personalblog

friends.

Natalie Price

Last Saturday I was driving to walk the trails with a friend early in the morning and I kept thinking about how grateful I am to have a friend for that. Someone wise once said, “Gratitude begets gratitude.” The more I’ve thought about my life in the last twelve weeks, the more I’ve found to love. Small, simple things that easily go unnoticed. Things I’ve longed for and didn’t realize had already arrived.

This morning I got out of my car as the sun was coming up. In the quiet, I noticed the sound my feet made on the gravel as I stretched. And I thought about so many different people in my life that have encouraged me, took the iniative with me, or thought of me first. Micro gestures that have added up to the most fun I’ve had against the backdrop of a year filled with loss and grief.

The air was cool as Cathryn arrived in her husband’s white truck. I’ve lost count of how many times she’s invited me to walk with her in the last year, but she hopped out into a haze of dust that made us laugh. Without formal discussion, we just headed to the trails as if we’ve done this hundreds of times. I’m so thankful for the ease and familiarity that I’ve found with a friend like her.

As we walked, we talked about what makes a friend a meaningful one. She shared about a friend named Sally who draws out humor from life and makes every ordinary day better, who connects easily with so many people but makes each person feel a special connection with her. She asks questions with a genuine interest and remembers the details that make up the people that she loves so well.

I told Cathryn about my therapist, who helped me see that each friendship has a unique offering. Where I saw so many relationships as disappointments for so long, Robert showed me that placing expectations on a few people to be everything I needed often quenched the connection. In exchange, he taught me that I could connect with certain people on certain things. Some I could connect with over books, some over deep thoughts, others over ordinary life, some over leadership and business, and others over sports or my varying interests.

I had never viewed my friendships as their own disctinctive gifts. But now, I see all of these effortless connections I’ve formed over the months and years as all the wildflowers that make up the most winsome bouquet. And I can’t get over the goodness of God in that way.

As I drove home, always lighter after being with someone as refreshing as Cathryn, so many names of other women came to mind. Kiersten, my cousin, who I talk with every week, who loves deep and wide, who is radiant in every way. She’s been the friend who always checks in, who asks how I’m really doing. The friend who ends every Marco Polo asking how she can pray for me and I can sense throughout my week that she does. Kiersten sees souls and delicately nurtures them the way I think Jesus intends all of us to care for each other. Being known by her is one of greatest treasures of my life.

Kristy, who has always felt like home to me. The biggest loss I experienced leaving Wisconsin was losing proximity to her. I miss her every time she comes to mind. For someone with a very full house, she walks into a room emanating peace for everyone. On the hard days, I know she’ll send me a reel to make me laugh so hard I cry and whatever I have to vent about, she can always handle it. I love her for that and for her laugh. The best warmhearted laugh. What I’d do for a hug and to share a menu at Waterfront right now.

My mother-in-law. Fun and faith are the two words that make me think of Lisa. Hospitality is her gift and fun is her mission. I have never laughed so hard around someone’s table. She is unwavering in her prayer life and models what it means to believe the best in everyone, to never give up on anyone’s soul, and to always trust that the Lord is sovereign over every beating heart. I love connecting over the Bible and moments of comic relief with her. Lisa personifies the best qualities of not taking oneself so seriously. To laugh is to learn.

Alyssa, my millenial mom friend who never disappoints with the best discussions. She’s the friend who can make pop culture deep, who can dissect world events in a way that matters on a personal level, who is so honest in ways that help me be honest with myself. I don’t think she realizes how much it’s meant to share an obsession over the same teenage drama shows, to connect over objectively ordinary things that I find profoundly emotional and meaningful. I’m so grateful for the string of conversations over the years that remind me I’m not doing life alone. Sharing the same interests is so fun and even when she has a distinctive perspective on something, I feel like a better person by listening to her about it.

