My mother-in-law, Martha, is eighty-four years old, and I think it’s safe to say that she is remarkable. She never misses church on Sundays or Family Night Supper on Wednesdays. She goes to the beauty parlor every Thursday so that Betty, her stylist for almost thirty years, can wash and set her hair. She meets her friends for lunch on Fridays, and two or three times a week she hops in her sporty four-door sedan and drives to the mall, where she makes the rounds at her favorite stores. She knows her hometown Belk like the back of her hand, and she’s not afraid to ask a cashier to call all the other Belks in Mississippi and Alabama to check on something that might not be in stock at her store, whether it’s a certain size or a particular color or “that precious New Directions pantsuit! The one in the mail-out! The one with the square buttons that were sort of like pearls, but not really pearls, of course, because pearls aren’t square, but if pearls were square and maybe a little iridescent, they’d look just like these buttons!”

Some people notice eye color or hair styles or speech patterns. Martha notices buttons, and our family is all the better for it.

One of Martha’s most endearing traits is her infinite fascination with seemingly insignificant details—like, for instance, the height of a wingback chair or the color of a certain variety of lantana or the texture of a sweater vest in the Boutique section at Stein Mart. In fact, I am fully confident that no matter where I go or what I do, I will never surpass Martha Hudson’s endless and utterly sincere interest in, well, practically everything. Take her to Target, and she’ll want to know about the varieties of cleaning products they carry and which ones smell the best. Take her to one of her grandchildren’s schools, and she’ll want to find out where the principal grew up and where in the world she found her perfectly beautiful boots. Take her to a bookstore, and she’ll comb the aisles looking for something new by that darlin’ author who wrote that darlin’ book she read three Christmases ago when we gave her that darlin’ poncho, remember?

WASN’T THAT THE MOST DARLIN’ CHRISTMAS?

Martha’s enthusiasm for life in general absolutely spills into her relationships with her close friends and family, and this is actually the part of her personality that, if you really knew her, would steal your heart forever and always. She’s such a faithful caretaker of her people, and I’ve seen that faithfulness in action as long as I’ve known her (so, you know, for more than forty years). There have been big, life-altering situations where Martha has cared for others selflessly and sacrificially—both her late husband’s battle with cancer and her late mother’s decline after a broken hip come to mind—but it’s really her day-to-day thoughtfulness that speaks volumes. She checks on folks in the hospital, she sends countless birthday cards, she coordinates meals when there’s a need in her Sunday school class.

And on Saturdays, she visits friends who have moved to a nursing home or an assisted living facility.

Yep. She’s eighty-four. Visiting friends in the nursing home. EVEN PLAYING BINGO WITH THEM.

Because of course.

Several years ago, in fact, Martha spent the afternoon with a friend who had recently transitioned to a nursing home. Her friend’s eyesight and hearing weren’t all that great, but Martha didn’t let that stop her from jumping right in and doing everything she could for Fran, a woman she’d known for at least sixty years. So Martha read to Fran, and she folded some of Fran’s clothes, and she sat with Fran for most of the afternoon. Since Fran couldn’t hear very well, Martha had to talk very loudly, and when it was time for Martha to go home, she leaned in closely to her friend and said, “FRAN? SUGAR? FRAN? DARLIN’? I’M GOING HOME! I HAD THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME WITH YOU TODAY! THE BEST TIME! JUST A PERFECTLY MARVELOUS TIME!”

Fran smiled, reached for Martha’s hand, and in a flat tone that was just above a whisper, she looked in the direction of Martha’s face and confidently said, “Bye, Dot.”

Needless to say, Martha was puzzled.

“DOT? I’M NOT DOT! I’M MARTHA! MARTHA HUDSON! THIS IS MARTHA, FRAN!”

“Bye, Dot,” Fran repeated.

Martha has always been smart enough to realize when she’s fighting an uphill battle. So if Fran was foggy on the finer points of who had been keeping her company, that was just fine with my mother-in-law.

“Bye, bye, sugar,” Martha replied. And she left.

But you know what?

