Thursday Mornings

I have Breakfast Club every Thursday morning.  We gather in the back corner of a restaurant near Rockefeller Center, and spill the details of our weeks over cups of coffee.

It's the perfect place to fall apart.  It's also the perfect place to be built up.

I'm so, so thankful for these friends who let me be messy and vulnerable, without judgment.  And so, so thankful for their wise reflections and encouragement.

Also, they are flippin' hilarious.

I'm a lucky girl.

Where 2 or 3 (or 6) Are Gathered*

Dear Thursday Morning Girls,

Brunch with you was the bee's knees. Thanks for being church for me on a rainy, Sunday morning.  We broke bread (er, biscuits) and shared strawberry-butter, cups of coffee, the messy details of our lives.  And I do believe God was glorified, right there in Good Enough to Eat.

Let's gather again soon, please?

Love,
Me


*Check it.

That's Life

Iron Gate on W. 80th Street

Oh, the weekend...

Friday tried my heart in ways it hasn't been tried in awhile.

I took Saturday to recover, to go for a walk, to sit quietly, to let sweet friends tell me I was brave and strong, to let that sink in and repair what was broken.

I watched as God opened up new avenues for closer friendships, opportunities to share our hearts - joys and sorrows - with one another. I was hurting because I was alone, but I was happy because I was not alone, if you follow.

Sunday morning started at a communal table in the West Village, drinking coffee out of bowls and eating breakfast with my Thursday morning girls.  We were celebrating the fact that one of us was about to take the plunge and officially become a member of our church congregation. She was already family to us - the membership process more of a formality - but such a happy and meaningful formality nonetheless. Certainly worth celebrating with coffee in bowls.

I looked around, as we sat in a circle, and thought about what we each brought (metaphorically) to the table.  The struggles and the successes. Stories of our pasts and hopes for our future.  All so broken and all so beautiful.

Later at church we stood and sang "For All The Saints."  My heart was still achy, but also full.  That particular hymn has potential to make me cry on any day. But this weekend?  Forgetaboutit.  Tears were inevitable. I wasn't quite sure, though, if they were happy or sad tears.  I think there were some of both, thanksgiving mingled with loss, sweet and salty together.

I thought, "If I have to pick a theme for this weekend, it would be 'hemmed in.'  I feel hemmed in."  Sometimes that 'hemming in' felt negative - like a wall, a barrier between me and what I wanted.  But it also felt positive - like protection and provision.

Good and bad, sweet and salty, happy and sad, hand in hand. That was my weekend.  That's life, I think, no?

Meeting Together

"The love of our neighbor in all its fullness simply means being able to say, 'What are you going through?'" -Simone Weil

I'm in full-on retrospecting mode this week. And as I've reflected on the events and happenings of 2009, I've come to the conclusion that I owe a big debt of gratitude to my Thursday morning girls.
In January, when I had to make a difficult choice and deal with the outcome, they hugged me and told me I was brave and strong. I believed them, and then I was brave and strong.
When I was prone to self-criticism and doubt, their affirmations bolstered me. When I brought the same issues to the table week after week, they never told me to get my act together. Their patience helped me have patience with myself, and reminded me that God shows patience to me as well.
When I leaped over hard hurdles, they cheered for me. When I said I needed to take a break from the hurdles, they assured me that was ok, too. When I moved in April, they showed up to unload boxes, make my bed, and settle me into the new apartment. When I broke my foot in June, they drove me to the grocery store.
One rainy day in September, during an especially trying week, an angel in yellow galoshes surprised me at my office, bringing with her a care package of fun snacks, a Vanity Fair, and a bottle of Scotch. Her care and concern carried me through that week.
Time after time after time this year, text messages/emails/phone calls from these sweet girls all arrived at the moments when I most needed them. "We're thinking of you," they said, "And we know you can get through this." I believed them, and I got through it.
Donald Miller remarked once in an interview, "Surrounding ourselves by communities of people who affirm a positive identity is the way to change." Upon hearing that, I thought, "Aha! That's exactly what my community has done for me this year!"
They affirmed my God-given identity, and they spoke God's truth to me. And slowly, slowly, I believed them. And then stepped up to inhabit that identity and believe that truth.
And so, as the year draws to a close, I want to acknowledge how blown away, humbled, and grateful I am for this group. Their love has not left me unchanged.

On the Fourth Day of Christmas

No struggle today as to what to give thanks for - Thursday mornings always leave me feeling deeply grateful for the community God has given me.

I left my apartment building at 6:20am, locking three (3) doors on the way out. (The number of locked doors standing between my apartment and the street is very important to my mother. She quizzed me about it once over Thanksgiving weekend, and then once again, apparently just to see if my story was consistent.)

The sky hung soft and grey over Brooklyn this morning. A diner on the next block was open but empty, one lone employee standing behind the counter and looking sleepy. As I approached the entrance to the subway, the lights of the F and G trains moved slowly over the bridge in the distance ahead. I caught the D train; the floor was sticky and the guy sitting next to me reeked of smoke. I exited at Rockefeller Center, headed above ground for some fresh air, crossed the street and entered our cozy Cosi.

This is where we meet for bible study every Thursday, 7a.m. Tucked in at a back corner table, most weeks we are the only customers sitting in the place. The Cosi staff knows us now; one nice lady has begun making my bagel order each week before I even have to ask. In a city of 8+ million people, it's nice to be known (even if only as "Cranberry-Orange w/lite cream cheese" girl).

But at the back corner table, I'm known even beyond my bagel preferences. And I am so thankful for these sweet girls, who continue to listen to my prayer requests week after week, long after I had begun to feel like a broken record. These girls who check in with me, who email me bible verses to remind me of what is truer than my daily emotions. Who encourage me with their faith and wisdom. Who allow me to share in their struggles and successes. My Thursday mornings are a very good thing because of them.

Daily Photo #4: Sonja's and my feet,
underneath our table this morning.