with a face like an open book

I’ve been collecting people. You’d like to call it networking or something post-millenially appropriate, but face it. You check your friend count on Facebook as often as I do, which is to say, about 37 times every day. Yes, that’s about how many times I check my profile every day. And that’s my current friend count, as well, which isn’t a bad collection after only a week and a half.

My trite cynicism over the whole thing took a bit of a turn tonight, when I skipped onto one of my newest friend’s profile, an old friend from college who I have not spoken with in over 10 years. He was one of my first friends in college, and one of the dearest. I had a bit of a crush on him, truth be told. This does not distinguish me among the other females at my small Christian liberal arts school, by the way. The first morning he sang in Chapel, there was a palpable surge of estrogen and half of the girls fell to the floor. I even remember the shirt he was wearing that day.

It’s sad, I know.

Where was I?

He’s married now, has a whole life now. He has a wife and a son who is the same age as mine, and his career is what he loves, which is music and ministry. But that is not what captured me on his profile.

He listed a website for his wife. Now, I have heard about his wife. One of my roommates was friends with her through church in high school, and many of my old college co-horts became friends with her as well. You undoubtedly would recognize her name if you heard it, you who travel in the same circles as I. And so I click on her website because I am very curious to find out just a little bit about the girl who stole my old friend’s heart.

I peruse the site like I’m browsing a bookstore. Here are some beautiful pictures, of fruit and books and friends. Nothing too intimidating so far. She likes food, I see, and Ann Lemott and wine. Over here is her picture, whimsical and well lit. She has piercing blue eyes that defy the cliché. And she wrote and published a book.

She published a book? Now I’m a little jealous. Jealous enough to feel the first pinpricks of irritation but not jealous enough to keep from clicking on the link to her reading a few chapters. I immediately loved it despite myself. Her style is simple and honest, her voice is lilting and feels familiar. It was inspiring actually. Inspiring the way that Ann Lemott’s books are, or John Eldredge’s, or Father Pat’s, or Donald Miller’s. All such different authors, sharing the same Truth in such different voices. All touching me so and making me hungrier to write about the Truth as it has touched me. Yes, inspiring, her book, and also a bit accusing.

If I wrote a book, it would be so so different than hers. I doubt she knows the horrors of a broken marriage, court dates, and police interviews. I wonder if she has any idea what it means to fill out paperwork for government assistance. She talks about hiding the worst part of yourself in a basement, but what if you have no house? What if there is no basement, and all of the ugly cluttery mess that you tried so desperately to keep from spiraling out of control was on the front porch for the world to see? No wonder she has the book, my enemy whispers. No wonder she has the life, the husband, the house, the ministry, the family, the dream. No wonder.

All my life I wanted to be the girl that everyone knew. I wanted to be the one that everyone watched and liked to be around and liked to be. I wanted to be interesting and funny and beautiful. I wanted to be the one that people noticed. I wanted to have something to say, and I wanted to say it for all the world to hear. But my friend count has never been high enough, my profile has never been cool enough. I have never been what I have dreamed of, or at least, that has been the lie I have believed.

I still have so much to say. I keep so much of it inside because I have a profound sense that, for reasons known and hidden, the timing just isn’t right. Yet.

But this girl, who sounds so much like someone I could talk with and know and love, who seems to come from common interests, common friends, and common faith, has the husband and the family, the house and the ministry, the connections and the security and the life. She has my life!

This chick has MY life!

It is important for you to know right now, before we go any further, that God talks to me.

He does. He’s been talking to me for a couple of years now. Well, more accurately, I’ve been listening for a couple of years now. I love His voice. I can’t describe it except to say that it is an exquisite resounding suddenness that I hear with my head and my soul and my womb. When He speaks, I hear Him. He never says many words to me at once; He never needs to.

So, I’m staring at my old friend’s wife’s website, feeling increasingly sorry for myself, when He says, “Your life is for you.”

Your life is for you.

My life is for me and your life is for you.

I am not one for cliché Christian catchphrases. I don’t usually repeat to myself that life is a precious gift and all of that, though I know it is true. But I never stopped to consider that my life, such as it is, is a precious gift to me. God, the Triune author of life and mystery, crafted and created me, and this life that I have lived and am living is a present specially gift wrapped from Him. Is this true? “Your life is for you.” If this is true, then the Word of God truly comes alive in an entirely new way, because the invitation to delight in trials, to cry out in caves, and to follow a carpenter become personal. To be thankful in all things means not skipping the bad parts. It means not looking over your shoulder, or your laptop screen, into your neighbor’s backyard or blog and wondering how you got where you are. It means raising your hands in your heart or your living room and just letting the gift be what it is. And making the most of what He gave you, because He would like you to share it with His other children. And He will show you how.

I am so glad that this beautiful woman, two degrees from me, is sharing the gift that God gave her. It inspired me tonight, and God got a word in edgewise too. I am not so jealous of her now as for her. I am jealous for her to know the riches of intimacy and motherhood, of Godly connection, of satisfaction and of love. She should enjoy all the wonderful things God has for her.

I think I might go buy her book. I need to add it to my collection.