Know

 (This bridge I know best, takes me to where I am known best.)

After you have lived somewhere for a year, and lived there well, the roads that once felt foreign, feel familiar. Known.

I take roads that are known last night. Turning mechanically, thinking barely, I find myself home.

There were hugs and cups of tea with friends last night, the Rangers game on in the background, a cider candle lit on the table. I know I am loved here, even if the love is different. Someone tells me that I am here to learn to love where loving does not come naturally to me. My soul balks at that because it points out that I have not chosen the greatest of these, faith, hope, and love, and I have not given it freely. My soul is a choosy one.

Later another friend asks me to think diagnostically: if you say that you do not care about this one thing, but you find yourself caring in this specific situation, doesn't that reveal that you actually do care [and so are lying to yourself]? He didn't ask that part, I added it later because it's true.

I lie to myself.

I think myself bigger and better than I am.

And so I am surprised when being in New York, how well I am known there, where there are no secrets among friends or enemies. And here, last night, when two say pointed things that hit their mark. I am surprised that I am such an easy target for being known. No matter where I go, I wear who I am on my sleeve. I know I wear it not well and sometimes I wear it down, with questions, thoughts, determination. But I wear it, even when I feel I have sufficiently covered my shame with fig leaves and falsehoods.

I cannot hide.

One year is not enough time to know every road here well. And one year is not enough time to know me well. It is not even enough time for me to know myself well. But it is enough time to know the roads that are well-traveled and to know the deep ruts in my soul, the ones I cannot help but continually walk into.

David waxed poetic when he said "Blessed is the man whose strength is in God, whose heart is set on pilgrimage." I think we might have been friends.

It is much better, see, to draw my strength from God and not from what I love. To set my heart on the highway to Zion (another translation says), but to pilgrimage my way there. To know my way, and know it well, but also, to be known along my way and be known well. 

****************

You still have three days to win one of my favorite books (and right now the odds are in your favor). Go for it, I promise if you win, you won't regret it.

Book giveaway

A few times in life there are moments of self-recognition that happen in surprising places and ways. Most of those times, for me, have occurred while reading. I can't promise the same experience will happen for you when you read these books, but I can promise that you will be richer by reading over the shoulder of a few contemporary writers. And I want to make it easy for you!

I want to give you the chance to read one of four books that have contributed to my ah-hah moments. If you win, you'll get your pick of which book you'd like. Rules are below! 

  Somewhere More Holy by Tony Woodlief
Tony's book has been sitting on our side table, my nightstand, stuffed in the side of my bag for a year now. I wept through most of it. Healed through chapters of it. Tony carefully walks his readers through the rooms of his home, telling stories only the walls could know. It is a heartbreaking, moving, beautiful memoir living up to its subtitle: stories of a bewildered father, stumbling husband, reluctant handyman, and prodigal son.
 

A Circle of Quiet by Madeleine L'Engle
When I was 11, I first read Madeleine L'Engle's Troubling A Star and was hooked. This woman wrote about adolescence the way I felt. A Circle of Quiet was first lent to me when I was in high-school and I wept through most of it. She understood quiet. She carved it out. She made it happen. This book is so good, poetry in prose.


 
The Reason for God by Tim Keller
In March of 2010 my pastor lent me this book and I read it slowly, every word carefully. I knew that I could not miss what this book was trying to tell me. What it was trying to tell me is that God is real, yes, but also that God is good and does good. He does not waste our questions, but He answers them in His time and way. 

 
One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp
It's probably no secret to anyone how much I love Ann and her writing. Her book touches the deep and secret parts. It's pure beauty. Ann somehow takes the mundane, the everyday, and spins pure gold from it. I don't know how she does it, but she does it. She shows how gratefulness is a discipline but also how it is so much joy, surprising joy.

