And I Am Grateful Still

It has almost been one year since Jason and I began this pursuit of parenting through foster care. It feels like ages ago. A lifetime, really. As we round the bend toward the one year mark I cannot help but remember how my life had been changed, for the better, by our decision to move across the country, to Denver, a place far from home and unfamiliar. 

It is easy, sometimes, easy for me to think of the good that has come from our moving back to Minnesota -- fewer student loans, closer to family, familiarity with the area and seasons… And I tend to think more about these good things when I find myself questioning or doubting our decision. I think of these good things, hold tightly to them, when I wonder "What on earth are you doing, God?"…when we are trying to pay bills, when I think I should go back to work, when I wonder if we will ever be licensed! 

I think of these good things, of being back, and tend to overlook the amazing and great things that we left behind, in the mountains. And I long to be back there. I long to vent about papers and boys over coffee with my friends, I long to stay up all night writing a paper I put off far too long. Maybe it is because there is a deep sadness in these longings and the missing I tend to try to focus on all the good of here, instead of the wonderful that was there. 

I miss the crazy weather. The brightest, piercing sun and suddenly rain, at the drop of a hat. I miss the busyness of the city. I miss that shopping carts are called "buggies." I miss the brain stretching conversation in classes and with friends. I miss the rolling hills and mountain peaks. I still find myself doing a double take in the car, thinking that the low white clouds are freshly powdered foothills. I miss walking out of Wal-Mart at night and seeing millions of lights spread thick around the metro area…remembering that each person is known by the Father.

A little while ago I wrote about a friend of mine for whom I am truly grateful, beyond measure. And there are others. Many others. At this moment I am thinking of and missing and longing to be across from two particular others whose friendship and encouragement has changed my life.

When I started at Denver Seminary I wanted nothing more than a fresh start. I was beaming as I told Jason, "No one will know we have been trying to get pregnant! No one will ask us stupid questions! No one will wonder why we still don't have kids! No one knows anything about us!" I was so excited! A new beginning. A clean slate.

It was a new beginning. It's just that God and I differed on our ideas of what this new beginning would look like.

I met my soul friend early into the semester but I was at first terrified of her because everything about her screamed confidence. And I was not so confident. She was bright, driven and popular. It sounds so silly, popularity in a grad school. But it was true. Her house was the go-to place for any kind of happening or get together. And I thought she was almost magical. If she is reading this she is probably rolling her eyes and saying, "Whatever, Jenna!! That is so not true!" as she laughs and flashes her bright magical smile.

In my first semester I enrolled in a class called Counseling Foundations. It was required and sounded quite harmless. But really, it was a class in which you are put into groups, counsel each other, record your counseling sessions and evaluate yourself. I was Scared. To. Death. I didn't even like people reading my papers to proof them. My soon-to-be friend, another student, and I formed a little group. The three of us walked into our little counseling room, frightened. They expect us to bare our souls to strangers? Fellow students? And I cannot be more thankful for these two and their grace. We spent most of our time laughing together about I don't even know what. The recording thing didn't work, we made silly comments and cracked up together. We forced ourselves to be serious together but every time we met it was practically guaranteed that one of us would cry…laughing. I don't even know how other groups could focus with our laughter echoing through the walls. 

I was reaching my breaking point. You cannot attend a Christian institution of any kind and talk about counseling techniques, strategies, theories without being affected personally and intimately. Things stir and bubble up, issues long buried force their way to the surface. And the parts of me I so wished to hide were starting to bubble. It was within those walls, between fits of laughter, that I finally opened up, I chose to stop fighting who I am. Infertile. Barren. Broken. I realized that I could not truly hide my story, run from it, ignore it. I spilled it all and to my surprise, seriously, I survived. These two students, just as human and broken as I, took my story and held it with care. Something that still brings tears to my eyes.

For my new friend and I, it was in our little counseling sessions that something within our souls connected. Another piece of velcro, placed by God. To hold each other up. We had both seen our share of mess and junk, sorrow and hurt. And who hasn't? Our stories were very different, one might even be hard pressed to find similarities beyond the obvious -- girls, students, counseling. But deeper beneath the surface we were longing for answers to the same questions, wondering the same things about ourselves and God. And when there were differences miraculously we related to each other in amazing ways. We saw the mess and the junk of human people trying to live a life, but we also saw more treasure in each other. A shared gift:  A bending of the soul.  A divining rod of the heart which bows at the presence of loss and hurt. A longing to heal the broken and forgotten. I wish I could describe it to you. I wish I could show it to you.  It was as if, as we sat across the room from each other, loose thread of our souls tangled together and BAM!!   