Hannah and Darcy, my cousins who keep me in the loop every month on what is new on their side of the Midwest. To stay in touch across three states for 32 years is special. Colleen, my childhood best friend who calls to hear about what’s new and reminisce about old memories that still make us laugh. My longest and most loyal friend. Natasha, my coffee confidant and biggest encourager. She has figured out how show up for people across state lines. Sara, who is so thoughtful and always ready to laugh with me. I’m amazed at how she shows genuine care in simple ways.

Jen, who has cared for my entire family for the last several years when we didn’t have family nearby. She has shown care and hospitality to us, even this summer and I’m always blown away by how she can connect so well with my boys. Allison, my baby cousin who texts to see how I’m doing after a year of sharing each other’s company in hospital rooms and hospice rooms, so much like her incredible mother. Never having to say much, just hugs and knowing we grieve from the same tree, in our own ways. I’m grateful for my five sister-in-laws and the ways our lives overlap, for fun and interesting conversations or small exchanges, and for the ways we’re bonded because of our last names.

My mom. The person with the biggest impact in my life and the least amount of fanfare. The only person I know who embodies both a Mary and Martha spirit simultaneously and in the best ways. She listens and empathizes when I call. She comes over and she helps me clean without saying much. She anticipates when I need to work and connects with my kids until I’ve regained the energy to do so. My mom is the friend to me so many women long to have but don’t know how to ask for, and I don’t say it enough, but moving home to be closer to her was the best thing I could ever do for my soul. So many of her friends have moved away in the retirement years, and yet she continues to be a blessing without realizing the profound influence she still has on so many, near and far.

There have been many stretches throughout my teens and twenties where I thought I was doing life without many friends. Where I was trying to navigate school and work, marriage and parenting without very many people to relate to. I had so many days where I doubted if I was capable of connecting with people in the ways that I wanted to.

I find myself in awe of God on days like today when I realize I’m living the life I longed for. Even more, there are so many other women I could name that have gone out of their way to see me, to know me, to connect with me. They are the women who are teaching me even now how to pass on that kind of love and intentionality to others.

And I’m so grateful that God designed life to be together. I’m grateful for the people I’ve connected with in different seasons. I’m excited for the friendships I’m forming with people at church and through work. I’m grateful for opportunities to practice being the friend that initiates with others, the way that so many of these women extended invitations to me. It’s mattered. It’s really mattered.

Thank you, Jesus for Proverbs 17:17. Thank you for wildflowers and for perspective. Thank you for how you are always writing and weaving a grander story than what I can imagine. What a rich life I have with You.

Take care & take heart,

am i doing this right?

Natalie Price

Ten years ago, I walked across the graduation stage with a business degree and a plan for my life. Since then, I’ve moved my tassel from right to left once more. I’ve changed my home address five times, I’ve had two children, and I’ve held the same job for nine years. I didn’t see any of that coming.

I thought I’d own a business in Tennessee with three kids. I’m a day’s drive from Rocky Top and when I’m sitting behind my small closet door hiding from the two very strong-willed tiny humans I birthed, I have to remind myself repetively that I am not actually a prisoner of war. I chose this.

The closest thing to a business I own is practically begging co-workers to let me use my 4-year-old coaching certification on them. I also thought I’d last six months at the job I applied for in 2016 before finding a “real one.” But I’m still here.

I thought marriage would feel mostly like my favorite books and parenting would bring out the best in me. I didn’t picture relating to Monica Geller this much.

At twenty-two, I thought the effects of aging would start in my fifties. But stress and pressure came knocking on my door at twenty-five. Guess you can’t have wisdom without looking like you’ve earned it.

A decade ago, I imagined financial freedom looking a lot freer. I hadn’t factored economics into my financial portfolio. Ballooning interest rates and property taxes hadn’t put me in the fetal position just yet. But I sure am limber at paying the government now.

As a college kid, I thought my future house would look like a Pinterest board. Joke’s on me, my walls are actually Hot Wheels tracks and my kitchen floors look like we’ve started our own ant farm for funsies.

And I guess I thought I’d feel more confident in my decision-making, need my parents less, and that I wouldn’t second-guess what I’ve made of my life so far, this often. The more I experience and the more I read, the less I feel like I’ve got a grip on adulting.