I want to thank you for being faithful readers. I'm still amazed that people come here and think I have something worth saying. I'll admit, it scares me at times to know so many of you are reading, but it comforts me the same. I'm grateful, so grateful. And I want to say thank you to you! If you think you'd enjoy reading one of these books here's how I want to help that happen for you: 

1. Leave a comment below telling me which book you would love to get your hands on. 

2. And then do one of the following: 

--If you're on Facebook, go to this page and click Like. 

--If you're on Twitter, tweet about this book giveaway. You could use something simple like this: Over at http://sayable.net there's a book giveaway happening. Drop by for your chances to win one of @loreferguson 's favorite books!

One of you who commented and tweeted or liked the fb page will be chosen by random. I'll post the results here on the blog and then send you your book of choice!

Grateful for you!
Lore

you

Hey listen, you. You hiding behind your litany of projects and your mountain of responsibility. You, with your put together persona and your perfect bouts of transparency. You, who reveals little to everyone but lets the world unveil herself to you because you are perceived as trustworthy and wise. You who picks up the burdens and carries them to the next rest stop. You who goes about your duties, shirking love and fearing commitment because it means you are needed and being needed is grounds for running away.

Yeah you.

You're the one I'm talking to.

And I'm saying this: you can't hide.

You cannot hide.

Because you slip away, drive away, pull into a parking lot and put your head in your hands. You don't cry because crying doesn't help, but you sigh and you ask what's wrong with you? Why is it so hard to be needed? Be wanted? Be loved? And how can you be those things and still feel like none of them?

You tell yourself the lies and then you tell yourself they're lies and then you lie to yourself again and say it will be okay, that you'll try harder next time, that you'll say no next time, that you won't feel the weight of the world next time.

But you do.

You stub your toe on the "too close, too long, too much" line and you back away slowly, desperate to grab your favorites parts of you back. You're an introvert in an extrovert's kingdom. You feel upside down because you're called to decrease (which you like), but you're also called to preach and make disciples and be discipled (which you don't like). You feel inside out, like you're walking around with your insides out and no one points and stares, they just expect it from you. They feel that they know the real you.

Here's my heart, you say, it's on my sleeve.

Here's the only thing I have to say to you:

You cannot hide because I know where to find you, you're always near me, like a second skin, like my own breath, my own heart. You're like me.

And once, I was like you.

You cannot hide because I emptied myself for you, taking on your form, obeyed the sentence of death on my head, for you.

And you're not beyond me. Trust me. You, with your litany of projects and mountains of responsibility: you still need me.

something to talk about

If there is one aspect of God's character that surprises me the most (and shouldn't), it is the act of Him pursuing me.

He wants me! He pursues me! He actually cares about what I care about!

This astounds me.

There is nothing interesting about me, I am a sniveling child, a lazy servant, a half-hearted follower, a doubting learner, an arrogant leader. There is little about me worth pursuing.

But the fact remains, He pursues. He asks. He delves. He digs. He isn't interested in me staying where I am.

When we pursue a gospel-centered community, we must understand that we are the imago dei, the image of God. We represent Him to others. He doesn't need us to represent Him, but we get to. He lets us fools do that. I'm astounded.

Because we're representing Him, we communicate this aspect of His character by pursuing others. We find the wallflower and ask intentional questions, communicate that we are interested in their life. Not because we have to conjure up the interest, but because when we understand the gospel, we understand that there is nothing of interest about any of us on that very level playing field. We are no longer impressed by long resumes or disenchanted by short ones--because in God's kingdom we understand the last shall be first and, in fact, already is!

(pinterest)

This is difficult, because the same as the gospel reaches in and changes us (sometimes painfully so), building community is painful and sometimes requires doing difficult, dirty, discouraging things. It means not turning away from someone the moment they bore you at the party; it means praying for opportunity to have meaningful conversations in uncomfortable situations; it means going back, again and again, to a social situation where you may feel out of place or perhaps unwanted.

Jesus ate with tax-collectors and sinners.

I love that.

Jesus ate with with the rich and corrupt. He ate with the sick and morally fallen, with leaders and even those who would turn Him over to death.

