Sunday at Bethel

Back in my dishwater blonde, four-eyed beanpole days, in my early teens, we found Bethel. A fair distance west of Fort Scott, it's not a church you just happen upon. My spiritual parents, Mike and Betty, were and still are supported missionary evangelists of the church and invited us.

There I met Natalie (eldest daughter of our pastor at that time). All the boys (my brothers included) fell head over heels in like for that girl. Two years my junior, she became a fast friend. She's the embodiment of sweetness, goodness, purity, lovingkindness, cheer, and so much more. Her soft, full face rarely lost its smile but when it did, that was only because her tender heart wept. Long, straight, thick hair always swung behind and framed her face in some becoming style. I wanted to be her. Why can't I be so wonderful and perfect, I often thought.

A few months ago, Jeni, Sara and I (part of a group glued together by Bethel and Natalie back in the day) shared a Bethel pew for the first time in many years. And wouldn't you know it - that Sunday Pastor Greg put up a picture of Natalie's home in the Papua New Guinea jungle. I'd have judged it about the size of my living room. She shared it with her husband, two boys, and their mission field office, but a team was going to go build them something larger and better suited. My friends and I had been joking and jabbing but one simple picture stole our rapt attention, shut us up and flooded us with gratitude for all our blessings. Yet this is not some story of a young marriage plagued with job loss and poverty. Natalie, her husband, parents and both her younger siblings have all chosen, gladly and cheerfully, the sacrificial, tribal missionary life. What a family; the salt of the earth. I'm so blessed to know them.

Last Wednesday night I contemplated the familiar, beloved faces of my remaining, long-time Bethel friends and drank a potent, bitter mix of sorrow and shame. How they must have longed for a success story in my life, like Natalie's family gave them. Many of the core group helped send me to Moody Bible Institute for my one semester, sent cards and letters and prayed. Easily I can imagine their hopes and dreams for my great spiritual accomplishments in the world. Instead I dropped out of school, moved away and virtually cut all contact with them, so Valetta could do what Valetta wanted to do...and let's just say a lot of things I did only caused detriment to God's kingdom. Certainly did nothing to advance it, for several of those years. Thank God He wasn't done with me. Thank Him for mercy and forgiveness and second chances.

Today I sat again amongst them, now recalling how, four years ago, I watched the loving families and longed for mine to be whole again. Jason had just started trucking school and all the encircling hubbies' arms and squeezing hubbies' hands restricted my throat. My eyes streamed often. Thankfully the last popped balloons and wadded streamers are cleaned up from those pity parties and now I simply say, silently to all those I've failed or coveted, a silent "Sorry." May I learn from past mistakes and do better tomorrow. Today.

Blessings, V