She went back to see Fran the very next week.

Martha could have been frustrated, she could have given up, or I guess she could have yelled “MY NAME IS MARTHA” for five or thirty-nine minutes. But she didn’t do any of those things. She just kept on keepin’ on. She understood Fran’s circumstances, she accepted them, and she continued to visit and care for her friend.

She stayed in it.

And that’s exactly what I say when people ask me how, at eighty-four years old, Martha manages to do all that she does, how she manages to be so energetic and active and intentional.

She’s stayed in it.

At a time in her life when she could sit back and say, “Hey everybody—now it’s your turn to wait on me,” she chooses instead to serve and love and look out for her people.

And if she could find that suit from the Belk with those square pearl buttons?

Well, then, that would be an extra measure of blessing.

She would look sassier than ever when she visits the nursing homes.

When Elizabeth conceived John the Baptist, she was well beyond child-bearing years, and she was also moving into a stage of life that’s probably more associated with winding down than revving up. Granted, life in Judea was much different than it is in twenty-first-century America, but I think there’s still a key common thread:

People don’t always know how to respond to an older woman who’s expecting.

And to be clear, I’m speaking on a couple of different levels here.

Because while yes, a sixty-something woman who’s expecting a child in this day and time would probably receive some sort of fast pass into The Guinness Book of World Records, there’s also the reality that folks are quick to minimize a woman “of a certain age” and assume that her best, most productive, most impactful years are behind her, that she couldn’t possibly birth anything new.

And here’s the even bigger travesty: women buy into those lies and believe them.

So if I may, let me just hop up on my soapbox, clear my throat, and say something really loudly:

Elizabeth’s life is a beautiful reminder that God continues to do new things in and through us no matter what our age happens to be.

And don’t miss this, either: the calling on Elizabeth’s life—in what many would consider her “golden years”—was no small thing (not that there are any small callings, mind you, but Elizabeth’s was certainly a visible one when we look back through the lens of history). After all, she was going to be the mother of John the Baptist. She was going to be responsible for raising and teaching the forerunner of Jesus Christ.

And then, when Mary showed up, Elizabeth confirmed her pregnancy. In fact, she confirmed that Mary was “the mother of my Lord,” so Elizabeth was the first human in the New Testament to speak not only of Mary’s calling—but Jesus’, too.

From that perspective, Elizabeth had enormous influence with her young cousin and the body of Christ. So when I read Luke 1:41–45 and am reminded again of Elizabeth’s strong words of encouragement to Mary, I can’t help but wonder, What if Elizabeth had decided that her Kingdom usefulness was over?

What if Elizabeth had decided that it was time for her to check out in terms of serving the Lord?

What if she’d gotten fed up with whatever was going on at the temple, crossed her arms, and said, “I’m out”?

What if she had looked at Mary and thought, “Well, I could bless her—but NAH”?

There’s just an infinite number of ways we can get burned out and worn down, aren’t there?

And let me be clear: if we’re truly worn down and worn out, then by all means we need to rest. We’re not doing folks any favors when we’re trying to serve out of a reserve tank that’s already depleted.

But if, for some reason, you have convinced yourself that you’re not needed any more, that your best days are behind you, that you’re not “relevant” (and that definition seems to change by the day) enough to serve your brothers and sisters in Christ—or, heaven forbid, your family—let me just say this:

Stop it.

Right now.

STOP IT RIGHT NOW.

Don’t you dare discount your importance, your influence, or your calling.

And to be clear, I’m oh-so-aware that this kind of doubt can creep up on us at any age. It seems to fire up in my life when I’m in the middle of transition—moving from a comfortable situation to one that requires some bravery, moving from one stage of motherhood to another, moving from one type of service to something new.

But here’s what we have to tell ourselves and each other: when we are tempted to give up and hang it up because we’re, for whatever reason, fed ALL THE WAY up or maybe just scared to death, we can’t forget there are women behind us and ahead of us who need us to stay in it.

There are women in your church who need you to stay in it.

There are women in your family who need you to stay in it.

There are women at your workplace who need you to stay in it.