He wasn't worried about a conversation topic keeping Him from building relationship.

He found something to talk about.

Go and do likewise.

It's somewhat of an oddity to me that the most viewed entries I've written are: on singleness and not highly commented on. It doesn't bother me that comments lack (though I LOVE connecting with my readers, so if you're reading feel free to give a shout out!), but I think it's a bit telling that those entries are garnering high traffic with comparatively little response. Here's my hypothesis: we're embarrassed.

Yup. That's it. Just that. I know, my hypotheses are highly complicated.

It's embarrassing to be 30 and still single when your much younger friends are planning weddings or being fathers or homeschooling their kids or sending out yet another birth announcement. It's embarrassing to be the one who hurts on the inside, just a bit, when yet another friend says "I do" and you're the single girl in the line beside her. Not hurt at her, just that tiny twinge of longing. It's embarrassing to ask the questions out loud and not sound like you're complaining or longing or fearful. It's embarrassing to not know if today's portion is forever's portion.

(me on the fly)

Here's some encouragement to you, though, especially if you're one who stumbled onto this blog because of a link to a post on singleness:

First, you're not alone. I was in a meeting the other day with some single leaders and the percentage of singles at my church was mentioned. I did a doubletake, a say what? I go to a huge church. Well, huge for any northeasterner! But between six and nine thousand people in the DFW area call The Village Church home and of them, about 1/3 to 1/2 are single. So here's what I want to say to you, you are not alone, even if you feel alone. You're not. I was surprised by that number, especially since I get around, I know a lot of people, but I was suddenly staggered by how many people I don't know! So please don't feel alone. The facts say you're not. Go meet some people.

Second, don't be afraid. I don't know what you're afraid of. I don't know if it's loneliness that keeps you fearful. I don't know if it's the future that makes you afraid. I don' know if it's the fear of failure, or of being too much, or not enough. I don't know what it is, but please don't be afraid. We often delude ourselves into thinking that we'll feel perfect confidence when a man takes care of us or a woman trusts us, but the truth is that you've already been loved perfectly and that's the only thing that can drive away fear. Don't be afraid of tomorrow, tomorrow is already taken care of, walk faithfully and joyfully today.

Third, don't be embarrassed. If you're not alone and you're not afraid, you have nothing to be embarrassed by. You have the opportunity for community and you have the opportunity to be a confident pursuer or confidently pursued. And, sisters, even if you're not being pursued by a man, trust me when I say that your confidence will draw other girls to pursue you for discipleship and communion. You will have the opportunity to teach them to be unembarrassed by their singleness, but to live without fear about tomorrow.

Listen, if you're here, reading over my shoulder because you're single and you're looking for community or need prayer for your fear, I want to know you. I do. I know that might seem forward of me or you might not believe me, but believe me. I want to know you. You can comment here or shoot me an email me here. I will pray for or with you. I will tell you to hop on a plane and come visit me. I will try my best to encourage you. But more than that--I will point you to Jesus who is the only hope for your deepest longings to know and be known.

He's not surprised by your singleness.

He's not scrambling to put together a plan you've somehow messed up.

He's not fumbling over details and times and dates.

And He's not embarrassed by you.

Unpacking yesterday’s post:

I read once in a book four things to remember about who you marry.

If you marry, you marry a sinner. That is, you cannot escape the sheer fact that your spouse will sin against you and in front of you. He or she will fail you time and time again in certain areas. You will feel acutely the weight of their sin by the fact that covenant have made you one.

If you marry, you marry a man/woman. You marry someone who is perfectly designed to be just that. Ill-equipped, very literally, to be anything but what they are created to be. And that means that he may not understand why you fuss with makeup, but will probably appreciate it. And you may not understand why he grunts on the bench-press, but you'll appreciate it too. He won't want to share every detail of his day and you won't won't understand his primal urges. That's okay. You're not supposed to be the same.