Soul Friends.

And I am grateful for this terribly uncomfortable class which brought me a lifelong friend. I am grateful for our amazing talks and chats. I don't think she knows it but she is a huge part of making me who I am today. She helped me find my voice, my passion. To see the light hiding around the shadows. She helped me see that to own a thing, infertility, is not to let it rule you, determine who you are. And I am so grateful.

With another soul friend, I knew from the moment I saw her that I wanted to be her friend. I'm sure she doesn’t know this, but I would think up ways that we might strike up a conversation. I strategically made ways to sit by her in class. I knew she would be my friend. And as much as I tried only a couple of years ago, I cannot for the life of me remember exactly how we became friends. 

There was not one specific moment where my heart leaped with joy and cried, "A soul friend!" Were we always friends, from the beginning of time, we just didn't know it yet? Had God made us with special-made velcro for each other? Had he been waiting for these moments since creation? It was as if we were always friends. Before time and flesh. Far away friends. And when we finally met I suddenly noticed the invisible cord that had connected us always.

She saw me reading a novel (And grad students all around ask, "A novel? What’s a novel?) and she recommended a book. I devoured said book and we made small talk about it. And I would think about what parts of the book I wanted to ask her about just to ensure that we chatted before class. Pretty soon we were having coffee and talking for hours. We vented about school and homework and classes and husband/boyfriend. We had lunch and we went to movies. Oh, gosh we went to so many movies. And we laughed until we couldn't breathe.  She was planning her wedding later in the year and between lectures we'd sit in the back row and oogle over flowers and dresses. We once sat for 8 hours straight at a coffee shop trying desperately to finish our final papers. Barely able to keep our eyes open and I don’t know how many cups of coffee.

One day a friend from home texted a mass message about the healthy delivery of their baby boy. And I cried. In the work area of our counseling office. Minutes before I was to go into my first of three counseling sessions that night. I could barely pull myself together. After my most likely nonsensical counseling sessions, I was exhausted. Completely spend. My friend was just arriving for her shift and we ran into each other in the parking lot. She asked me how I was and I broke down. Right there, in the lot, cars and students all around. Freezing temperatures. And she held me. I sobbed into her coat, for I don't know how long. And she assured me that it would be okay.

She got married and wouldn't you know it, our husbands became friends. We invited them over for game nights and laughed into the wee hours of the morning. We had bought a game from Goodwill and upon opening learned that the previous owners never threw out their used sheets of paper. We learned as we laughed until we cried that "Austin," whoever he is, has a nice "thass." And that immediately became a common phrase during our games. 

I miss this friend. I miss her so much it hurts. I miss our coffee dates and having a friend to see stupid romantic comedies with. I miss her laugh. And I am grateful for the few months of my life I shared with her. I am grateful for the opportunity, the honor, of knowing her, of being her friend. I'm not sure she knows it but I think about her nearly everyday and wish with all my heart to have her next to me. And she would say, "Do what?"

.        .        .        .        .

They probably don't know this. But as we pulled onto C470 that night, the night we left with all our belongings headed back to Minnesota, I bawled. I cried every tear in my body. I sobbed and heaved and broke down. Poor Jason. We're starting a long journey and his partner is a mess. My heart broke, shattered, as it hit me. I would not see these friends next week. Next month. Next year, now. And I miss them still. 

Had I had babies when we first started trying, or even two years into it, I would never have dropped everything, traveled across the country and met these amazing women, and so many others. Had I had the life that I expected, the life that I would have planned for myself, I would have missed out on the amazing moments and friendships along the way on this dusty road.

There is growth. There is treasure. There is joy to be found, even in the most desolate places, if we search hard enough, dig deep enough, and keep our focus on the prize. And it is by unending floods of the grace of God that I can even write this today. I am grateful for so many things. And so many beautiful, wise, amazing people.  

And forgive me friends. I am realize I am terrible at keeping in touch. I think of you nearly everyday. I love you dearly and miss you incredibly. You are close to my heart. I just wish you were closer geographically. I love you. 

And I am grateful.