The girls.

A few weeks ago, my friends Janelle and Alina and I started meeting with a group of teenage girls from our church.  I knew many of them pretty well already, as they were some of our first friends in the congregation, and over the last year and a half we've slowly gotten to know more of each other's stories.  But not very deeply, really -- conversations and hugs once a week on Sunday evenings hardly constitute a real, living relationship.  So I was excited when we finally got our act together and began meeting a month ago.

It works like this: on Monday, Janelle and I head to Alina's house, a small cozy place on the far edge of Lupeni.  She serves us cake and coffee, even though it's usually after 7pm, and we talk together about what we liked from the book's current chapter, and plan out what questions we want to ask the girls.  At least, that's what we talk about for 15 minutes or so.  The rest of the time we spend just talking about our lives -- sick family members, new recipes we love, worries about money, what our husbands are doing, things we have been pondering from church.  I am coming to really cherish these times, particularly as I get to know Alina better.  It's a strange thing, really -- we're so incredibly different -- she born and raised in Lupeni, married at 17, a stay-at-home-mom who came to take her faith seriously in adulthood and spends many nights fasting and praying... and I an educated, traveled, young American, raised in the church, full of ideas and opinions, and hardly able stay awake to pray past 10pm, much less all night.  We're still in the awkward learning-to-dance phase of our relationship, trying to figure each other out, pretty sure we like what we're finding, but careful not to step on toes.  It makes things move slowly, but I am learning Itrying, anyway) to be okay with that.

After we spend a while planning (ahem, chatting), I head home and scrounge around my kitchen to find something to bake.  On Tuesday night, they troop in to our apartment at 6:30 on the nose, bringing with them laughter and questions and enthusiasm and angst and a huge heap of shoes.  We settle into the living room, passing around cookies and tea (or whatever other goodies I could find), and eventually dive into the book.

It's been eye-opening, really.  The first week my jaw dropped when one of the girls asked us about how to deal with gay people as a Christian -- dropped because I was so thankful she was willing to talk about it, in the conservative Pentecostal micro-culture she has grown up in.  The second week my jaw dropped when the girls said, almost unanimously, that none of them had what they considered a "true friend" -- they weren't even sure what it would look like.  And this past week, my jaw dropped again when, upon being asked to make a list of 10 things they like about themselves, they looked at me astonished and said, "No way.  I can't even think of a single thing."

We were talking about how God has made each of them unique, and how part of His purpose for their lives is to discover the unique ways in which He has gifted them and inclined them, and how they can use those things to serve Him.  They nodded vaguely at that, but when I told them I wanted to write down 10 things they like about themselves -- 10 things that they think are valuable to God, no matter how simple or silly -- they balked.  I was a bit startled, but I didn't back down.  "Come on," I pleaded.  "Don't you think that God looks at you and says, 'Hey, I see lots of great things in you.  I'm a little offended that you refuse to see any of them!'"  That seemed to get their attention, I guess, because slowly they began writing.  And after a few hesitating minutes, they were ready to share their lists:

I'm friendly.
I am a loyal friend.
I can make beautiful music.
I have a pretty smile.
I'm strong.
I am not afraid of challenges.
I look good in skirts, and feel good in them too.
...and on and on.

It was beautiful, really, that half hour of transformation.  The lists these girls wrote were honest and self-aware and lovely.  And as they read them, you could see the other girls nodding.  After we all finished sharing our lists, I asked the girls how they felt.  Did it feel vain to write things you like about yourself? I asked.  Did it feel arrogant to recognize your strengths and gifts?  What about when you listened to the other girls' lists?  Did you think they sounded arrogant?  It was interesting to hear their responses -- how although they delighted in hearing their friends claim these beautiful truths, it was hard for them to accept similar things about themselves.  I think that indicates humility on their parts, and I'm proud of them for that.  But at the same time, I also think that some of it comes from low self-esteem, which I didn't see before.  And now I'm even more eager to encourage them, to build them up, to say, "Wow, I see something beautiful in you," and then to seek God together on what He wants them to use it for.  But not to let them deny it.  Not to let them pretend it doesn't exist.  That would be a disservice to God, and to all of these beautiful, talented girls that He has made, and who I am lucky enough to have in my living room every Tuesday night.