Silly Love Part II

True friendship was the Holy Grail of my youth. I searched and sacrificed in my quest to find it, but eventually viewed it as a myth, and became cynical and angry.

I was sixteen years old, very religious, and very lonely when I stood on a small hill beside my church in a thunderstorm and screamed at God. This is my first memory of an angry conversation with God, but it wouldn't be my last. I knew scripture and I hurled verses at the sky, "God is Love?" I yelled, "Prove it!"

I felt lonely and unloved. Most teen girls were looking for the love of fairy tales and romances, but I didn't care about finding a boyfriend. I just wanted an epic friendship to last a lifetime. I was terribly envious of the boys my age who seemed to have so much fun together regularly getting into trouble for funny, foolish stunts, and of the girls who spent all their time clustered together talking and giggling with their own code of inside jokes. I tried very hard to understand them and slip into these groups, but I never quite fit.

Looking back, I realize how loved I was by my family. It is one of the flaws of human nature to long for what we don't have while taking what we do have for granted. My grandparents were unceasingly supportive and loving. My parents made tremendous sacrifices to homeschool me and my sisters, to take us all over the world, and to be involved in everything that was important to us.

I grew up confident and adventurous; reading every book I could find, traveling to interesting places, and boldly attempting every physical challenge I could find. My parents focused on our family collecting memories rather than stuff, and I wouldn't change a thing about my childhood. I didn't understand at the time how unusual our family was; I couldn't see how weird I seemed to my peers. They described me as arrogant, a show-off, a know-it-all, and "the dictionary girl." When I corrected adults, raised my hand at every question, talked about places I'd been, and used my mature vocabulary conversationally, I made other kids feel uncomfortable and inferior. I had no idea this was how I made them feel, but to other kids, it seemed I was intentionally cruel. While I was aware that I wasn't liked, I didn't know why, and the harder I tried, the more I pushed people away.

I had a Sunday school teacher in 6th grade, who was the first to gently suggest that I alter my behavior. Terry was a former drill sergeant with a commanding presence and a heart for kids. He wouldn't call on me in class, even though I raised my hand for every answer. When I asked him why, he told me, "I already know that you have an answer, but I want to see who else has an answer." I had never thought of it that way. Terry suggested that I should wait and let a few other people answer first and if no one knew the answer he would call on me.

Terry made me feel seen by acknowledging that I was smart and special, but he also helped me see others in a way I never had before. This was his unique gift. Every student in his class grew into a better person because of him, and every one of us was special to him. Terry really made us feel loved. His sudden heart attack and death when I was 14 years old, was my first encounter with a real loss, and it etched I Corinthians 13 into my heart.

The Bible chapter I Corinthians 13 (God is Love) is most well-known for being quoted at weddings, but it became my first favorite verse because Terry told me, "You are a smart kid, but there are more important things in life and this is one that you need to work on." The older I get, the more I realize how deeply true this is. Love is more important than wealth, more important than knowledge, more important than talent, and if I really wanted friends, I would have to learn how to love others.

By this time, I had figured out a few of the things that people didn't like about me, and I was determined to fix them. I made a point to use smaller words when having conversations, I let other people answer questions first, and I was generous with giving to others. This last one actually led to problems with false friends, and all of them made me feel a bit like an imposter in my own life, but they were well-intentioned attempts to become a good friend.

While I was desperately trying to become a better person to attract friends, I completely neglected to protect myself from people that masqueraded as friends just to take advantage of me. I was quite gullible and innocent and fully believed that if I was generous, kind, and loving, I would get the same treatment in return. Years later I was able to look back with the clarity of hindsight and realize I had no friends for many years, I just had people in my life who treated me like an ATM and taxi service.

The people in my life during these early years were abusive, manipulative, and very selfish. They indulged in a variety of illegal behaviors that I wouldn't participate in, and they mocked me for it. Still, they wanted to use the pool at my parent's home, go with my family on trips and vacations (which my parents allowed), and "borrow" my money, which I earned myself working various jobs from house cleaning to food service. They got to the point where they expected to have a sober friend drive them around and let them crash on their parent's couch.

