Happy Birthday to Me

Last week, I celebrated my spiritual birthday. I've been a follower of Jesus for 26 years now, since I was an awkward, acned thirteen year old girl from a small town in Texas (I would type the name, but you'd just say "where?").

When this time of year rolls around, I always pause and reflect on the journey God and I have been on.And every year, I come away with one with one thought running in my head:

Thank you, God.

I didn't grow up in a "Christian" family. I began going to church in the fifth grade (maybe it was the fourth) because a friend invited me. I kept going because the church bus came by every Sunday, without exception, honked the horn, and waited for me to run out and jump on.

When I got to church, Gene and Helen Stine were there waiting for me. They were a retired couple who taught a bunch of us kids who couldn't remember the story from the week before but knew where the stash of cookies were. And every week, I went to church, but not just for the cookies. Looking back, it was because someone loved on me. Someone paid attention to me. Someone listened to my stories and laughed when I said something funny.

The summer before my eighth grade year, I went to youth camp. I knew all the basics about what it meant to be a Christian, but on that Thursday night, July 28, 1983, (I only know this because I wrote it down in the back of my Bible) I decided to follow Jesus, no turning back.

Coincidentally (ha!), in the same cabin was the youth minister's wife of another church in town. I found out that they lived right next to me...literally. They lived three doors down the road from my parent's house. After camp, I started going to church with them.

For the next six years, I lived at their house (I bet it seemed that way to them). And for the next six years, they loved me unconditionally. They took me to church. They let me hang out and watch TV. They listened to my stories of rejection and struggle. They helped our family out during major crises. They took me to school when it was too cold so I wouldn't have to walk. I went with them on mission trips, camps, and Acteen events. I helped Brenda with GA camp. I helped Bill rearrange his office and decorate the youth room.

They embodied unconditional love. Grace. Mercy. Unending patience. Accountability. Encouragement. They showed me that I was more than the sum of my actions. They showed me that I mattered—that I wasn't invisible, even though it felt that way.

When I graduated from high school, they were there cheering me on. And when I graduated from college, they were there. When they had their first child, I was at the hospital. When I got my first church, Bill passed on his favorite youth ministry book. And he passed on years of wisdom. When their daughter went on her first overseas mission trip, my husband and I helped sponsor her.

Even though we live in separate towns and rarely speak, that connection to me and my family remains. When my mom passed away a few years ago, my dad was distraught. He didn't know any ministers in town. He asked me to call Bill too see if he would be willing to do the funeral. He did a wonderful job. And Brenda sang special music.

I am where I am today because of the foundation that Bill and Brenda laid down in my life.

Why do I share this?

Because you have one of me in your girls' ministry. Someone who needs an extra dose of love because it's a little scarce in other places. Someone who hangs around ALL THE TIME and wants to be wherever you are. Someone who is learning what it means to be a follower of Jesus because you have been merciful. And gracious. And patient. And truthful even when it hurts.

I wrote this blog to encourage you. I am where I am today by the grace of God and the love of a few people. Who knows? In ten years, that one girl who is driving you crazy now may be in my chair writing another blog just like this one. You never know...