The question that’s always lingering in the back of my mind is, “Am I doing this right?”

Am I messing up my kids? Do I have enough money saved? Was I helpful enough at work? Should we eat out tonight, or will that put us over budget? Have I prayed about that enough? Does this outfit make me look too young? Am I wasting my time? Am I squandering my gifts? Am I too scared to try? Did I say the right thing? Did I make the right decision?

I’ve just got so many questions, still. I’m my strongest critic, still. I idealize what I want life to feel like more than I should, still.

Am I doing this right?

When I was entering data into a spreadsheet for work a few months ago, I cruelly saw that I am now one of the oldest employees on payroll. I’m just starting to get a grip on working with Gen Z while the Alpha generation is beginning to enter the workforce. As a Millennial, I felt like a tech czar helping out Gen X and my parents’ generation with technology and the newest vernacular. Now I’m the one out of touch on all fronts.

It’s been humbling to need the help of twenty-one-year-olds. Especially when it feels like I should still be one. But the truth is, they’re gifted and faster at more things than I am. They catch on quicker. So I find myself asking the question again, “Am I doing this right?”

I kind of hate the internet sometimes, because it seems so sure of itself. All of its unsolicited opinions and advice and AI. It’s the most one-sided relationship I’ve ever been in. Google and Zuckerberg have contributed zero percent to assuring me in my question. And yet, I often give them the most control of my time.

This morning, I was reading in 2 Chronicles 9 about how the queen of Sheba visited King Solomon. She had a lot of questions.

And Solomon answered them all. In verse 12, it says, “And King Solomon gave to the queen of Sheba all that she desired, whatever she asked besides what she had brought to the king. So she turned and went back to her own land with her servants.”

She knew where to go with her questions. And the king was faithful to supply her for her journey.

Even the queen shared my question. It says that when she had seen the wisdom of Solomon and all of his kingdom, there was no more breath in her. What the king beheld was more than what she could have imagined, so she came to see it with her own eyes. And it didn’t disappoint.

Too often, I don’t turn to the King with all my questions. I try to be self-sufficient by looking for answers within the places I can still control. I think sometimes I’m afraid that there’s actually no “right” answer. Or that the life I’m living is actually not a waste of my gifts. Sometimes realizing you have what it takes is the scariest thing of all.

The hard days of parenting are not my ultimate failure; they’re actually His sustaining power. Being an age outlier at work doesn’t mean job instability; it means looking to Jesus for what more I can give in this next chapter. My bank account is not reflective of my value; it is evidence of God’s provision thus far. He’s faithful to supply us with enough for our journey.

My dad has always known about my question. In all my doubting, he’s never failed to tell me I’m doing better than I think. He’s made Hunter and me feel like millionaires the way he has praised us for our faithfulness to God with our finances when it hasn’t been easy. He’s quick to remind me of my gifts and how far I’ve come. He’s also never seemed to be exhausted by how often I ask him if I’m doing this right.

And in that sense, he’s Jesus to me. Dad reminds me that what the King has in store to teach me is more than I can imagine. I only have to ask. By faith, I can trust that He will open my eyes to what He wants me to know in His timing.

The Lord will never disappoint me in my questioning. I’m so glad my dad taught me who to ask.

Take care & take heart,

a walk with my father.

Natalie Price

When I was in 4th grade, my dad took me on a trip out West for my Spring Break, just the two of us. Before we left, I went with him to pick up a few things at his office. As we were turning to leave, he jokingly asked a co-worker to pray for him because he was going on vacation with himself. I remember feeling so proud to be thought of as like him. That was 21 years ago, and I’m still proud.

We’ve traveled to many places inside and outside the country since. We’ve clocked thousands of miles going on walks together, discussing life. And when life is overbearing, we love to talk about the books we’ve read that have been a welcomed escape.

One of the lesser known nicknames my dad has earned is “Chief Crazy Horse.” Last I checked, the Battle of Little Bighorn ended in 1876, but for my dad, his daily battles are crowds, traffic, and inattentive people who walk without purpose.

