I received a comment yesterday on my previous post that never made it past moderation. When I read it, it was like a punch in the stomach. I thought of little else for the rest of the day. At first I was so very hurt. Then I was confused. Then angry. Then hurt again. I don’t understand why, on a post about my friends, someone wanted to leave this comment:

Rachel, the things you say are so touching. Its great that you have such a good friend as Amy. Although I feel as if you have changed in many ways since you have had this friendship. I feel as if you have changed your mind on many different issues. The KJV for instance. Maybe you should be a little more careful when it comes to being so easily influenced. I am praying for you. I am praying that you will stay strong, and remember the things you have learned ever since sunday school. You cannot separate God and HIS Word.

The given email address, of course, did not work, so I couldn’t reply privately. I don’t think a private reply was wanted, anyway, since this person commented on a post instead of contacting me through the contact form. So, Anonymous, here is your reply:

My friend…from the tone of your comment I assume we must have at one time been friends…I am sorry if I have offended you in some way. I have tried to be very deferential on my blog, knowing, of course, that my views on certain subjects differ from a lot of my friends and family. I assume that it is understood, though, that my views are just that…my views. I have not tried to push them on anyone, persuade them to believe as I do, or change anyone’s mind in any way. This is my personal blog, though, and I feel I have the right…and responsibility…to be honest.

I have tried to be honest…transparent, if you will…but I have also tried to be respectful of the views and positions held by my church family. We don’t see every issue the same way, so I tried not to to be troubling, because I love them and would never want to hurt them. The problem with that, Anonymous, is that you have gotten a very misguided idea of the change that has occurred in my life. I hope this reply will help clear things up.

First of all, since you mentioned the KJV issue, I need to clear that up. Mine and Chris’ stance on this issue has changed, not because of my impressionability and a new friend, but rather as the result of several years of study, prayer, and an open-minded approach. While we don’t always read the KJV for our own personal reading and Bible study, we still memorize from it, and are happy to use it at church. We don’t have a problem with using it at all, however I’ve been greatly helped and encouraged by reading the ESV. Since that is the version I read from, I felt it would be dishonest and a little silly for me to switch the verses I posted to the KJV, especially since half of my readers are not even aware that there is a KJV controversy. When questions arose before, maybe I should have done a better job explaining things. I assure you, though, that this change had already occurred and was firmly held before I ever even met Amy.

Secondly, I have tried very hard to think of what some of the “many ways” I have changed are, and what the “many issues” I’ve changed my mind on could be. Without any way to contact you, Anonymous, I can only guess. Could it be my mentions of Contemporary Christian Music? I know there are a lot of people I love who don’t think I should listen to it, but I just don’t agree. I understand that you may feel differently, but I just don’t believe there is any Scriptural reason that I cannot listen to this music. It was one of the main things that started turning my heart back towards the things of God after I had let it grow cold and hard. It has encouraged me, helped me, cheered me, and strengthened me over the last several months.

Could it be that my best friend is from a different denomination? Does it bother you that our friendship is not bound by denominational differences? I’m sorry if it offends you, but we will just have to disagree about that. It seems you think I am hopelessly impressionable, but I really do have a mind of my own. It’s true that Amy and I may have some theological differences, but we are okay with that. She does not try to sway my beliefs, and I do not try to change hers. You know what I’ve learned, though? We are not so different as you might imagine. We are, after all, closely related, having the same Father and all.

My friend, if there are any other issues that maybe I’ve not thought of, please feel free to contact me through the contact link. I would be happy to further explain my positions, opinions, or clear up any unanswered questions for you if you like.

Thirdly, while I welcome your comments and questions, I was hurt that you chose to publicly write these things on a post about my friends. Anonymous, I am trying to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you did not mean to hurt me, but I just don’t see what your comment has to do with what was posted. To imply that Amy has not been a worthy friend for me…well, to be honest, that hurt me deeply and it hurt her as well. If only you knew what a gift from God Amy’s friendship has been. She has stood with me these past few months, and my life is forever better because of it. I know you’ve only got to hear bits and pieces and see a photo here and there. You don’t have a complete picture of what has went on with us. For this reason, Anonymous, I’ll try to break it down.

What Amy Cannot Be Blamed For:

• My reading of the ESV
  (This one is all on Chris and God.)
• My music
  (This one is all me. I was enjoying it before I ever even met Amy.)
• My open-minded consideration of the world around me
  (This one is just a new realization that I can actually think for myself.)

What Amy Can Be Blamed For:

• I’m not lonely anymore.
• I laugh a lot more.
• My Scrabble skills have been honed.
• My use of the word “crazy” before pretty much anything. For instance: “crazy cool”, “crazy beautiful”, and “crazy hungry”.
• I know what it’s like to have someone pray for me when I’m having a hard time.
• I have someone to talk to about things husbands aren’t interested in.
• I get to talk to a crazy cute little five year old girl on the phone almost daily.
• Last, but not least, I remember what friendship feels like.

