The thing about writing a book is that it kind of makes me a crazy person.

And really, “crazy” might be too broad a term. Maybe “neurotic” is a better word. “Anxious.”

“SOMEWHAT HIGH-STRUNG.”

It took me a while to admit this about myself, mainly because when I’ve worked on books I’ve preferred pretending that I was very normal and relaxed and lo, even breezy. But the reality is the intense periods of writing can render me a fiery hot mess. I love the process so much, but right now, in fact, I’m sitting in my office at home, and I am a sight: still wearing pajamas at three in the afternoon, sporting strong bedhead game (I’d give myself an 8.5 out of 10), and squinting like I’m looking into the sun because I took out my contact lenses and can’t see so well.

As always, I am very professional and refined.

I am also a little bit of a basket case.

And I think, for me, that’s always going to be part of this whole process.

Last summer, in fact, I finished my last book, and I was as emotional as I’ve ever been (including when I was fifteen and listening to “Separate Lives” on repeat while waves of estrogen washed over me). Everything made me cry: sunrises, sunsets, insurance commercials, football games, quality time with our dog, the entirety of a NEEDTOBREATHE concert, a kind word from a cashier at the grocery store, you name it. For whatever reason writing that second book made me feel all kinds of vulnerable, and when I finally turned in the final edits, I had the crushing, crippling realization that OH MY WORD PEOPLE MAY ACTUALLY READ IT.

It’s funny how that works.

For probably two months, I walked around feeling like my heart was beating outside my body. I was so relieved to be finished but utterly terrified of what was ahead. And how did that fear manifest in my day-to-day life?

Well, I watched the first five seasons of The Good Wife in near-record time.

I can tell you in all humility that I sort of outdid myself in terms of shattering personal viewing records.

Well.

Somewhere in the middle of my post-book recovery and my obsessive Good Wife viewing, I went to Memphis with Emma Kate, my best friend from college. We had tickets for a conference led by a friend who happens to be one of my very favorite Bible teachers, and I hoped that the weekend would be a reboot for my word-weary brain.

I’ll be the first to admit that the reboot got off to a pretty rocky start. I mean, Emma Kate has loved me like a sister since we were nineteen years old, but I think even she would tell you that I was an unpleasant mixture of punchy and defensive the first night we were there. To use one of Emma Kate’s favorite phrases, I was “ill as a hornet.” And here’s the thing: I knew I was out of sorts, but pride had me all bogged down in terms of sharing what was really going on. Because if I had been brave (and humble) enough to vocalize my way-deep-down feelings, here’s what I would have said:

• I am worried people won’t read my new book.
• I am worried people will read my new book.
• I feel icky that I shared lots of feelings.
• I would really like to eat an entire plate of cheese fries dipped in Ranch dressing.
• I feel unqualified to write a book about anything when I still struggle with so much.

You know. Light and carefree concerns.

Saturday morning, though, I woke up awash in conviction and clarity. Emma Kate and I were able to have a long talk before the morning session, and then the combination of that morning’s worship and strong teaching straight from Scripture left my heart more tender and pliable than it had been Friday night. That was a very good thing considering that, as my mama would say, I’d been turned wrong side out for longer than I cared to admit.

The event was over right around noon, and before Emma Kate and I met my brother and his family for lunch, I had a few minutes to visit with Beth, my friend who taught. We hadn’t seen each other in a while, so as soon as we hugged, she said, “Sophie! Oh my goodness! You finished your book!”

And y’all, as much as I tried to hold it together, I fell apart. In the most embarrassing way, I fell completely apart. I went straight into the ugly cry, and I think I may have even hiccupped.

Clearly my response is evidence of the easy sophistication I bring to social settings.

Beth let me cry for a few seconds while she patted my back and I decorated the shoulder of her jacket with mascara. When I finally started to breathe normally, she said, “Hey—what is it? Aren’t you happy with the book?”

“NOOOOOO,” I answered—and then I couldn’t help but laugh as I wiped my eyes.

I felt like I owed Beth an explanation for the tsunami of tears, so I quickly ran through the list of things I mentioned earlier: the fear, the worry, the frustration, etc., and so on and so forth. I don’t think I mentioned anything about the cheese fries because a person can only be so vulnerable in a short amount of time. After I got to the end of my list-o-concerns, Beth, who is a few years older but lifetimes ahead of me in terms of writing experience, empathized with me. She understood. She got it.

