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the gift :: a guest post

July 1, 2010

The following is a guest post by Kelly Langner Sauer. To learn more about Kelly, see below.

There is a new side to me from which I’ve been living in recent weeks. It hails from some new-healed place in my heart I didn’t know existed. I want to call it confidence, and indeed, it is. But it is not simply “confidence.” It is love. A “being loved.” An “I know that who I am has a place in someone’s heart.” It says “who I am is beautiful” and “I don’t have to measure up.”

I told someone once that I wouldn’t believe I was beautiful until I heard it from a man who loved me. I figured at the time this one who would make me beautiful would be my husband. I was half-begging anyone to love me then.

As it turned out, it wasn’t my husband. I got married, and I still didn’t believe it. Because you see, husbands have to say we’re pretty. You know. Like they have to tell us we’re not fat. (Which of us really believes them when they tell us that?) My poor husband completely believed I was beautiful. And he told me so. And I completely didn’t believe him.

He told me he loved me too. And I acknowledged that, like I acknowledged that God loved me. Of course he loved me. He married me. Of course God loved me. He sent Jesus for me.

But I didn’t believe it. Not really. Not deep down.

.

A couple years ago, I received a comment from Amber Haines. Emily had roomed with her at Blissdom that year, and I guess they had been sharing links and friends.

“Emily said you have an amazing blog,” she said – or something to that effect.

All I read was “Emily said.”

She had noticed me. Me, puttering away and not thinking about too much and thinking about way too much at my blog. I straightened up a little. Realized that there was someone reading my words. Someone thought I mattered, enough to recommend me to someone else as cool as Amber.

.

Someone else thought I mattered too. Someone whose heart for me caused Him to take on my dust, walk around in it, die condemned in my place.

I didn’t know how He loved me. I was still waiting for the “I love you” to be real enough to make me believe it. Then, “while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.”

While I was what I was, while I was where I was, before I was ever born to become the mess that I’d be, God noticed me. He’d created me in His image for His glory; for that alone, my dust was worth redemption.

He had noticed me.

.

I don’t think Emily meant to be Jesus to me. I don’t think she knew when she shared my blog around that I was one of “the least of these.” But her gift opened my eyes to God’s gift, the Jesus I now dare to speak without shame. He spoke His love over me, and He spoke deep into heart-wounds that said love could die.

I’ve got news. It can’t. It doesn’t.

Because He who is Love died already, once for all. “Who I am” was no longer condemned. “It is finished,” He said.

And He doesn’t have to say “I love you.”

…..

Kelly is a talented writer and photographer, wife and mama. She sees, not only with her eyes, but with heart and spirit. She writes about the invisible grit, the soul parts that we feel but can’t see. And she does so with grace, honesty, and whispered words of faith. I’ve not yet met her in real life, but I hope to one day soon. She is a gift to me. Visit her at A Restless Heart or at KellyLangnerSauer{dot}com. You’ll see what I mean.

Filed Under a friend, guest post 18 Comments

the bench

May 27, 2010

We talked about putting a bench in the grassy area of our cul-de-sac for over a year. Last week, our neighbor finally bought one and another neighbor bought another one. Now, there are two benches facing each other in front of our houses, like our little community of seven homes finally has a living room.

As I was preparing dinner yesterday afternoon, I glanced out my kitchen window and saw three of our neighbors sitting on those benches, facing one another. I’ve seen them outside in the past, chatting over newly fetched mail or exchanging comments about the weather. But they never chatted long, as their aging bodies wouldn’t cooperate with the demands of standing for so long.

I went outside and entered into the conversation with them for a while. They spoke of children and grandchildren, aging siblings and friends, the weather. They enjoyed the breeze and waved at the occasional passing car. They lingered. I made my way back to the kitchen to finish up dinner but kept my eye on them. They stayed out for nearly an hour. I’ve not seen them do that before. It isn’t that they didn’t want to be together, but before it wasn’t so easy. Now, they had a bench to sit on. And the bench made all the difference.

People want to talk about things. They want to relate and live in community and converse and be together. Sometimes they just need a bench. They need a place to get the conversation started, a platform that allows them to linger and find one another. The small group I lead every Wednesday night is like a bench for freshman girls, a place for them to come and share their lives and hopefully, see glimpses of Jesus. Tuesdays Unwrapped is like a bench for writers who want to share their celebrations of the ordinary. The book I’m writing will be a bench for women who are weary of being pushed around by fear.

Every community needs a bench. What kind of bench do you need these days? Are you waiting for someone else to put it out there? Or are you building a bench yourself?

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on retreating

April 26, 2010

The women of our church have been at Myrtle Beach this weekend for the annual retreat. This year I decided to go and agreed to lead a small group. I knew that might be the only way to insure I didn’t skip small group time.

I’m so glad I went. I also got my own hotel room, which I don’t think I’ve ever done. I slept in the middle of the bed and ate peanut M&Ms way too late at night and watched (and loved) {500} Days of Summer while laughing out loud. It seems like whenever I get the opportunity to be a grownup I end up acting like a kid.

It was nice to get away. There is something kind of amazing about having a conversation without a single interruption, eating a meal without getting up from the table once and visiting the bathroom all by myself. More than that, though, there is such beauty in connecting with other women on a deep level, both those in my same stage of life as well as those who are walking behind and in front.

I’m not usually a huge fan of women’s retreats in general, as I have an aversion to ice breakers and I think I’m developing an emotional allergy to chit-chat. But this one was just right. What about you? Do you like retreats for women? What would your ideal women’s retreat look like?

Filed Under a friend 43 Comments
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