If you marry, you'll be married to a husband/wife. This means, simply, that wives, you ought to respect and submit to your husband, not to every man who has leadership gifts. And husbands, you're called to love and cherish your wife, not every girl who looks at you with doe eyes and is needy. This doesn't mean that you shouldn't want to join together in helping your single sisters and brothers out, but intrinsically, you're weren't meant to do that with every man or woman. Just your one.

If you marry, you marry a person. A real, live, living, breathing, thinking human being. With feelings. And needs. Some as simple as eating three times a day, some as complicated as being heard thoroughly and fully. But it's a person. Just that. A person. Simple.

(everything love)

I'm writing this because I see a tendency among singles in churches: we're getting our emotional, spiritual, mental, and sometimes physical fill within the context of community and it's keeping us just satiated enough that many men are putting off seeking wives and women are feeling frustrated by the feeling of "putting themselves out there."

Stop seeking perfection in your future or present spouse: reflect the image of God, live a fruitfilled and multiplying life, and marry the one who is not perfect, but the one perfectly crafted for you.

It's a soul pornography, I think, this rush we have to fit every need and sit, abased, in our lethargy. To gain our fill on something that isn't ours to own or hold, and to act surprised when it is taken from us. I talk about community and here I know I walk a fine line.

Because I love communing. I love giving and sharing and having all things in common. I love that.

But not at someone's expense. And not, especially, when they are left at the end not knowing it was at their expense.

I talk about the tendency I see around in my single brothers and sisters, to give and take and cover and feed and encourage and fill the needs that, in some ways, were made to be filled by one man or one woman. It pains me to say it, because I love and long for Acts 3 in more ways than I can possibly say in this place. I long to go from house to house, breaking bread, sharing things in common, all for the good of the gospel, for the spreading of the word.

Instead, though, I find myself fat on the feast.

I'm not even sure how to say this, how to phrase it, what I know is this, though: If you are single and feeling it, feeling less than everything you think a man or woman wants in you, please know this: you weren't designed to compete with a community of people who together embody the perfect person.

Brother, you cannot be tall, dark, handsome, handy with a wrench and a guitar, gentle and funny, the life of the party and the deep intellectual. You cannot be impassioned with a sense of mission and empowered with a trust fund eight zeroes long. You cannot dunk well and run marathons and counsel wisely and write treatises. You cannot be equipped with cooking skills and a twinkle in your eye and a maddening ability to salsa to any sort of music. You aren't that good.

You're just one man.

And you, sister, you're not going to have a perfect golden tan and be a gorgeous blond, tall and petite at the same time. You cannot cook a delectable feast and give any guy a run for his money on the volleyball court. I dare you to be completely yourself, comfortable in any clothing and yet also look the part, perfectly coiffed for every occasion. You are not a good flirt as well as a humble communicator. You cannot love children and have read every classic written. You are not the most witty and it's nearly impossible for you compete with the girl next to you, because you'll never be like her. You aren't that perfect.

You're just one woman.

(julie harmsen)

It's soul pornography, what we've done, creating communities in which our every need is filled by ten or twelve women and men. Ryan, to fix the car; Jon, to swing dance with; Peter, to talk deeply to; and Mark, to shoot some hoops with. Becky, to cook the feast; Erin, to make you laugh; Beth, to give the pushback; and Sylvia, because she's easy on the eyes.

You were meant to reflect one God. His character and personhood is the only perfection to be found. Only in your humble imitation of Him will your joy and His glory be shown through you.

Sister, you were not meant to fill a dozen dreams from a dozen men and Bro, you are most likely the perfect man the less perfect you are.

Community isn't meant to illustrate the gospel, not fully. But marriage is.

Stop marrying the community and marry the person.

Well. It has been a month.

It didn't seem like much to you, I'm sure. In fact, that was probably the most regularly this blog has every been updated (Thank God for post scheduling!), but to me it was restful. I had high hopes for a month of no writing and I really meant it to be no writing at all, but it was helpful for me to remember a voice I once had that was lost.