So you stay in it, do you hear me?

YOU. STAY. IN. IT.

You are uniquely built to impact others in ways you cannot even imagine.

You are the only “you” there is; no one else on earth has your wisdom, your experiences, and your perspective.

So when you’re tempted to back down, to back up, or to back off, just remember this:

Elizabeth may have been “of advancing years”—but she was about to birth a whole new thing.

You stay in it.

Right this very second I am sitting in Starbucks.

At the table directly behind me are two precious teenage girls who look to be about sixteen. They’re talking 90-to-nothing, interrupting each other in super high-pitched tones, and giggling like crazy.

And while I know that I should be the bigger, more mature person in this situation, it’s one of those instances where I’m struggling to be patient. I mean, I came here to find some quiet, to carve out some time to write and think and pontificate (pretty sure that I’ve never “pontificated” in my whole life, but the word popped in my head, so I ran with it), and for the life of me I can’t drown out those two girls’ voices—not even when I’m wearing my big ole headphones and listening to The Oh Hellos with the volume cranked up to “stun.”

But here’s why I need to get over myself ASAP / tout suite / PDQ.

Given that the general consensus among researchers is that Millennials were born between 1982 and the early 2000s (2004-ish seems to be as late as most researchers will allow),11 the girls sitting behind me qualify as members of that particular generation—assuming, of course, that I have guessed their ages with some degree of accuracy. And when it comes to Millennials and the Christian faith—when it comes to Millennials and the church—well, the news isn’t too good.

And listen. I’m not much for hand-wringing. I’m not a worst-case-scenario person. I tend to err on the side of optimistic, glass-half-full, get-out-there-and-get-after-a-solution. But if some research I’ve recently read is a fair representation of Millennials, then the girls sitting behind me in Starbucks?

Well, you’d better believe that I have a vested interest in them.

You’d better believe that we all do.

So buckle up, my friends. I’m about to present you with some conclusions that forced me to wrestle with some statistics (that is to say: I was dangerously close to actual math). Suffice it to say that I’m approaching the outermost reaches of my English major comfort zone.

Here’s the deal.

A couple of months ago I read a bunch of research by the Barna Group12 (you can read it too—there’s a web address in the notes section), and suffice it to say that church is not the Millennials’ favorite place. In general they have some pretty negative connotations about it. They’re also wary of Christians and perceive lots of hypocrisy on the part of folks who claim to be believers.

Encouraged yet?

Don’t worry. There’s a sliver of silver lining.

The Barna Group’s research also indicates that Millennials long for community. They long for growth. So in the end, what Barna’s data says to me, an admitted failure at any activity that involves decimal points, is that yes, we have a generation of folks in their late teens, twenties, and early thirties who are skeptical, questioning, and maybe even a little bit cynical, but by and large they’re not completely closed off to the church. According to Clint Jenkin, Barna’s VP of Research, “with all the other options open to Millennials, it’s safe to conclude that, when they show up at church for worship or a learning opportunity, they do so hoping that there is Someone present to worship or learn about.”13

However. Before I wrap up my very short-lived stint in the world of research data, I want to point out two more things that really stood out to me: (1) Young women are increasingly likely to identify as skeptics (atheists or agnostics), and (2) The majority of women who are involved in a church or synagogue state that they feel little, if any, emotional support from their congregations.

Sixty percent feel that way, in fact.14

Pardon me while I come in strong with the understatement: THAT IS A LOT.

Certainly I’m no data analyst. Not by the longest shot. But when I look at Barna’s research, here’s what I know for sure: the gap between women—particularly Millennials—and deep, relational, transformative faith?

It’s a big one.

And y’all know the thing about big ole gaps, right? We have to figure out how to build some bridges across them or folks will fall right through the cracks.

Maybe that means you invite a college girl out to dinner.

Maybe that means you send someone an encouraging text or note or card.

Maybe that means you spy a table full of twenty-somethings at a coffee shop—and you pick up the tab.

Bridge building with people outside the church is such a good option, y’all. And it’s really not that hard.