It was such a relief to know that she got it.

And then she asked me a question.

“Hey,” she said. “Do you believe that the Lord gave you the words inside that book you just finished?”

Her directness caught me so off guard that several seconds passed before I answered.

“I do,” I said. Because I did.

“Well, then, I want you to listen to me,” she said, and she pointed her finger at my heart while she looked me straight in the eyes.

“You trust Him with it,” she said. “YOU TRUST HIM WITH IT.”

I didn’t even know how to respond.

“I’ve been there,” Beth continued. “I know how it feels. But YOU TRUST HIM WITH IT.”

Honestly, I was so moved by her mandate that my first impulse was to salute and say, “Yes, ma’am!”

In the end, though, I uttered a phrase that’s easy to say but way harder to put into action.

“I will.”

And in the days and weeks and months that followed, I must have repeated Beth’s words to myself hundreds of times. Those five tiny syllables comforted and affirmed and blessed in ways I never expected.

They still do, in fact.

“You trust Him with it.”

Yes, ma’am.

Believe I will.

By verse 46 of Luke 1, I think it’s safe to say that Mary had come a long way. In fact, it’s almost funny to look back on Mary’s reaction to Gabriel’s pronouncement earlier in Luke 1. You probably remember this from chapter one, but essentially Gabriel laid out a whole host of details about Mary becoming the mother of the Savior of the world, and her reaction indicated some uncertainty about how that whole thing was going to play out:

How will this be since I am a virgin? (v. 34)

Given that initial response from Mary, it’s all the sweeter to see the state of her heart and her mind in verse 46. There are only eleven verses that separate Mary’s initial reaction from what has come to be known as her “Song of Praise: The Magnificat,” so in terms of narrative we certainly don’t see a wide range of events. There are three verses where Gabriel offered some explanation and shares the news about Elizabeth. In the next verse, Mary surrendered to the Lord’s plan (“Let it be to me according to your word”). Then two verses cover Mary’s departure and arrival at her cousin’s house.

But the five verses that follow?

They result in a pretty remarkable transformation in our girl Mary.

In verse 45 Elizabeth said, “Blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her from the Lord,” and in verse 46, Mary’s Song of Praise begins. Here are her words:

My soul magnifies the Lord,

and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,

for he has looked on the humble estate of his servant.

For behold, from now on all generations will call me blessed;

for he who is mighty has done great things for me,

and holy is his name.

And his mercy is for those who fear him

from generation to generation.

He has shown strength with his arm;

he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts;

he has brought down the mighty from their thrones

and exalted those of humble estate;

he has filled the hungry with good things,

and the rich he has sent away empty.

He has helped his servant Israel,

in remembrance of his mercy,

as he spoke to our fathers,

to Abraham and to his offspring forever. (Luke 1:46–55)

That’s an articulate teenager, don’t you think?

Mary was still in the midst of great uncertainty. She still hadn’t told her family that she was pregnant. She was still likely to be misunderstood and even ridiculed back home in Nazareth.

But when we look at those words, we can see that she had indeed come a long way, literally and figuratively. She was at peace. She was joyful. She was grateful.

For he who is mighty has done great things for me, and holy is his name. (v. 49)

Matthew Henry wrote that “God alone is the object of the praise and the [center] of the joy.”17

Elizabeth had encouraged and blessed in such a way that Mary’s perspective shifted to one of deep reverence for her very good God. Isn’t that the best?

Verse 56 of Luke 1 tells us that Mary stayed with Elizabeth for three months, which would have been right about the time that Elizabeth was ready to give birth to John. I can only imagine the camaraderie, the fellowship, and the community those two women enjoyed as Mary settled into the first part of her pregnancy and Elizabeth prepared for the culmination of hers—both of them chosen by God to birth what mankind could have never conceived.

And I would imagine at some point during those three months, Mary and Elizabeth probably realized how much they needed each other. Three months is plenty of time to cover significant relational ground, to learn what makes each other tick, to figure out what gets on each other’s nerves, to discover what fears lurk deep beneath the surface, and to hone in on what makes someone laugh until tears run down her face.