I wanted to get it back, but I'm afraid it's still lost.

But I think I'm okay with that. More on that later. Or not. We'll see.

During this month:

My roommate Jenna headed to Africa for two months.
My best friend got engaged (to an amazing, astounding, wonderful man who treasures, adores, and loves her to pieces).
My other best friends had a baby, Gideon Archer.
My brother and sister-in-law had a baby, Iliana Mae.

I booked tickets home to NY for two weeks in October.
My friend Liz Boss moved to Texas, to our home, and got a job at Starbucks (you'd better believe we'll be taking advantage of that little perk there)
It has been over 100 degrees every day of this month, plus a few days more.

I read some good reading.

I've gotten to know some people from church a bit more and I feel like my desire for community is both being refined, blessed, and challenged. All good.
I went to Echo Conference and ohmygoodness, I'll be thinking about some of the things I learned there for a long, long time.

I discovered 1. A farmer's market, 2. A used bookstore, 3. That I love the town they're both in and hope to move there soon.
I was surprised with a brand new iMac at work that makes my life so happy and my work so fast every day.

I repotted all of my houseplants and watched them finally flourish for the first time in Texas.
I practically killed all of our outdoor plants because I cannot figure out how Texas does plants.
I celebrated the 4th of July on a lake with friends and felt myself breathe at the space found there.

Our campus pastor preached a four-part sermon series from the book of Haggai, which is a feat because there aren't even four chapters in that book.
I gathered with a group of single leaders and brainstormed how to foster authentic communal living and deep biblical fellowship among the 3000+ singles at The Village Church.

I was very, very, very homesick.
I was very, very, very home.

I got my hair cut short.

I put Texas plates on my car and felt a bit of me die. A bit of NYer in me die.

I was challenged, rebuked, forgiven, blessed, joy-filled, surprised, sore, full, sad, heard, and so much more. It has been a staycation for my soul.

Thank you to those who stuck it out with me. I know I lost a few readers (the archives were too namby-pamby for them, I guess!), but thanks to the rest of you for letting me shut down the comments, for enduring a bunch of wistful melancholy and posts about home, for skipping over posts in your reader when they piled up, but thanks, mostly, for this:

Almost a decade of writing is piled up here on this page and it has been the most healthy outlet for my brain to absorb what the Lord has been gracious (and long-suffering) to teach me. But more than that, it has been a place where you have let me grow very publicly. You have let my theology fumble and my questions remain unanswered. You have let me sort out death, divorce, loneliness, homesickness, doubt, fear, sin, decisions, faith, redemption, and life. You, if you're reading this, you have been a faithful friend to me.

And I appreciated that.

This month, more than anything else, I have appreciated you.

Thank you for July.

PS. Comments are back open!

She was sitting behind me, wearing a turquoise shirt and matching eye-shadow. I wore jeans rolled up at the cuffs and an old camp t-shirt, no make-up. She said her favorite magazine was Vanity Fair, mine was National Geographic. She could have given Reese Witherspoon a run for her money and I could partner with Jane Goodall nicely. It was the first day of class and this girl was clearly out of mine.

She smiled, I smiled, and we shared perfunctionary hellos, because we had to. Our professor was one of those charismatic types, the kind that makes you laugh because they are. She had us fill out little 3x5 index cards with superlatives and names and things, trade with another classmate, and introduce them to the rest of Introduction to Mass Media, Communications 201, section B. I traded mine with the girl sitting behind me.

Her name was Kelly and I didn't know we'd be friends. It wasn't until later that I found out that she would've said National Geographic if she'd thought of it, but that Vanity Fair was the first thing that came to mind. I also found out that she likes vintage clothes. And when I tell her she looks like Reese Witherspoon she laughs and rolls her eyes and says "Oh. . . " That when she really looks like Reese. She's the only other person I've ever met who actually wants to be an editor (but secretly wants to write), and loves true-blue black and white photography. She loves God, and I know that's kind of a given when I say I'm friends with someone, but she really does. If you didn't know it from the sparkle in her eyes, you might catch it in the middle of a really deep conversation when she nods her head in agreement with something you just said. Something only people who really love God agree about.

