Thursday Nights

Well, dear blog, apart from a silly story about the loss of sunglasses, it has been awhile since last we spoke. Of course life has been filled with embarrassing moments and humorous anecdotes you would enjoy, but I have not been inspired to write. The truth is, the past couple months have been scattered.

For some time, I have looked at my life in year time frames, and points of progress throughout said year. The year 2010 was a good one - I graduated, dominated my puny Division III tennis conference, coached tennis in Europe - I even beat a video game completely unassisted, a lifetime goal of mine.

The month of August marked my one year anniversary in Charlottesville, and during that time, progress was not as evident as a goal oriented girl may like. Admittedly, part of the problem may have been the lack of orientation of goals. The mere act of surviving the transition from the life of a student near her family to the life of a professional apart from them was a personal feat. However, a year into establishing myself in a new state, that no longer sufficed. I craved significant life changes so when I talked to family members during the holidays, my answer to the classic question, "What are you doing with yourself?" would exude sophistication and maturity.

I pursued professional and personal advancement, and, measurably speaking, fell short. Although disappointed, I was able to rebound, as I do believe that while doors may be closed, windows are usually cracked; I just always hope these windows are on the first floor and do not have screens. What affected me more was the growing resistance that seemed to be palpable every Thursday night. I have referred jokingly to the youth group with which I assist as "Changing Lives." A humorous exaggeration emphasizing my impact, perhaps, but since moving, this has been the one area of involvement I never doubted. And I had begun doubting. The girls did not seem as responsive, and other factors in my life were affecting my patience during each meeting. I questioned my disciplinary methods, as well as the example I was setting. In other arenas, I could accept failure; however, the weekly frustration in an area I was quite sure God wanted me was beginning to weigh heavily on my heart.

During my vacation and the weeks following, I have been convicted. In my relatively short stage of extreme self pity and angst, the proverbial depths of despair (which for me, merely means I no longer engage in five minute conversations with cashiers), I focused only on perceived problems and failed to appreciate the strong relationships cultivated throughout my time in Charlottesville. I was reminded of the strength of one such relationship this weekend.

Since beginning to work with the Charlottesville Abundant Life program, in an environment where girls do not automatically trust their leaders, one young lady took a particular fancy to me. The past eleven months, we have spent many nights sitting in her driveway, talking about everything from food to boys to high school girls to work. This Friday, I was finally able to have the sleep over I had been promising.

We ordered takeout Chinese and our favorite frozen yogurt. I picked up a couple Christmas movies, and we headed back for a lovely evening in front of the Christmas tree. We watched Home Alone 2, both in hysterics when Marv was electrocuted, happily eating our sundaes. Upon the movies end, I put in Elf, only to realize it was a blu-ray and my ten dollar DVD player was not going to facilitate the viewing. And so we sat. And she began talking - about everything and anything, asking me questions and divulging her unusually perceptive thoughts on the world in which she lived. I responded with the wisest words I could muster, attempting to empathize and provide guidance, as was usually the case. And as usual, I sat there wondering if she realized the extent to which I admired her strength.

When I was sixteen, the largest tragedy I faced was failing my driver's test twice (perhaps a foreshadowing of things to come). My sheltered youth in white suburbia pales in comparison to the trials she has weathered, yet, she neither pities herself nor makes excuses. Rather, she is constantly examining herself and those around her, telling me ways her actions may not be pleasing to God. In a culture where it is normal to find security in the loose arms of a male, she stands her ground firmly, although she readily admits it is a struggle. She is not afraid to admit her insecurities, while I have to force myself to say that yes, I do sometimes wish I were as skinny as I was in high school. She is transparent, removing all walls, despite the differences others may see between our worlds.

The trait I appreciate most, however, is her love. She constantly lets me know how much she cares about me and how grateful she is to have me in her life. This is a boost to my ego, yes, but more importantly, it gives me hope. For it is during those times when I question life the most that she says, in an unusually quiet and simple manner, "Maybe God brought you here to be my mentor," or, "Maybe you don't have a boyfriend so you can hang out with me more." It is in those moments that I know I need her as much as she needs me.