By the same token, those of us who are older need to be mindful that Millennial believers are the first group of young adult Christ-followers to live in our current post-Christian culture, so they desperately need folks who are a few years/decades/life stages ahead to encourage, teach, disciple, and listen.

So for our Millennial brothers, sisters, seekers, and skeptics?

We stay in it.

They’re walking a tough road. Heaven forbid we let them walk it alone.

Elizabeth, as we know, wasn’t too wrapped up in her own life to stop and greet and bless her younger cousin.

And if you ask me, Elizabeth’s strongest words to Mary are in verse 45.

Because as I look at verses 41–44 of Luke 1, I’m perfectly content to read them. But when I get to verse 45, I long for a videotape. Or a DVD. Or whatever technology will make me seem less dated and out of it.

I smiled when I typed that.

And regardless of how I wish it had been captured, the reason I want to see it and hear it is because it seems like a moment when someone might put her finger in your face and look you in the eyes and TELL YOU THE TRUTH.

Here’s what Elizabeth said in verse 45:

And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her from the Lord.

The Message phrases it like this:

Blessed woman, who believed what God said, believed every word would come true!

And then the Amplified Bible:

And blessed [spiritually fortunate and favored by God] is she who believed and confidently trusted that there would be a fulfillment of the things that were spoken to her [by the angel sent] from the Lord.

Mary Elizabeth Baxter wrote, “[Elizabeth] could not have said to Mary, ‘Blessed is she that believed,’ except she herself had been ‘strong in faith, giving glory to God.”15

Elizabeth could give away wisdom because she had it. And Mary needed it.

Over the last couple of years, I’ve thought a lot about how God designed those two paths so they would intersect, and He’s done the same thing for us. The areas where we are wise are meant to intersect with someone else’s questions. The areas where someone else is wise are meant to intersect with our questions.

And listen. It may very well be that you identify more with Mary in this particular passage—not in the whole giving-birth-to-a-Savior way, of course, but in terms of knowing that the Lord has laid an assignment on your heart. So if you’re not entirely sure what it means or what you’re supposed to do—or maybe if you’re wondering if you can trust it, if you made it up—this would be a fine time to seek out and soak up the counsel of older, wiser women in your life.

I don’t know about y’all, but so many times I have flailed and floundered because I resisted guidance. I’ve shut people out and shut people down before they’ve ever had an opportunity to speak over or speak into my circumstances.

And I’m done with that, by the way. It’s a dumb way to live. Yes, it’s vulnerable to open up about the deepest desires of our hearts, not to mention our sins and our shortcomings, but it’s better than being isolated. It’s better than being bitter.

And it’s better than being Zechariah and sitting in silence because we refuse to believe.

Dr. Ralph Wilson writes, “God provided Elizabeth to Mary as a kind of spiritual grandmother . . . who would nurture her and encourage her in the Lord. Elizabeth was her instructor and teacher, her friend and confidant, her mentor and advocate. God gave Elizabeth to Mary for a special period of time and a special purpose. . . . I can’t help but think that God may have these roles for each of us, too.”16

He absolutely does.

And you know the Millennials we were just talking about?

What are we going to model for them and the generations behind them? Are we going to pass on a culture of honor and blessing? A culture where women are valued for the unique gifts they bring to the body of Christ? A culture where women are supportive of each other, encouraging and kind?

I sure hope so.

Looking out for each other isn’t always easy. Caring for each other isn’t always convenient.

But if we’re ever tempted to throw in the towel, so to speak, we need only consider the generations to come.

They need us, you know.

And oh, have mercy—we need them, too.

Stay in it.

Last Tuesday night Martha and I had a long phone conversation while I was waiting to pick up my son from a meeting. It had been a month, probably, since Martha and I talked, and while I would like to say that I am the World’s Best Daughter-in-Law and check in with her four times a week, the fact is that between home and work and school and writing and church and football practices and football games and Scout meetings, our family has been chasing its tail for the last couple of months. Right now, in fact, there’s an unfolded pile of clean towels in the den, an unfolded pile of clothes in the kitchen, and enough dog hair on the floor (Hazel seems to have developed an itching issue over the last few days) to knit a decent-sized blanket.