Don’t miss this, either: It was three months. Just three months. As far as we know they didn’t enter into some lifetime covenantal friendship contract. Their closeness was for a season. I think about that all the time with my high school girls; I typically have nine months with my seniors, then some consistent contact their freshman year of college. But by sophomore year, they’ve typically made a full transition into college life. AND THEY SHOULD. I know my lane in their lives, and I know when that lane typically merges into something else.

That’s part of maturing and growing in faith. We don’t have to cling to someone in the hopes they’ll stick around, because the Lord holds the threads of that friendship. He’ll weave them into something new and beautiful when it’s time.

Mary and Elizabeth’s three months together left a lasting legacy that reminds us what women can do for each other in this present day. We can help each other see the hand of the Lord in unexpected circumstances. We can walk together in joy and peace because we choose to esteem each other in love and honor. We can minister and bless and encourage within and across our generational lines, and we can give great glory to God in the process.

I believe it right down to my toes.

So, if I’m you, and I’m reading this book, and I’m thinking about the women I encounter every single day of my life—the young mamas I see at church, or maybe the older women I see at a fifty-plus luncheon, or maybe a neighbor I really respect—then I’m starting to wonder about how this whole cross-generational thing plays out in the day-to-day.

Because yes, yay for Mary and Elizabeth and all that, but in terms of the here and now, how do we build trust and invest in other generations? What makes those relationships work?

I have some thoughts.

Raise your hand if you’re surprised.

First of all, I want to be super-clear about something, and please know that I say this in all love and without a single bit of condemnation: we need to make sure we’re in a healthy spiritual and emotional place before we intentionally start pouring into other people. If we’re going to gain gospel ground and build relational capital with the generations behind us or ahead of us, we need to make sure we’re not asking folks to follow us onto our personal minefields. So if we’re in the middle of a particularly challenging battle with brokenness (and listen—I have been there), that’s a perfect time for us to put ourselves under the wisdom, counsel, and covering of loving authority. That can be someone on staff at church, a Bible study leader, a Christian counselor, a mentor, etc.

Certainly we don’t have to be perfect—we never will be—but we need to be wise.

So. This is an area where we have to have some oversight, some common sense, and some people in our lives that will tell us the truth. If we know that we are in the middle of a personal mess of our own making, that’s probably a good indicator that our immediate focus should be on our own spiritual health (as opposed to, you know, leading a new Bible study). Plus, the other side of our sincere repentance will more than likely be a place where meaningful ministry happens.

Sorry if that was some serious overexplaining, but it’s something I didn’t understand even a little bit when I was younger.

Now. With the big giant disclaimer behind us, I think probably one more very obvious disclaimer is in order: I do not have all the answers. I don’t even have a hundredth of the answers. I just have some experience as a Mary and as an Elizabeth, so we will pretend at this juncture that experience is enough and then pray that the Lord brings whatever clarity we need.

All righty. Here are five things that, in my opinion, will leave a cross-generational friendship dead in the water.

1. Assumptions and assorted judgments: Maybe it’s Ohhhhhh—your parents divorced when you were five? I SEE. Or maybe it’s I see how it’s hard to know these things when you didn’t grow up in a theologically sound church. Or maybe—and here’s a real humdinger—it’s Well, I’m just thankful that after my kids were born, I didn’t have to go back to work like you did; I had the luxury of focusing on what really mattered. If we’re going to build trust with people, we have to be a safe place (please see: Elizabeth). We’re not safe places when we’re the ones launching a thousand tiny missiles under the banners of “perspective” and “concern.” Tread carefully.
2. Refusal to meet people where they are: If we are only ministering to people who have the handy “Sanitized for Your Convenience” strip wrapped around their hearts and minds, then we’re probably missing the people we want to serve. We’ve got to be willing to step into people’s messes and love them right there. Jesus was a pretty good model for us, you know?
3. Generational stereotypes: Yes, I totally get it if you think, for example, that everyone from Generation X has a bent toward cynicism even though they grew up on a steady diet of Pop Rocks and power ballads. But it’s probably better to keep that to yourself until you’ve earned enough relational capital to voice it without being misunderstood.
4. Rigid methods: I am all for being orderly and efficient, but being overly task-oriented as a mentor (or the person being mentored) is a joy-killer. I know it flies in the face of some of our type-A tendencies, but following a checklist very rarely leads to deep, rich relationship.
5. Unreasonable expectations: If you’re a younger woman, know that being mentored won’t fix all the things. And if you’re the older woman speaking into the life of a younger woman, know that it’s not your responsibility to fix all the things. God may not fix all the things on your watch. Yes, “All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness” (2 Tim. 3:16), but people are not necessarily going to be “equipped for every good work” within a six-month span of time. We need to be diligent, but we also need to be patient with each other.

