Meet Sonja - Why She Found Joy in Serving Teens

"When I was asked to work with high school youth, I thought, why do they want me?
I wasn’t sure high school kids would want to talk to me. But they were very open and made me feel comfortable.

I was so in awe of their faith. On the news, we always hear about young people who have made bad choices. Older people tend to get fearful of the youth because they only know about those they see on TV and in the paper.

I live in a community of older people. I try to get them to understand that teens are exciting people. They may dress differently, talk differently, but they’re fascinating!

I don’t share a lot about my world with teens because it’s really not relevant to them. I do if they ask, but otherwise I focus on their interests and their world. That’s how I stay connected to them. I try to keep up with the trends, listen to their music, try to understand where they’re coming from. I don’t expect them to do that for me. They’re young. That’s not their job. It’s my responsibility as the adult to learn about their culture.

I think another mistake we as older people make is to criticize younger people. We can’t do that. We have to accept them for who they are. I wouldn’t want to be treated that way. I still make mistakes. But if they’re really having problems, then we can try to guide them.

My college granddaughters are so vibrant and wonderful! When I talk to them, we talk about how God has a wonderful plan for their lives. And they have to be patient for that plan and obedient to that plan. I think that's where we all go wrong sometimes. In the waiting and the obeying.

I’ve had some terrible hurts in my own life and I’ve only found peace in those times through forgiveness. And that only comes through Jesus. I’m not able to do that. I’ve known friends that couldn’t forgive and it tainted everything in their life, like a cancer.

My parents always said that you’re not here on this earth to be served. You serve others. That’s where the joy comes from."

The Gift of Groceries

There was no mistaking that voice. It was loud and twangy….perfect for those country songs he was always singin’. He called out my Mom’s name as he walked through the back door. Nobody locked their doors back then. At least not during the day.

He was a big man, the only son of my parents’ good friends. He was around the same age as my older sister. It was odd that he came by. He was a young, married guy and visitors that “stopped by” were usually older. What was he doing here? And why was he using the back door?  

“Glen? Is that you?” Mom called from the kitchen table. She was reading the newspaper…more than likely the Help Wanted section.  

“Yuuuupp, it’s me, he drawled. Just thought I’d swing by with a few things.” By now he was in the kitchen setting brown paper bags on the linoleum counter.    

“What?  What in the world?” Mom was so taken back she didn’t even get up. Instead, she sat at the table and cried. She cried deep, heavy sobs that hadn’t been released since Dad lost his job.  

Glen made several trips to his car and back to our tiny kitchen. Cereal boxes peeked from the top of a bag. Celery stalks stood tall from another. A doubled bag was laden with heavy packages of wrapped meat. Canned goods, boxed dinners, macaroni and cheese….

“How? How did you know?” she sobbed some more…overwhelmed by his kindness. “Glen, thannnnnk you. Thaaaank you”, she whispered as he set down the last of the bags. Her voice now faint from all of her tears.

“Ok, time to run on home now.” And with that, he was gone.  

I had been standing in the hallway near the kitchen table. I wasn’t sure what to do. So I just stood there.

Mom slowly rose from her chair and stood before the bags on the counter. She looked through them as if they held precious treasure. I stepped into the kitchen and helped her put everything away. We said nothing.

Years passed, decades actually, when the memory of those groceries came to mind. I was a married mother of three young children and mature enough to realize how that generosity touched Mom’s heart. I understood her tears….completely.

I wrote him a letter. I wanted him to know what an impact he made on me and thank him for his selfless gesture. He and his family had long since moved away, but I found his address in Tennessee and dropped the letter in the mail. Some time had passed when I received a card back from his wife.  

Seems an act of kindness such as his takes wing. And in his golden years, blessed him full circle.  It’s never wrong to do the right thing. Do something. Today.

The Comparison Trap - A Conversation with Jenna

“I think the comparison trap starts when we’re young.

