If you're really lucky and you're paying attention, every once in a while, you get one of those "this-is-as-good-as-it-gets" moments. I can think of a handful of them off the top of my head, like my family sitting on a picnic table watching the sun drop behind the Pacific Ocean. They're the kind of moments where you forget that your backyard is full of weeds, that your shower's broken, that someone you love is sick, and that there's a war happening in Ukraine. All you can do is sit in the goodness of that moment, most likely with a tear making its way down to your chin, and think, "God, thank you that this life is so beautiful."
It had been a while, but I had one of those moments earlier this month. I was sitting in a basement surrounded by the young women I've led in Bible study the past nine years. It was our last meeting before they graduate from high school. The room and the fellowship were cozy, intimate, and so sweetly familiar as I poured out my "parting words" to these girls who have been my spiritual children. "My girls" I call them.
In 2012, they came together in my mind. For two years I had been leading a group of my older daughter's friends in Bible study*, and it was time to start thinking about a group for my next daughter, a third-grader at the time. With a heavy reliance on the Holy Spirit, I assembled a list of names, and on a Friday afternoon in August 2013, 11 fourth-graders showed up on my doorstep with lunchboxes in hand.
They were wild little monkeys.
I could just barely corral them for a 20-minute lesson. After they'd eaten and played and written in their new journals and humored Mrs. Jones by trying to pay attention to her lesson, I shooed them out the door to the minivans waiting in my driveway and collapsed. We did this one Friday a month all year long, talking--between squirms and giggles and endless bathroom breaks--about how God sees us. I needed a nap after every meeting.
I kept asking them to come back, and they kept showing up. Year after year after year. They all grew at least a foot, and as they did, our group changed. Three girls left along the way, and another one joined us. When the group got to 12 in junior high, I recruited another mom to help me lead. We changed days and changed locations and eventually settled into our cozy basement spot at Lizzie's house.
All of a sudden they were starting high school, and our meeting seemed more urgent than ever. The giggly little girls had vanished, replaced by teenagers who hungered for deep conversation about how to live out their faith in the challenges of high school. So we kept talking. We talked about doubts, calling, modern-day idolatry, and the cost of discipleship. We talked about how to view our bodies as spiritual vessels, guys and dating, and anxiety. They requested a lesson on angels, so we did that. I was learning right alongside them.
In March 2020, three-fourths of the way through their sophomore year, the world collapsed around them. Over Zoom we talked about processing loss and a biblical perspective on grieving.
We've walked together through homecoming dances, finals, illnesses, and pandemic lockdowns. We talked about how to hear from God as they began applying to college and making some of the biggest decisions of their lives. We have covered so much ground in nine years.
This has never been easy. Nine-year-old girls grow up to have very different passions and interests. They all have their own friends. Four of my girls have transferred to different high schools. At times it's been nearly impossible to plan around their schedules, so packed with lessons and performances, games and tournaments, church and family commitments, jobs and boys and homework. But somehow, they kept coming back.
And now those sweet and silly little fourth graders are spreading out to Minnesota, Arizona, Tennessee, Texas, and New York City, while some of them stay a little closer to home. My work here is done. Yikes, my work here is done.
Have I done my part to prepare them for the big, scary world where faith is challenged every day and so many things don't make sense? Have I helped build into them a strong enough identity that when they're lonely and afraid and insecure and overwhelmed by not being enough that they'll remember the truth of who God says they are and that will get them through? Oh, God, I can only believe the answer is yes because I believe in You.
Has this been hard? Yes. But so much more than that, it's been a privilege, one of the greatest of my life. I would have paid for this experience.
On Sunday, this group will meet one last time, this time with the girls' parents, to celebrate the amazing ride we've had. As I'm choking back tears and trying to get my words out, I'll surely be thinking, "This is as good as it gets."
*The other two groups I started for 4th graders ended when they finished 6th, though they picked back up in some form or fashion as my other daughters entered high school. All of them have been such an honor to lead.
