loving others
And it crossed my mind that just a short 18 months earlier, Kyle and I walked through the hardest season of our marriage to date. It was the first time the thought of living apart from one another ever seriously crossed my mind. It was a season of sitting with pain, getting honest, bearing hard truths, and offering apologies and promises of something different. Something new.
There were tears and sleepless nights. Exposing deep wounds. There were therapy sessions, honest ongoing conversations without taking offense, and friends who prayed over us when we didn’t have the words or the strength to believe the good for ourselves.
And this is the lie that sometimes permeates social media: The lie that someone else’s life and marriage is perfect. Ideal. When that’s simply not the case.
Kyle and I love each other as imperfect people who both brought baggage to our relationship that needed to be exposed and addressed. And we’re still working on it.
So why do I tell you all of this? Because I know some of you are in a hard spot right now. And maybe no one knows what you’re going through. Maybe others have voiced their concerns and you aren’t sure where to start. Maybe you’re too embarrassed to reach out.
Can I tell you in the most loving way, friend, that sometimes we need the guidance and listening ear of others to grow and be better. Therapists and counselors are amazing at helping us do the hard work. Sometimes medication is needed.
No matter what, I know you were not meant to walk through a hard season alone. God is near. And he uses others to help us find healing. Wholeness. Deeper relationships with loved ones.
This year, let’s look at the places in our lives that need to be addressed and do the hard work to get help. And even more importantly, to be healed. We’re praying for you, friend.
Kendra
We've had the honor of knowing Sue Moore Donaldson for a few years now and love the simple way she offers encouragement and easy ways to show God's love through hospitality and mentoring! Sue is nothing if not honest and real about how she chooses to share the love and hospitality of God (however imperfectly) with others. We know you're going to love her and her wisdom as much as we do. (We're also giving away a copy of her book Hospitality 101: Lessons From the Ultimate Host A 12-Week Bible Study! See details at the end of this post!)
Because God welcomed me perfectly, shouldn’t I welcome others perfectly?
That doesn't happen. Ever.
I've learned to love the imperfect welcome. With me, it's the only kind, yet God kindly uses imperfect offerings--culinary fails, awkward conversations, and a house with mice and no walls. In spite of my messy self, God does sweet wonders for those extra people at my table. So I keep inviting, anyway. Cooking and hosting, imperfectly--and I love it.
I have been blessed with a core group of friends since my early 20s. Brought to me through the love and prayers of my sister Katrina, I’ve known the richness of women who’ve walked with me these past several years.
So imagine my surprise when, last fall, Jasmine joined a competition dance team—something she is passionate about—and I found new friends. Good friends. They didn't replace my old friends; I have room in my life and heart for both. Friends I didn’t even know that I was missing until I met them.
They are friends who don’t care that you aren’t perfect. Who step in to help you with your daughter's hair because they’re so much better at it than you are, anyway. Who make all the hotel arrangements, and bring the drinks, and tell you not to worry when you forget something because they’ve got your back. Women who offer to sew things for you (because your sewing skills are seriously inept), who text you recipes and tips for cooking.
Women who let you be you. Imperfectly you.
This is a gift.
Women who laugh with you. Who listen to hard stories. Who welcome your family and distant family members and don’t ask too many questions. Who hold your daughter's tender secrets.
And can I tell you something?
So imagine my surprise when, last fall, Jasmine joined a competition dance team—something she is passionate about—and I found new friends. Good friends. They didn't replace my old friends; I have room in my life and heart for both. Friends I didn’t even know that I was missing until I met them.
Women who let you be you. Imperfectly you.
This is a gift.
Women who laugh with you. Who listen to hard stories. Who welcome your family and distant family members and don’t ask too many questions. Who hold your daughter's tender secrets.
And can I tell you something?
I was wishing her ill-will. And I hated it. Someone had wronged us (at least that’s how I felt) and I wanted nothing more than to retaliate. I was frustrated and angry.
I knew it wasn’t right to have these thoughts—certainly wasn’t a common occurrence for me to feel this way— and yet I did. I couldn’t shake it. I walked around unable to think well of this person and their slight of us, coming up with all the things I’d like to say to her, ashamedly, all very unkind.
“I’m angry,” I whispered to my husband later that evening, “and I hate it. Hate what she’s done. Hate that I want to wish her ill-will. Hate that I have such awful thoughts about another human being. But I especially hate that I feel so helpless and out of control to do anything about the situation.”
And there was the heart of my anger, truly, I hate when things are beyond my ability to control and that, most often, expresses itself as anger.
It’s a familiar struggle in my life.
It rears it’s ugly head when my kids don’t obey me or my husband Kyle doesn’t take the advice I’ve offered.
Kyle, who is often much more even- keeled and level-headed than I, looked at me with love and sympathy in his eyes, “Honey,” he stated, “what good will it do to hold onto your anger? You can’t control it, you need to let it go.”
I knew it wasn’t right to have these thoughts—certainly wasn’t a common occurrence for me to feel this way— and yet I did. I couldn’t shake it. I walked around unable to think well of this person and their slight of us, coming up with all the things I’d like to say to her, ashamedly, all very unkind.
And there was the heart of my anger, truly, I hate when things are beyond my ability to control and that, most often, expresses itself as anger.
It’s a familiar struggle in my life.
It rears it’s ugly head when my kids don’t obey me or my husband Kyle doesn’t take the advice I’ve offered.
Kyle, who is often much more even- keeled and level-headed than I, looked at me with love and sympathy in his eyes, “Honey,” he stated, “what good will it do to hold onto your anger? You can’t control it, you need to let it go.”
“It’s just so amazing the way you can open yourselves up to their biological families.”This statement was said to me by a dear friend as we had dinner together one night and were discussing my adopted daughter’s birth family.
How can you not? I think. I love these people and feel a connection with them. Maybe it’s because of the love for my daughter that spills over in a natural desire for me to connect with her birth family, or maybe it’s just the way I was raised, but including others has always been a part of my DNA.
“Why don’t you meet every Sunday? What will you do if a visitor comes that day?”It came as an honest question, someone wondering why our church community only meets every other week together, spending the other Sundays meeting in smaller groups in homes.
And it's one I’ve had to wrestle with these past few years.
The traditional church setting has been my constant companion since I was little girl—forever, really. As a community, it's been so good to me. Some of my fondest memories are with church people and at church functions. I was blessed to be loved—and loved well—by pastors, friends, and families that attended with us.
When I needed support, the church was there. When our family walked through hard times, they supported us. Not just with prayer, but in very tangible ways—meals, house cleaning, babysitting, cards, hugs—and so much more. When we celebrated, they were right there with us with bridal and baby showers that showed their love and support.
But I realize this is not everyone’s experience. There are those who have been hurt by the church and the people who go there. Christians have been mean to them, let them down, and in some cases even hurt and abused them.
I get that. I hear it. And I will not discard it just because it is different than my own experience.
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