In airport terminals and grocery stores, on sidewalks and highways, my dad has absolute urgency to get out ahead of everyone into open space, where he is free to maintain his own momentum. The way he can weave in and out of cars like it’s rush hour in Chicago, or turn himself sideways to squeeze between people without a single care but his mission to get somewhere — keeps the crazy capitalized in Crazy Horse.

And what I know now that I didn’t know then, that day I stood behind him like his shadow in the office, was that he was aware of our overlapping personality traits and the quirks that came with those. The ones that could be endearing in small doses but puzzle others with overexposure. I’ve burned more gas and, with no complaint, more calories just to keep up with him. In doing so, I’ve been impacted by several observations.

The family joke is that Dad always walks a step ahead. Sometimes 15 steps. Briskness is a virtue! I’ve walked with him long enough to know how to keep up. I like the pace he sets, even if it is a step ahead. I appreciate the challenge. And I know that my dad, like Chief Crazy Horse, cannot help but to be a leader. It’s in his DNA.

It was sometime after our trip out West that Dad instilled in me that I am a leader. But I already knew that he was one, too. It wasn’t just all the Sundays of seeing him stand before a growing congregation, a skilled communicator and connector. It wasn’t solely the way our landline would ring continuously from people wanting his counsel. It wasn’t all the conferences he’d travel to, adrenalized by what he’d learned. It was all of that.

But I knew he was a leader because I’m inspired to follow him. The same pastor who stood before hundreds week after week, confessing the Lord is still teaching him, too, is the same father I know.

It was my dad who taught me the phrase, “Greatest strength, greatest weakness.” Meaning that the things we are gifted at can also be the things that trip us up. There have been times we’ve asked Dad to please slow down for us. There have been a few times my “please” was omitted, and if I were Catholic, I’d still be at confession for the careless things I’ve said to him.

But he’s listened when we’ve asked, though it pains him to be passed by in crowds. I’ve seen his soul face the brink of death in my rearview mirror when we caravanned through Tennessee, letting me lead so we could stick together. I call that a selfless act, knowing him.

He is a leader who has practiced humility time and time again. Because he practices it, I’ve found the courage to try, too.

Almost 5 years ago, we were on a walk together when my dad told me he was preparing to step aside as the Lead Pastor at Cherry Hills. He sensed it was time to let the next generation take up the baton and lead. “Well, what will you do then?” I asked in shock. I knew the day would come, but my dad wasn’t yet 60.

Three and a half years into his new role as Equipping Pastor, my dad, ever the Barnabas of my lifetime, is cheering people on, traveling to encourage mission partners and build into business leaders near and far. There were times as a kid, and especially during COVID, that I knew he wanted to quit.

But he kept leading, out in front. He kept setting the pace for us until the Lord showed him his next step. Years of practiced postures of humility allowed him to take it.

My parents love Proverbs 3:5-6, which says,

5 Trust in the Lord with all your heart,
And lean not on your own understanding;
6 In all your ways acknowledge Him,
And He shall [a]direct your paths.

I love it because I’ve watched them yield to it throughout my life. And I’ve learned that even if the Crazy Horse title gets bestowed on me for my idiosyncrasies, my paths can still be directed if I acknowledge Jesus. Like my father.

I’ve been reading about the generations of fathers in the Bible. Abraham to Isaac to Jacob. David to Solomon to Rehoboam. Then all the sons and kings who did not love the Lord as their father did. What an absolute honor that my dad’s legacy will be one of faithfulness. From Grandpa Gary, to my dad, to me: I will walk in the ways my father has, just as his father had.

Walking with my father has led me to my Father. The best kind of leadership. May my sons continue to seek the Lord in the ways their grandfather does.

Thank you, Dad, for running the race set before you. I’m blessed that you model the Christian life, one step ahead of me. You inspire me to follow in it.

I love you, and I’ll always pick you again, Crazy Horse.

Happy Father’s Day,