Tonight I called her and left an incognito message on her voicemail. She called me back and just laughed for ten seconds. We said we loved each other at the end. And missed each other.

Who would have thought I'd miss a girl who likes Vanity Fair and blue eye-shadow?

December 2005

I made a to-do list for today and didn't do anything on it. Instead I spent the morning responding to emails that have been building up in my inbox. Not the garden variety kind, either, the real deep nitty gritty life sort and there's still more to answer. I emptied my soul out a bit and when Season got home I emptied it more.

We're talking about long-term contentment, not the buckle down, house, three kids, 401K kind, because that's not really contentment, that's just filler stuff. We talked about how after the good feelings wear off, real life sets in.

How that's when contentment is the hardest.

I think I'm hitting it in these past few weeks. Eight months in Texas and now I'm home. In that time my understanding of the gospel has radically shifted the way my heart responds to God and sees Him, but the other thing that understanding has done has made the intensity with which I broach life even more intense. I'm discontent with any part of me that doesn't smell of the gospel and all I know is that that is most of me.

I'm weeping because a deep understanding of the love of Christ for us compels us and sometimes that compelling hurts. It's digs at the deep parts and exposes all the weak parts. I don't like to be exposed. I don't like to have to acknowledge that there are parts of me that have been untouched by the encompassing depth of the gospel. I don't like that.

I don't like that understanding the gospel means changing the way we interact with men, women, people, individuals who are all desperate for someone to reach out to them, show them love. I don't like that the gospel means stopping something when my only motivation is to feel good. I don't like that the gospel means that every relationship in my life is going to hit breaking point over and over and over again because we go from glory to glory, faith to faith. Because breaking points drive us to Christ all the more.

I'm discontent with some things right now. I'll just put that out there. I feel parched and dry.

I'm frustrated with a culture that isn't my own and is hard for me to understand. I'm tired of some things that seem unjustified. I'm weary of the perpetual plod toward complete sanctification. My soul is feeling bruised and prone to tears, homesick for the north, a culture and people I understand.

A friend sent me an email the other day that said "struggle is a metric for growth" and I'm thinking about that a lot this week. This soul sadness isn't a sign that I've been forgotten by God or that He is less than who I know Him to be, it's simply a way to say someday "see I was there, now I am here." Oswald Chambers said it this way,

"Growth in grace is measured not by the fact that you have not gone back, but that you have an insight into where you are spiritually; you have heard God say "Come up higher," not to you personally, but to the insight of your character."

And so today I going to embrace these struggles. I'm going to embrace the pioneer part of me that loves new and changing things, and I'm going to savor the settled part of me that desires to see changes that are sustainable and real.

And I am going to preach the gospel to every part of me that balks.

Which is most of me.

I am by nature a preservationist. I think we all are. Oh, I don't mean that we save and horde and reuse. I mean when it comes to self, I am a master preservationist.

I pretend to be all open and honest, living life bare in front of you, and perhaps I have succeed in my ruse only. But deep down in, I preserve.

Living a life that invites is a challenge for me because...

Read the rest of this entry over at The Organic Bird.

Part I: On Reputations
Part II: On Small Talk and Public Hiding
Part III: The Open Door Policy

We are wiling away our Sunday in good ways, with coffee and conversation. Honest questions and solid answers. Communing in life.

It is good that The Bird and I decided to do our series on community this week and I hope you'll keep coming back for it each day this coming week. I say it is good, though, because it has been a challenge for me in this season.

I am built for community. We all are, I think. We are built for communing and sharing and partaking, mourning and rejoicing with. We are built to need.

But there has never been a time in my life where community has felt further from me. I am from a culture where doors are always open, extra space at the dinner table is always made, schedules are cleared for relationships and where personal space is rarely a consideration (sometimes to a fault).

