Friend-tor {it happened on a sunday} day 23

Friend + Mentor = Friend-tor

We walked into the church on a Sunday morning, determined that it would be our new home.  We had three young children in tow, none of whom would sit quietly or allow us to pass unnoticed.  In front was a familiar face, Jason, the middle school pastor whose teaching we had enjoyed so much in the past.  There were some new faces as well.  We especially had to laugh when Corey got up to speak, now an adult, since we had known him back when he was just a punk teenager at our old church.

Winston and James in 2011

Our kids presented the biggest challenge to the search for a new church.  We had one on the autism spectrum, one who craved routine, and one who was brand new to the world.  The church had about 6-10 kids who regularly attended, and all of them went to one class after the music was over.  I spent a few Sundays playing with my kids in the back of the sanctuary, trying to hear the sermon while tickling and cuddling my wild boys.  Then I decided to try taking James back to the children's class.  I was so nervous back then about leaving him with someone new, worried that people would mistreat him or take advantage of him, and he'd have no way to tell me.  (He had only recently added a new word, "bubbles", bringing his total verbal vocabulary up to 6.)

That Sunday, I met Carol.  She was a recently retired kindergarten teacher who took one look at my precious son and said, "We can do this!"  I sat with James as she did circle time songs with the group, and when he discovered a train set under a table, she waved him on to play to his heart's delight.  Later, when the rest of the class had joined James with the trains or were playing blocks in another part of the room, Carol sat with me and asked me questions.  Not like an interrogation, but like she just wanted to get to know me better and hear about my son.  She said she'd had students like him in the past, and everything she said sounded so positive and hopeful, that I began to breathe.  Although I continued coming to the class for several weeks, eventually Carol earned my trust and I was able to join my husband in the service.

Around this same time, two moms had taken over another room, liberally calling it "the toddler room", but secretly I wondered if they weren't just looking for a place to let their own toddlers play while they got to talk to each other and sit in rocking chairs.  I began taking Winston to play in the toddler room, and this was the first time I saw her.

Joe leading kids in a huddle on a Sunday

Just a few days later, I was seated in foster parent training and we had to pair up for an activity.  (Social workers love group activities almost as much as they love funky jewelry and cardigan sweaters.)  I turned around in my chair to see the same woman from church sitting behind me.  My first impression of her husband was that he was grumpy and antisocial.  It is hilarious now to think that I ever thought of Joe in this way, Joe who would lead our children on bunny hunts and shot me with a Nerf gun and danced to "Let It Go" at the last Family Village.  But that night, Joe sat hunched in his chair, with a ski cap on his head and a cup of coffee in his hand and barely said a word.  First impressions are not always accurate.

My first impression of Mandy was probably closer to what I would come to know as true.  After establishing our church connection, she chatted away about family and kids and life and invited me to come over to her house.  I did my usual, "Yes, absolutely," even going so far as to take her number and pretend like I would ever actually use it.  We didn't do play dates.  I'd come to realize that most people couldn't seem to deal with my son, with his tendency to burrow under a blanket or turn on all the light switches or climb into their bathtubs fully clothed and turn on the water.  After a few awkward attempts to socialize with other moms and kids, I had given up and instead we spent all of our days at home, at the library, or at the park, where I had to watch and make sure other kids wouldn't tackle my son or yell at him when he didn't respond to them.  (This is not an exaggeration.  This kind of thing happened more than once.  Parents, teach your kids not to freak out on a child who doesn't use expressive language.)

This is what walked into Family Village.
They loved us anyway.

I figured I could avoid Mandy enough at church for her to forget the offer, but she stubbornly kept inviting me to things.  Eventually, we gave in and agreed to come to the new Village she and her husband were starting.  This was our church's equivalent to "small groups" or "life groups" or "missional communities"...choose your own prevailing evangelical speak.  We showed up, and we loved it.  We loved it so much that we kept coming back, that I finally took Mandy up on her repeated invitations to come over and play, to get together in the evenings and talk about God and life.

It is five years later, and Mandy has done more for me than any other single person in my life, with perhaps the exception of my dad and Jesus, to help me grow my faith and discover my path.  She has given me time and advice and hard conversations and encouragement and honesty.  She has witnessed the full depth of me, my defensiveness and awkwardness and stubbornness and avoidance, and she has walked with me to the other side, where I can be vulnerable and real and open to change.  I didn't realize that someone only a few years older than me could be my mentor.

I'm thankful for everything I've received from her in the past five years.  Most of all, I'm thankful that she doesn't let me try to live life alone.  I don't even want to think about who I might be today or where I might be in my journey if we hadn't crossed paths that Sunday morning so many years ago, and I hope we continue to be friends for many more to come.

***Mandy, I don't think there are any pictures of the two of us together.  Probably because we are the least likely people to suggest a selfie.  Let's fix that.