, yesterday was Mother's Day and Andrew's 14th Birthday!
We are joined, again, by Amy who writes like Jo. (If you get that, you have read well)
She is a dear, sweet girl. She wrote me a story from lunch yesterday that made me laugh so much!
I had to share it with my roommate because it was just so funny!
Anyway, without further ado:
Sitting around the table this past Sunday, I was reminded of several friends of mine from last summer. I spent seven weeks working on the service team of a Christian summer camp in Wisconsin, where my favorite work crew was the grounds crew. I mowed, split wood, stacked hay, and was basically one of the go-to people for tiring manual labor. I loved the work, but loved even more the guys with whom I worked. Even though I was just a service team worker, and honestly probably the least physically fit of the group, they treated me with respect and encouraged me with their perseverance and acceptance of me. I was very quiet, incredibly insecure, and quite frankly, awkward as all get out, yet these men that I had the utmost respect and admiration for seemed to believe I was someone worth having around, not realizing that they were the reason I remained motivated.From me to you, hello from Times Square!
In much the same way, Sunday lunch has provided me with a family not just of blood, but of community. Sunday afternoons are enjoyable often because of the variety of people that make up our company. Each individual seems to contribute something in their own unique way. Whether it's my mother's hard work, Kevin's stories, or Baron's priceless one-liners, we all have our part. For Sunday afternoons especially, we all look to each other as family. And even amongst the men and women that crowd around our table, even in the company of these people that I admire and love so much, it seems that I still have a place, much like I did at camp. Even if most of what I do is laugh and pour coffee, I feel like a sister to them all, and adore them as if they were my own brothers and sisters. Despite the many difficulties I faced at camp, I still remember my co-workers and those weeks I spent working with them as I time where I felt, more than any other time in my life before, like I was exactly where I was supposed to be. And now, surrounded by brothers and sisters in Christ, I feel that same pull in my chest, the same thankful cry that says this is where I am meant to be.
Yet in addition to this comfort, Sunday afternoons are teaching me as well. At camp, being a naive high school student working with college students far beyond me in terms of maturity and intellect, I found myself caught in an unusual bind. I'd always sought to be the friend with answers, I wanted to bear my friends' burdens, even at times when I knew it wasn't my place. But at camp, surrounded by men so much stronger than myself, I knew even when I saw them hurt and it tore me to bits, that there was nothing I could do to fix their problems. I didn't know them very well and I had no profound wisdom to offer. Amidst my frustration, however, I didn't realize that those friends I so desperately longed to help were really the ones helping me. And so it is, I have found, with these cherished Sunday afternoons. These friends that I love dearly are taking the burdens I have always refused to relinquish, and shown me a stronger kind of love than that which my pride often demonstrates. A love that is patient, accepting, and encouraging. The love of a family.
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