another last

Since next Wednesday is the day before a holiday and the boys and I are flying out the Wednesday after that, I experienced one of many "lasts" tonight. Except that this one has left me heartbroken. Tonight was my last small group with the girls that I've been teaching, leading, loving, and learning from for five years. It's been on my mind all day and though I was trying to avoid dwelling in sadness, I broke down as I was loading Cohen into his car seat on my way to church. Like any sane person, I confided in my infant.

"Cohen, did you know this is Mommy's last night at small groups?"

Cohen smiled.

"Mommy's going to miss those girls, Cohen. I know you don't know this yet, but those girls mean more to me than I could ever articulate."

Cohen laughed.

It turns out a smiley infant isn't the best person to go to when you want sympathy, but I cried tears of grieving nonetheless. I decided not to say anything to the girls because I didn't want to disrupt any actual learning on their part, and I certainly didn't want to turn our group time into a crying fest. Instead, I decided to soak in every last detail. Where each girl sat, what the room smelled like, the looks on their faces, their highs and lows, their smiles, our inside jokes, and any other detail I could soak in to recall later when I'm missing them so much it aches.

At the end of most small groups I ask for a volunteer to pray. Like most Jr. High and High School students, they all stared at the ground awkwardly, hoping I wouldn't single them out. So I started saying, "Who loves God and wants to talk to Him?" and usually added, "There's no right or wrong pray, it's just having a chat with your Father." In the past couple of years, the girls have started requesting that I say that as we close small groups, and it's become one of our "things." As we closed tonight, I asked for a volunteer to pray, and the girls waited for me to add, "Who loves God and wants to talk to Him?" I did, and immediately Kayla volunteered.

As she prayed, five years of ministry flashed through my mind. Five years of loving the same group of girls week in and week out, five years of watching them make great decisions and watching them make poor decisions. Five years of watching their faith become their own, watching them wrestle with what faith, servant hood, leadership, and obedience are. Five years of seeing them live out their faith - sometimes well and sometimes poorly, of watching them get braces and them get them off, watching them pass their drivers' tests, watching them crush after guys, watching them make and lose friends, watching them love friends through sin, and watching them grow into women. Women whom I'm proud to call mine. Women whom I genuinely enjoy hanging out with. Women I trust my children with. Women whose lives I desperately care about and long to be a part of.

Those girls are a part of my soul, they're a part of who I am. I carry them around with me - their secrets, their dreams, their struggles, their laughter - and eighteen hours between us won't stop that. I'm devastated, sobbing, and my heart is literally aching when I realize that tonight was my last night sitting in that room and saying, "Who wants to share their high and low?"

But the truth is, they can't get rid of me that quickly.

Who says a small group leader has to live in the same town? Who says I can't pray for them every day, text/facebook/email/call/skype and remain a part of their lives? Not me, that's for sure. No, I say that I will refuse to turn in my small group leader badge (...you know, if we had badges), and even though it'll look different than it does now, I will pray for them, pray with them, listen to them, help guide them, and love them just as much as I do now. Just because we're changing locations doesn't mean I won't still remain their small group leader.

Try and stop me.