In my last home I never knew who would be sleeping on our couch, floor, or upstairs room when I woke up in the morning. We lived outside in. We lived transparently and openly with anyone who would cross the threshold of Home. All were welcome.

I miss this life.

No matter how often I say, hey, our doors are always open, it just doesn't seem to happen here in the way in which I'm accustomed.

This isn't bad. It would be bad if it were ongoing. But I understand that I am new here and things take time.

But I'm not content to have it stay this way.

So I am grateful for a visiting brother this week--one of the people who has taught me through blood, sweat and tears, that God sets the lonely in families and sometimes he uses lone individuals to BE family. I have always been set in families, my entire life, my natural family, my church family, my makeshift family--all these groups of people who take literally the mandate "be fruitful and multiply" even without the transference of genes and DNA.

I am the product of families.

And I am learning so deeply that I am creating a family even now. I am investing in my future family by creating family right now.

I do not have to wait for natural or adopted children, a husband's vision, a life shared in marital covenant. I begin now to create family, habits that I want my home to be identified by, a spirit that I want my habitat to encompass. I begin now to seek lonelies and create havens. My family. My community.

God doesn't do small talk.

He doesn't get around to the deep subjects eventually and He doesn't skirt around difficult issues. God always goes after the heart.

Sometimes it doesn't seem like this, like when He asked Adam where He was in the garden. "Adam, where are you?" (As though He didn't already know...) But in the heart of that question, He was holding a mirror to the deepest inclination of the natural man: to hide.

...continue reading over at The Organic Bird

Part I: On Reputations and the People We Pretend to Be:
Andrea Levendusky from The Organic Bird

"So, what brought you to Texas?"

This was the question that would send nerves in my knees shuddering into my throat. A harmless one, on the surface. But the kick of the anthill to my soul.

Inevitably, this was the first thing most people would ask me when I moved to Texas. When I ran from God. When I indulged in sin and found myself in a "foreign land". This question haunted me as I walked a long road, found redemption, and started the beautiful journey of restoration. At first, I didn't want people to know my "stuff" because it might mean they wouldn't accept me. And even after restoration, I was scared if people knew, they wouldn't accept me.

The question would come, I'd dodge it and internally want to shout, "I am not a colossal failure at life!" Questions in community come quickly — and if a girl is going to save face, she better be on her toes with quick and witty answers. Because saving face is what it's about...right?

*crickets*

I used to, and sometimes still, do this a lot. To old friends. Family. Strangers. New friends. My pastor's wife.

Something in me wants to defend my reputation, salvage what's left of her feeble frame. Prop her up with words and excuses, stories and claims. Dress up her skeleton and hide her macabre cry. Make her look less like what she actually is — me without Christ.

Here's the thing — in order for any of us to have the kind of relationships that actually serve their purpose (to build up, encourage, exhort), we're going to have to stop trying to preserve our reputation.

You are not better than me. I am not better than you.

I can't tell you how many conversations I've had with friends where I would say, "There is nothing you can tell me that will shock me." Because I had been there? Not necessarily, but maybe. Because I was ok with their sin? Nope, but Christ died for the sick, not the healthy.

But because we are all broken skeletons walking straight to the grave without Christ. No propping up or vain accolades needed.

Let's just be honest.

We all equally, desperately need Jesus. The thing that separates us from God is not how much sin we have committed. It's the existence of it. One stain separates us from him entirely. Christ's death covers us fully.

The most powerful, life-changing moments inside of a healthy community have been when people finally stop trying to impress everyone, or protect themselves. When those things stop, something real happens. We allow room for honesty. For love. Rivalry and conceit scatter into the shadows as humility and grace rush in. We allow truth to bleed, someone grabs a bandage, someone grabs the water and next thing you know, true community is turning from bone to flesh.

And that reputation you so desperately wanted to preserve? Let those bones crumble. Let Christ be what you're known for.

Almost ten years ago, in a small upstate New York town, on a cold snowy night, I met a girl in a green woolen hat.