So there’s that.

And while I am not the boss of you, in my experience there have been five things to help make connection easier, especially when we’re talking about connecting across generations.

1. Shared interests: You like to cook? I like to cook! You like to watch sixteen episodes of Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives in a row? SO DO I! Shared interests bridge generation gaps and give us common ground regardless of age. They’re not essential for folks to establish a relationship—sometimes opposites attract—but they provide a comfort zone I find really helpful. Shared interests are good.
2. Genuine friendship: I’m one of those people who knows almost right away if I’m compatible with someone and if we “click” on a friendship level. The folks who I consider mentors in my life right now were dear, trusted friends before I started turning to them for advice and counsel. Genuine friendship often compels us to meet and talk and listen and learn out of joy instead of obligation. It’s key.
3. Regular, low-pressure contact: Hear ye, hear ye: It’s so important to communicate regularly, but it’s not necessary to communicate daily. It’s certainly not necessary to talk daily; in fact, for many people born after 1980, the thought of a daily phone conversation will STRESS SOME FOLKS OUT. The important thing is that there’s at least a little bit of rhythm to meeting together; when women are at different stages of life, their schedules can be vastly different. Without some type of plan, it’s easy for personal contact to fizzle. So yes to being accountable to meet, but no to blowing up someone’s phone/e-mail/texts/courier pigeon.
4. Fun and laughter: I’m not saying you have to, like, dress up in matching costumes and put on a skit. I’m just saying laughter is the glue that binds hearts together. Well, that and the Holy Spirit. But there’s something so liberating about being able to throw your head back and clap your hands with somebody. Yes, we need to bless and encourage and honor. We also need to hold our sides and wheeze a little bit. I’m pretty sure it’s biblical. And you’ll never convince me that Mary and Elizabeth didn’t get real tickled every once in a while. I have to think that at some point one of them tripped over her robe and the other one laughed so hard that she wet her pants. This is what women do. This is how we bond.
5. Extravagant grace: We are all flawed. We are all broken. We’re going to hurt each other’s feelings. We’re going to say dumb things. We’re going to battle a six-day PMS attack and maybe snap at somebody every once in awhile. In spite of all that, we are deeply and completely loved by a Holy God. His grace is lavish, and we get to share it with each other. So in the midst of our misunderstandings, His grace is enough. Always.

That’s not a complete list by any stretch of the imagination. Clearly. But those first five examples have tripped me up more often than I care to admit, and those last five examples have proven consistently helpful for me in working with teenage girls and navigating my relationships with older women.

Here’s why.

Typically if I talk to, say, a younger woman in some state of discouragement regarding her relationship with a leader/mentor, one of those first five things is in play. Standoffs happen there. Distance happens there. Distrust happens there. And ultimately, a whole lot of disillusionment happens there.

But the last five? They have been faithful helpers in terms of gaining trust, developing lasting friendship, and creating a relational environment where the only agenda is the Lord’s.

So.

These are my thoughts.

Do with them what you will.

Before we wrap up this section of the book, I want to tell you a little story.

Auburn University’s fall break was a couple of weeks ago. And it’s totally fine if you had no idea. I don’t really expect that many of you have been keeping up with the Auburn academic calendar, but if you have, then KUDOS TO YOU.

Truth be told, I had no idea it was Auburn’s fall break until late one Thursday morning when I got a text from one of last year’s senior girls. Mamie is a freshman at Auburn now, and her text informed me that she was stopping by my office after she visited with some of her high school friends during lunch.

It probably goes without saying that I was thrilled. After all, it’s ever-so-wonderful when kids let you into their lives when they’re in high school (I really do count serving high school kids in ministry as one of the greatest privileges of my life), but it’s something extra special when those high school kids choose to stay in touch after they go to college.

Seriously. If I think about it long enough I make the “VERKLEMPT” face like Mike Meyers as Linda Richman on Saturday Night Live and start waving my hands in front of my eyes to try to stave off the tears.

Sorry to be such an emotional basket case, but apparently this is how I roll.