We’re raising two little boys right now. I’m trying to avoid comparing them to each other. I see how much my husband appreciates an encouraging word of praise and so I’m trying to do that with our boys. Simple little things like, ‘wow, you have a really good dinosaur roar.’

I had a lot of good things happen all the way through high school. I was driven to accomplish as much as possible for my family, my team, and for my disabled sister. But then in college, I went through trial by fire. Even though I couldn’t control my circumstances, I was hard on myself.

I know what I’m capable of and expect a lot of myself, so when things don’t go right I tend to lean towards negative thinking. Thoughts like ‘why didn’t you do better at this or that, or how come you can’t be like so and so.’

Women have such unrealistic standards for themselves.

For my generation, I think we tend to compare ourselves to the posts on social media that represent perfect circumstances. We want others to see our best moments on Instagram or Facebook, but what we don’t post is the raw stuff that isn’t so great.

It’s easy to say, ‘if I just had her marriage, her job, her kids, her (whatever) then my situation would be better. When in reality, changing our circumstances won’t ever make the situation better unless we take care of our own emotional well-being.

So when my mind is leading me down the wrong path, there are three words that a good friend taught me to say and to pray. God is good. When I pray with the mindset that God is good and then repeat it to myself, it really helps.

I’ve also heard that it’s a good idea to make an Awesome List with all the things you’re good at. I plan on getting to that.”  

The Living Room

I crawled around the floor on my hands and knees. It was a nightly ritual after the kids were in bed. That sounds so tidy…after the kids were in bed.  Bedtime was anything but a tidy process.  After dinner, also not so tidy, it was bath time. Times three. We were past the ages of just making sure they were clean. They wanted to play in the bathtub. I’ve always been task oriented, getting the job done without much lingering, but three preschoolers overruled my determination.

Every. Single. Night.

So after dinner and dishes, baths and playing, teeth brushing and pajamas, stories and blanket tucking, prayers and kisses….and one last request for a drink of water…I’d tip toe out of sight. Of course, like any mother of small children, I’d wait those crucial few moments to witness their gentle little puffs of breath ease into the rhythm of sweet slumber. If even one woke up or worse yet cried, the other two would waken and we’d start the cycle all over again. It was such a relief when three sets of tiny little eyes seemed closed for the night. I’d check on them one more time then continue with the clean-up mission downstairs.

The living room and its sprawl of toys patiently waited. I approached it with a sigh sometimes, but most nights a sweet peace washed over me. This is where they played. This room was where they discovered, sang songs, counted numbers, learned colors, read books, played patty cake, took first steps, finger painted, squished playdoh, twirled in circles, clanged instruments, toppled towers, and served tea parties. Shoes were welcomed on the wrong feet, dress up tutus were more beautiful inside out, cowlicks fabulously stood hair straight up on end and the Little Tykes kitchen was always open for business.  

I gazed a moment before lowering my tired body to the ground. By the end of most days, that room resembled the after effects of a ticker tape parade. So I crawled from here to there stacking, arranging, straightening, all to be repeated again tomorrow. I’d wince as a Lego left its imprint on my knee cap and note that washable markers are well worth the extra cost. Cheerios were discovered in corners and couch cushions, while fruit snacks turned super glue were imbedded in the carpet. Missing socks mysteriously presented themselves in the middle of the room, while a battery operated toy chattered from deep within the toy box. I stepped back to admire the completed work before trudging upstairs to bed. 

Then all too soon, in what seemed like the blink of an eye, that phase of their lives was over. No more “look at me mommy” giggled from pig tailed girls, and no more superhero capes worn by an adventurous little boy. The years have given way to three wonderful young adults. Ones that make their dad and I proud. It seems so cliché talking about how fast the time goes. And yet it does. So I whisper a prayer of thanksgiving for the blessing of my family and wait patiently for the season of life that will bring the pitter patter of tiny feet to our home once again.