I am not my best housekeeping self at this particular juncture.

So last Tuesday night, when I realized that I was about forty-five minutes early to Alex’s meeting, I decided it was a perfect time to catch up with Martha. She picked up the phone on the third ring, and we quickly started to talk our way through a long list of topics: how she was feeling (she’d been under the weather), her latest Sunday school lesson, Alex’s football season, my niece’s college choice, and what my mama was wearing last Sunday at church.

You know, all the important things.

We were about twenty minutes into our conversation when Martha said, “Sophie? I want to ask you something.”

I paused for a second out of curiosity for what her question might be; Martha is rarely serious, but her tone indicated some concern.

“Yes, ma’am?” I finally responded.

“Are you taking care of yourself? Looking out for yourself? Are you getting plenty of rest? I mean, I know you’re busy and you love your work and doing all that you do—and don’t misunderstand me. I’m so glad you get to write and speak and work with those girls at school. I know you love your girls! And David and Alex, too! But are you making sure that you have some downtime? You can’t just go, go, go without a break, you know, and I don’t want you to run yourself ragged!”

I’m not gonna lie. My mother-in-law hit the bull’s-eye. I had felt so run-down the night before, in fact, that I wondered if I was getting the flu. After cramming six speaking engagements—three of which were out-of-state—into a four-week time period, my admittedly self-imposed pace had taken a toll on me. The traveling had been big fun, no doubt about it, but on top of everything else we had going on, it was probably too much. And after I had spent most of Monday feeling teary-eyed and overwhelmed, I suspected before I ever talked to Martha that I was headed for a full-blown bout with weariness.

I assured Martha that I was really and truly going to get some rest soon, and I meant it. But over the next few days, I pushed those very kind words about taking a little break out of my mind, and every time the roller coaster of any given day would start to slow down, I’d opt to keep my seat and ride again.

And again.

And again.

Which brings me to yesterday.

My friend Anne is about fifteen years ahead of me, and for the last six or seven years, she has been a dear friend. About three years ago I realized that she has also become a very trusted mentor. We never made any sort of formal declaration of mentorship, but she opened up her life to me, and I opened up my life to her, and every few months we get together and talk about ALL THE THINGS.

So yesterday afternoon I saw Anne for the first time in several months, and we were about an hour into our catch-up session when she said, very matter-of-factly, “Hey. Let me tell you what I’ve been praying for you.”

I leaned forward.

“I’ve been praying,” she said, “that you will recognize when the Lord gives you opportunities to rest. Because when I look back on when my girls were young, I wish I’d slowed down a little. I don’t regret anything—not at all—but I think it would have been good to breathe more, to not push so hard. So that’s what I pray for you. That you’ll pay attention when the Lord tells you to slow down.”

Well.

Then.

How about that?

I mean, there wasn’t any audible sound after Anne finished talking, but in the back of my head, I thought, Did I really just hear the same advice for the second time in a week? Are Anne and Martha tag-teaming me? Is this what it feels like when God puts a holy BOOM on all the ways I rationalize being overcommitted?

I sat quietly for a few seconds, and then the strangest thing happened.

I felt relieved.

I felt relieved that two women with some wisdom had called my bluff. I felt relieved that two women who really know me had told me to take my foot off of the gas. And I felt relieved that the Lord, in His kindness, would prompt those two women to confirm what I already knew—even if I didn’t want to acknowledge it.

Granted, it wasn’t as dramatic a moment as Mary realizing that Gabriel’s prophecy was the real deal, but it reminded me that the Lord cares about all the details of our lives—the big stuff, the little stuff, the seemingly insignificant stuff.

And when we stay in it with Him and with each other, just as Martha and Anne have done, He will empower us to meet each other in the areas where we need some loving care the most.

That’s why I’m about to shut this computer and take myself a nap.

“Blessed is she who believed there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her from the Lord.” Right?

Message received.

Loud and clear.