I truly had no idea that I was just a resource these people were exploiting. So, when our life choices diverged so sharply that these people withdrew from my life, I was completely shattered. Like so many difficult things in my life, it was a blessing in disguise, but at the time I thought I had lost all my friends.

I was so angry and heartbroken that I yelled at God in a storm. Literally.

At the time, I blamed the church for driving my "friends" away, and I spent months withdrawing from the church I loved and looking for another path to spiritual fulfillment. My typical summer until now consisted almost entirely of church activities, camps, volunteering, and service work. This summer I didn't commit to anything, all the deadlines passed, and the activities went on without me.

I still went to a church camp with another church. I still had faith and I still believed in God, but I was angry at church, bitter, cynical, and lonely. I returned from that camp on a Sunday morning and went to church with my family. I don't remember what the preacher said in that sermon, but I remember what God said to me.

I was only hurting myself and I needed to swallow my pride and go to camp with my church. I needed to be there.

I went up to the youth minister as the service ended and humbly and sincerely asked if I could come to camp. I told him I hadn't paid and I knew the deadline had passed, but I needed to go.

"Absolutely, we can figure something out," he said with no hesitation, and I felt instant relief. Then he continued, "We leave in an hour." My heart sank.

"I don't have anything clean," I said surprisingly disappointed. "I just got home from another camp this morning, and I haven't even gone home to unpack."

"Well, if you have everything you need, you can just bring some quarters and wash your laundry there." He suggested. "It sounds like you're all packed, and you already said you need to come."

As it turned out "camp" was at a university campus for the first time. We would have air-conditioned dorm rooms, a real campus cafeteria, and an on-campus laundromat. I was stunned. It felt like fate.

I realized I had avoided this church for months because I felt lonely and out of place without my old "friends." I was about to learn what real friendship and acceptance were, but it had taken humility and faith to get me there.

There wasn't a bed for me that week because I hadn't paid for or reserved a spot, so I slept on the floor in a dorm room with some younger girls. They stayed up with me into the early morning hours while I washed my clothes in the dorm laundromat. I had fun laughing with them and getting to know them. I couldn't remember the last time I had fun sincerely being myself without judgment or mockery. I was accustomed to my "friends" laughing, but it was usually at me or at other people, it was hurtful laughter, but this was joyful laughter.

That week was life-changing for me, a pivot point that I needed desperately. I met new friends and drew closer to people I never realized could be my friends. I had always loved to sing, but my old "friends" only liked depressing, angry music or the kind you really had to scream. They constantly mocked me for singing and reminded me that even if they wanted to hear the kind of music I sang, they wouldn't want to listen to me singing it.

Here, the entire camp stayed up late every night just singing in beautiful acapella harmonies. I never wanted it to end, but we pretty much went to bed hoarse every night. That's how I met and connected with new friends. We simply loved to sing and we loved singing together. Half of us were from my church, and half were from another church. I was older than any of them, but it didn't matter one bit.

If that wasn't enough to feel like it was my fate to be here, I learned that most of them all went to the same school, the school I would be transferring to in the fall. I would be starting at a school that I initially chose because most of my old "friends" went there, but by the first day of school, I had a whole new group of true friends to accompany me.

I'm sure this whole story doesn't seem at all like a love story, so it seems like the title was misleading, but this camp was also the first place I actually spoke to Mark. Mark's brother, Chad, was part of the new group of friends I was singing with. Mark didn't really sing much, but he spent a lot of time with us. As it turns out that had more to do with me than the music.

It was several years before Mark convinced me to go out with him, and several more before I agreed to marry him. I had been so desperate to find a true friend, I almost missed the chance to meet my true love and discover that he was the best friend I had always dreamed of.