As with any kindred soul you meet, you might not know upon meeting that they will change your life, and so I didn't then. Though the details are many, change my life she did. And she continues to. I am forever grateful for her, for the simple community we have in just each other, how she has taught me about redemption and faith and grace. How she sharpens me and soothes me and strengthens me. I'm so grateful to share Andrea Levendusky with you over the next week or so and I hope you'll meander on over to her blog as well to read the other half of this series!

Lo: When did you feel a real birthing in your heart for community?

Andrea: I can't say I've always really loved people. Community wasn't something we really experienced growing up, in a real, cross-centered way. In fact, I didn't really come to appreciate the value of community until I moved to Texas about 7 years ago. At first, I blamed the lure of it on southern hospitality. The believers I began to meet were so incredibly gentle, broken, honest and took me in like a long-lost friend. I started spending time with people who were so contagiously authentic and real. It was then I realized how amazing and dangerous (in a good way) community can be.

Lo: What have been the greatest challenges for you as you pursue community?

Andrea: Oh man. I have a long list for this one. First would probably be my pride. Community requires a certain level of discomfort. We, as people, so commonly want to put "the best foot forward." But a healthy community really requires that you don't do that. The goal is that God be glorified, not us. That the story of the cross be the pinnacle, not our own stories. That Christ is the hero, not myself. I still to this day find myself in situations where I want to defend my reputation. That might fly in casual relationships, but not with the people who I'm walking in life with. So secondly, would be embracing humility :) Tim Keller said "Humility is so shy. If you begin talking about it, it leaves." So see? I'm even failing now. *sigh*

Lo: What are a few good ideas to give our readers as they seek community?

Andrea: I would just start by saying that the best thing anyone can do is recognize that in Christ, we are all on the same page. You're good. You're covered. You don't need to prove anything to anyone. So that goes both ways. You don't need to be embarrassed about your past, and no one can boast in anything but the finished work of Christ.

Lo: What advice can you give someone who tends to be shy about finding or being community?

Andrea: This is hard, because the truth is, communities vary in character and language. So, I'll tell you this — there's a good chance it's going to take a few misses before you really find a community that you feel at home in. AND even then, that community might change in a matter of months. I would say, find a friend you trust or just one name of someone you can link an arm with, and start there. You don't need to be everyone's best friend. Even among Jesus' disciples, we hear about some a lot more than others. But they were all there, together. That's the key. God will give you grace, even to be bold.

Lo: How do you feel that the gospel is more clearly displayed when you live life in community?

Andrea: I think about some of the people I would consider a part of my "community." We have given each other a mutual responsibility to build one another up. To call each other out on sin when we're hiding it. Have those awkward conversations. To love unconditionally, by grace. To help keep our hearts soft before the Lord. To pray. Bear burdens. Celebrate. To lift each other's eyes back to the cross. Without them, I am prone to drop my vision back to myself and lose direction entirely. My community plays an active role in my "working out my salvation".

Lo: As you parent Maddie, what are some areas concerning community where you feel like you might be living contrary to normal standards for society?

Andrea: I always tell people that community is one of the most beautiful, inconvenient things you'll ever do. Sometimes, community supersedes my own wishes. Doorbells ringing at midnight. Empty fridge. Long phone calls. I always want my daughter to see that we are not living life just for ourselves. I think there is a large percentage of parents who want to control what their kids see, hear, etc. And for the most part, I agree with them. But when it comes to community, I have an opportunity to show my daughter, safely, that people are hurting. I don't want her growing up "shocked" at the state of the world and human brokenness. I don't want her hoarding her things. I pray for her salvation, and hope that she will see, with my arms around her, that everyone is in desperate need of Christ, including us.

Check back over the next 12 days as Andrea and I share about what living a gospel-centered community looks like in our lives, some practical tips, some stories, or just general encouragement to be living lives that communicate grace and life to others! And pop on over to her blog to see my answers to her intro questions.