Sure enough, Mamie popped in my office around 12:15. She was wearing her requisite sorority T-shirt with cutoff shorts and Converse All-Stars, so I grinned that she had the collegiate uniform down pat after only a couple of months. Several other folks from her high school class were with her, and while we were in the middle of a lot of greeting and hugging and “HEYYYYYY”-ing (we’re in the South, remember), six or seven more girls walked in. The afternoon was turning into an unplanned mini-reunion, and when several of the guys from their grade walked through my door about five minutes later, I looked at that group of college freshmen, closed my computer, and reminded myself that people trumped whatever happened to be on my to-do list.

For the next two hours they took turns telling me about their classes, professors, classmates, grades, and date parties. I chimed in from time to time, making sure to take a moment to remind them that LEGGINGS ARE STILL NOT PANTS (I am certain that this phrase will be on my tombstone or, at the very least, on the front of the program for my memorial service), but mostly I enjoyed my front-row seat at The Freshmen Show.

It was the biggest blast.

Every time I looked over at Mamie, though, I could tell that we weren’t even scratching the surface of what she really wanted to talk about.

By the time everyone started to file out and head off in different directions, it was getting close to the end of the school day. We all exchanged hugs (again), and I had just shut my door and settled into my desk chair when my phone dinged at me.

It was a text from Mamie.

Can I come back to the school

tomorrow and talk to you?

It’s fine if you’re too busy.

Just let me know.

I looked at my calendar and realized that the day was pretty full, so I texted her with the only option I had.

You want to come up here early-ish?

8? Too early? I have something at 9:30.

She answered me maybe three minutes later.

I can be there at 8!

When I read that text, I knew that Miss Mamie meant business. She really wanted to talk. Because here is what I know for sure: if a college freshman volunteers to be anywhere at 8 o’clock in the morning, it is typically because (1) someone has promised free food, or (2) there is a significant amount of cash money at stake.

I had offered neither, but Friday morning, when Mamie and her BFF Allison showed up a little after 8:00, they did bring me a Chick-fil-A biscuit.

(You know how people who go to award shows like the Emmys or the Oscars get Swag Bags? Goody bags full of expensive jewelry and perfume and chocolates and such?)

(Well, that’s what a Chick-fil-A bag is to a teacher. It’s #TeacherSwag, and it’s awesome.)

Mamie and Allison ended up staying for an hour and a half. I wish that I could tell you that our conversation was deeply profound, but it wasn’t. It was just real life. We covered topics from choices to identity to flare jeans to Jesus to vulnerability to Instagram. Occasionally they asked for advice, but mostly they just wanted to share all the stuff piled up in their heads and their hearts. So I listened. Sometimes I disagreed with them, but mainly I tried to affirm them. We laughed a whole bunch. And we prayed.

Here’s why I tell you all of that.

All too often we fall into thinking that if we’re going to have a voice in the lives of younger women, then we need to have all the answers. We need to have earned our certificate as Wiser Older Person. We need to have memorized significant portions of the New Testament, and we need to have a strong theological position on the book of Romans that we’re prepared to share in parallel bullet points.

With all due respect, that is a bunch of bull.

Garbage.

Bunk.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m all for going deeper in our faith. I’m all for studying the Word and challenging ourselves to know why we believe what we believe. I’m all for being able to instruct and correct and everything else Paul lays out for us in 2 Timothy. Absolutely.

But at the end of the day, we’re equipped to minister to each other if we have three things: (1) a way to communicate—like a voice or some handwriting or a keyboard or some ears, (2) the Bible, and (3) the Holy Spirit.

Well, and my mama would want me to remind you not to underestimate the power of a really good cobbler.

I don’t know. We can sit around and wait to finally feel “ready” or “qualified” to be that older, wiser voice in a young woman’s life, or we can open the Bible and open our hearts and SHOW UP FOR SOMEBODY. This whole process of stepping into each other’s lives isn’t nearly as complicated as we try to make it. It’s relationship. It’s friendship. It’s fellowship. It’s discipleship.

And ultimately, it’s not for us. It’s not for other people. It’s for Him. Forever and only and always for Him.

Mary greeted. Elizabeth honored.

Elizabeth blessed. Mary praised.

They couldn’t have known how much they would need each other.

But it sure would have been a shame if they had missed each other.

The same is true for us, too, you know.

Giddy up.