personalblog

for such a time.

Natalie Price

Waking up feels heavy after a week like this. At 32 years old, married with two children, too, I still feel stunned by the news. A friend, encouraged by a post, influenced me to get off social media for a few days. To reset. To turn to the Lord in my silence and with my questions. The great psalmist, David, knew how to turn to music and to write in all circumstances. His obedience in how he offered his heart to the Lord again and again has inspired people to turn to our Savior for centuries.

I don’t have many words, only to say that I am so grateful for the music of my generation. I’m grateful for songs that reorient me to Jesus. I’m so thankful for people my age surrending themselves to God and writing praise and worship with the posture of David that resonates so deeply with me, for such a time as this.

I invite us to sing to Jesus together at the link below:

Jesus, You’re the same
Yesterday, today, and forever

Take care & take heart,

for that day.

Natalie Price

My first significant experience with grief was in elementary school when a boy close to my age died suddenly in his father’s arms. An unimaginable tradedy that shook our church. The morning of the funeral, my brother and I were dressed and ready before it was time to leave. While we waited, we walked around the block in silence together. In my dress and shiny shoes, I still know the exact house we were passing when sadness and disbelief deeper than I had ever felt enveloped me. I tried to step on fallen acorns to create sound on the sidewalk when there was nothing to say. The only remaining memory I have of that day was the boy’s mother crying in agony for him as the pallbearers passed.

That was twenty-five years ago. And I can still hear her cry.

And what I’ve learned since then is that most people don’t want to talk about sad things. Most people don’t want to talk about life after this. So they don’t until they’re forced to face it. Because it’s hard. And it hurts.

For whatever reason, I’m been more comfortable than most talking about loss and grief. And saying the word death. Maybe it’s nature. Maybe it was nurture. As a pastor’s kid, I got used to walking up to open caskets at a young age. To asking questions about heaven and sitting in silence. Unknowingly, this was the practice of processing sadness.

When we lived in Iowa, my dad walked through pain and suffering with so many people in our small town. Years later, when he’d go back to visit, he would often spend time walking the cemetery. I had never heard of a pastor doing that and the more people I lose, the more that makes sense to me now. Being intentional to remember people honors their legacy.

So I remember. Today would have been my friend Marissa’s 33rd birthday. I’ve missed her for the last ten years and what she brought out of me. A love for people on the edges of the group. A heart to see people who want the same sense of belonging I do. A purpose to care for every person, every life who has a story. She taught me that how you treat people matters.

Three hours ago, I learned with the world that Charlie Kirk of Turning Point USA was shot and is now with Jesus. The devestation and shock of such violence quiets me. I don’t understand and I don’t have the words to find out where we go from here.

All I know is there is still hope in the cross. Charlie lived that, he believed that, he urged people to know it. He lived with eternity in mind. Or as my dad would teach us from the pulpit, he knew how to “live this day, for that day.”

The day when we will see Jesus again. When we’re with him for all of time. When forever becomes true.

This summer we visited Richmond, Virginia and took a friend’s suggestion to walk through the Hollywood Cemetery. We found countless graves delicately cared for, presidents and other famous figures buried there. So many lives summarized in a few words on stone. This one, though, I’ve thought of every day since.

It reads, “In tender memory of one who loved the Gospel and died in its faith, in the hope of its glory.”

I’m so grateful for lives well lived, races well won. And I hold in tension the grief of not enough time. Not enough time for great leaders to lead longer, lives to be lived out fully, friendships to deepen.

I will learn to cling to hope while I sit in the sadness of losing figures of faith, like Charlie Kirk. People who loved the Gospel. Who died in its faith. In the hope of its glory.

Jesus, help me to trust in your goodness when I don’t understand our broken world. I don’t know what to do but I know I can talk to you. I know I can pray while hurting and for those hurting. Help us turn to you as we process unimaginable pain. Show us how to pray for Charlie’s family.

And may I live this day, for that day, too. May I be resolved in my faith, to love you, to love those you love, and to live with eternity always in mind. You are the author and the perfector of my faith. Thank you for writing me into your story. Show me how to live it well, like Charlie did with his.

Take care & take heart,

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,