Anonymous, I hope this will clear up any misunderstandings. I appreciate your concern for me, and I thank you so much for your prayers. I definitely need prayer, and I will gratefully accept. I do need strength. I need strength to hold to the blessing God has given me, and to not be afraid of those who think I’m wrong.

Pray for me, Anonymous, and I will pray for you.

Nevertheless I am not ashamed: for I know whom I have believed, and am persuaded that he is able to keep that which I have committed unto him against that day. II Timothy 1:12b (KJV)

She just turned five, my forever friend. She’s smart and cute and side-splitting funny. She doesn’t like babies, my cooking, or soda, and if ever you yell at her it would break her heart. She meow’s like a kitty, and wears dresses just because she’s a princess. She’s not my daughter or even my niece, but I couldn’t love her more if she was. She calls me Aunt Rachel, and it gets me every time.

Her name is Sarah, or sometimes Daisy…it just depends on which way the sun shines. She’s my best friend’s daughter, and she stole my heart. I talk to her mom a dozen times a day, and she always asks to talk to me when she knows I’m on the phone. Sometimes she tells me stories or what her brother’s doing, and sometimes I just fill her mind with propaganda about how wonderful she is for helping her mom do the dishes. I had to laugh when she fought for the phone with her mom, and she giggled and told me her mom sometimes forgets that Sarah and I are friends forever.

Last night, I called on my way home from school. I talked to my little friend, and she said she had a secret. Her voice was hard to understand in her gaspy, childish whisper. It took two times before I got the message. The secret she shared, well, it broke my heart. “If you talk to my Daddy on the phone, tell him to come home.”

Tell him to come home.

Her daddy’s a soldier, deployed to Afghanistan. So very far from home.

My little friend is five years old. She doesn’t understand war or duty or patriotism. They’re just abstract ideas that mean her daddy’s far away.

I can’t fix her problem, though I wish I could. My heart aches for the sadness she feels. I imagine the call years down the road when I’ll try not to break down and cry. I imagine my friend will be not so little, but still my friend forever, when she says, “If you talk to my Mom on the phone, tell her to come home.”

See, her mom’s a soldier, too. A soon to be chaplain with a burden to tell soldiers about Jesus. A mom who loves her kids more than life itself, asked to leave them for a while to minister to those who need hope. What can I do, but listen and pray? Listen to a mom whose heart breaks over the dad who’s away. Listen to the girl who whispers her secret. Listen and promise that I’ll always be there to listen and pray and be a keeper of secrets.

Pray for this family who does this for you. For freedom and country and each other and you. For God and the Gospel and the knowledge that saves. They’re not nameless faces, but real hearts and tears. They’re not an exception in this military life. It’s par for the course, and it hurts every time.

Do what you can. Help where you can. Most of all pray, because you always can. Pray for my friend, and pray for her man. Pray for her boy. And, please, please, pray for my little forever friend.

With everyone commenting on how much Kyra looks like me in the recent photos I posted, I took one of the two of us together. You guys are right. She does look like me. I’m going to have to find some pictures of me as a kid and post them. She really looks like me as a kid.

Bug-bit legs and long brown hair. The fair skinned girl with freckles on her nose. So little. Small for her age. Five years into a wide open life. Little brothers play around her. She looks up when one says, “Dad’s home.” The familiar running of little feet, the door opens, and there stands the man. The dad. Everyone clamors for attention. Everyone has a story to tell, and there’s just one dad to go around. His only little girl, I wait. He looks at me, and I smile. He smiles back, and winks at me.

Nearly twenty years have passed, and the little girl sits. Bug-bit legs, long brown hair, fair skin, and freckles on her nose. So little. Five years into a wide open life. Little brothers play around her. She looks up when I say, “Daddy’s home.” The familiar running of little feet, the door opens, and there stands the man. The dad. Everyone clamors for attention. Everyone has a story to tell, and there’s just one dad to go around. His only little girl, she waits. He looks at me, and I smile. I smile as he tosses the boys in the air, holds them to the ceiling in one hand, and roughly rubs their heads with gentle hands. He puts them down, and he smacks them away. They laugh. They smile. They reach their arms up for more. She’s still waiting. It’s her turn now. My little girl. He holds her up, too, she touches the ceiling. Instead of the toss and the benign smack, she gets a full embrace. His smile grows as he holds her close, and wraps her up in his arms. She giggles and smiles, and says, “Daddy, guess what?” He sits down in his chair…Daddy’s chair. The kids pile on, and I smile to myself.

A full circle life, and here I am. I sigh. I’m happy. This is life.

He looks like such a big boy.

He really enjoys his milkshakes!

I came home and found this. My heart melted.

In case you ever wonder what’s wrong with me, this should clear it up. This is where I come from.

I really don’t know what is going on in this picture, but it’s pretty characteristic.