Small Groups
I’ve tried to participate in small groups 3 times. If you’re not familiar, it’s a church thing. The idea is that we “do life” together. You join a group with people in like-situations. You share, you laugh, you cry, you support—you bond and make connections. I can’t possibly do life “alone”. I have too many kids for that. But there’s a difference in being alone and being lonely. You can be lonely in a house full of people. And there are many parts of life where I am lonely, at least for periods of time.
·
I often parent alone, without ever being a
single parent. I am the only parent of children living at home in my
workplace.
·
I work alone, in my home office, in a job that is
all about relationships.
·
I celebrate alone—we have no family nearby for
holidays and birthdays. There are
visits and phone calls, but we’ve never had a birthday party where all the
cousins and aunts and uncles come over, as I did in my youth.
·
I am vegan alone in my home. Iris is my sometimes (often) companion but
the others, while they eat what I serve and shy away from animal products, none
of them have been in the trenches, watching the videos, seeing the abuse, and
making sure they always know what this is for.
·
I am Christian alone in my work—this is true of
most workplaces, I’m sure. While I can
and do share my faith with those closest to me at work (a rare and precious
gift), we are not of the same mind. If I
had a spiritual question about what Jesus would think about this or that, my colleagues
are not where I’d start. We’re often too
busy for such lengthy chats. There’s
money to raise and animals to save!
Make no mistake, I am NOT complaining. I am blessed far beyond my imagination could
have fathomed.
I love being able to work from home and my work relationships thrive on the phone and in video chats. We meet in person whenever possible.
·
I adore my family. But I wouldn’t move back to St. Louis or San
Diego even if that were a possibility.
Been there, done that. If y’all
wanna move here, come on!
·
I have witnessed the horrors of animal
farming. I do not want my children to
have those images in their minds. None
of them have ever sat vigil as they let go of someone on their way home. They only know the joy of rescue. The responsibility of love and care—not that
of making the hard decisions. I’m ok
with this for now at least. I don’t want
them to see what I’ve seen. They watch
the trucks full of pigs drive by in our neighborhood and know exactly what’s happening,
but we don’t usually talk about it or get specific unless they ask a question. They have a surface knowledge. That’s enough for now.
·
I adore that I can talk about what I believe at
work and that it lifts those around me.
I do what I do for the glory of God.
I don’t know if that’s what motivates others. It might.
But for me, my work is a place of worship. If that’s true of my co-workers, we have not
shared that. I have had co-workers who do
share my faith. We talked about faith in
the context of life—not in the context of work.
My point in sharing this is that I recognize the need to
find those who are in similar places in life so that you can draw from each
other’s experience and strength. You can
be vulnerable and share the challenges with people who understand where you’re
coming from.
Enter the small group.
In Phoenix, we attended 2 churches. The first was a delightfully small AOG church
within walking distance of our apartment.
We instantly connected with the pastor (affectionally called Master
Brett by very small Ivy) and his family and enjoyed 2 years of fellowship until
we moved too far away to make Sunday morning services practical. After that, it was a VERY large church that
worked hard to remove every barrier that might keep you from attending. But its size kept us at arm’s length. When I had a question that I’d only go to my
pastor for, I reached out to him. Rather
than responding, he passed my question off to a member of the congregation I didn’t
know and hadn’t given permission for him to share my private question
with. I felt naked and betrayed, all
while understanding that this single person couldn’t possibly respond to every
inquiry from his congregation. So, when
this church started talking about forming small groups, I thought this might
make sense for me. Nick was in the early
days of airline piloting and gone more than he’d ever been before. A mom of 2 small girls, I was looking for
connection. I volunteered to host. I wanted a group of fellow working moms.
No one came. No one.
I tried again, forming a couple’s group. We had one amazing couple who came regularly
but after a few weeks, I realized that despite their commitment, we were in
very different places in life. And Nick was
almost never able to come.
When we moved to Philadelphia and found our current home
church, small groups were the farthest thing from my mind. I was adjusting to everything: weather,
kindergarten, the East Coast, and so much more.
But after 12 years, 2 more kids, COVID, and many job changes, I was
ready to try again. I really wanted to
find other women who were in my proverbial shoes. So, I volunteered again to host. And I was VERY glad when our Family Life
Pastor asked if his wife could lead with me.
Yes please! I’ll take all the
help I can get.
About 6 women joined our group. Wahoo!
My people were coming! This was
IT! But no. I realized quickly that none of these women
were in my place in life. They were
parents of adult children. Non-working
parents. Parents in fragile
marriages. None of this was me. After deep reflection, I finally saw the
problem.
It was me.
These women were coming as they were—honest, vulnerable, diligent. But I was not. I kept them at a safe distance—never sharing
the deep dark things that came to mind.
Never being open about my real challenges. I never wanted to speak ill of my husband or
children. I never shared my struggles or
doubts. Was it because I didn’t trust
them? Didn’t trust myself? Didn’t think they could relate? I don’t know.
But this was not what I was looking for, so when the only day where we
had no activities was swallowed up by scouts and gymnastics, and track and
whatever else these kids were dragging me to, I wasn’t sad to relinquish the
small group to those who WERE getting community from it. And I retreated back to my aloneness.
But then, I found them.
I don’t even remember what made me look but one day, I came
across a Facebook Group called “Pilot Wife Moms”. I asked to join and as soon as I was
admitted, I felt at home. These women
knew. They all got it. They understood what I meant when I talked
about “reentry”, and “living in base” and “non-revving”. When I went on a rant about how my STUPID
husband complained about our MESSY house when he got home like I NEVER clean,
or how I sometimes HATED that he had DAYS alone in a hotel in who knows what
foreign country while I was stuck at home with all of these CHIILDREN and their
DEMANDS! No one ever said, “be grateful
for what you have” or “you’ll miss these days!”. There were virtual hugs and solidarity and “Girl,
please—I could have written this post myself”.
They (virtually) gathered around me, held me up, and validated my
feelings. They assured me I wasn’t
crazy, offered advice, and shared their own similar feelings. They got me.
They got us. And I got them. Post after post of newer mom or newer pilot
wife asked for help, guidance, validation.
I shared whenever I though it was helpful, hugged when I couldn’t share,
and prayed when I had no idea what they needed but knew that God did.
These women are faceless to me, but they know me to my
soul. They are my people. They are my village. I am so very grateful for them.
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