Lucy

Lucy is a nickname bestowed upon me during my high school volleyball years. Erica turned into Ricky which led my coach to Ricky Ricardo (obviously) and then finally to Lucy. Lucy stuck. Lucy stuck with volleyball but also translated to the youth group I was in at the time due to some crossover between friends in both volleyball and the youth group.

For many years, Lucy followed me around. In all the best ways. For volleyball, it was the only name that my nearest and dearest on the team called me and it felt like I fit in. Fitting in didn’t always feel like my strong suit. More often than not, I felt like the awkward, clarinet-playing, honors class taking, braces donning kid from a really small middle school that did not know many people. So the nickname and all that came with it felt warm and welcoming.

Lucy then made the leap with me to youth group. If I remember correctly, youth group was a mandatory activity that my mom made me participate in as a way to actually be a social human being. Again, the awkward was strong with this one. And even though I, sweating profusely, paced the hallway just outside of the first meeting I attended, it was one of the best things my mom had me do. I jumped in sophomore year. There were so many incredible people I met and activities I was able to dive into. After that first meeting, I was an active participant in the youth group throughout the next three years.

Over those three years, I became part of a network of some of the greatest people I’ve met. A handful I’ve carried with me since that time. And that was back in the 1900s so that’s saying something. Others were a part of my life long before that tenure but that youth group time strengthened our bond. Several have officially been in my life since kindergarten and although interactions are limited to social media connections, Christmas cards and grabbing a bite to eat together on the rare occasion that I’m home, they are no less meaningful.

Although that chapter in my life was finite, the significance of those years were far-reaching. Building myself a nest of people that I cherished, a place of belonging and countless memories created was a very unexpected outcome of putting myself in a vulnerable and incredibly uncomfortable spot for my nerdy, introvert self.

And somehow I’ve made it to the point in my life where it’s been probably over a decade (maybe even two….that hurts to say) since I’ve really been called Lucy. That changed a few months ago when a friend of mine (and wife of one of the leaders I was closest with) reached out to say that they were going to be in town, with just a few hours to spare but she wanted to know if we could connect. The answer was a resounding yes. So we plotted to surprise her husband and my friend of twenty plus years.

I, being the neurotic, anxious human being that I am, had to make sure I was there nice and early. So I found myself a spot a bit out of the way to sit and I waited for their arrival. I was excited and nervous all at the same time. Maybe twenty years was way too long to assume the ease and comfort of our friendships would have survived. Maybe we would stare at each other awkwardly with nothing to say about our lives since the last wave goodbye so many years ago. And then they arrived. Although hoping to be in a somewhat obscure spot so I could walk up to them and surprise them with my arrival, they immediately spotted me. Without skipping a bit, all I heard was “LUCY?!”. The doubt I had faded instantaneously and I was brought back to the small niche of my life where Lucy was all I had known.

We talked about their son and daughter-in-law. Their grandkids. The incredible travels they get to partake in. General life ups and downs. I got to share about our two boys and my husband. What I do for work. General life ups and downs. I got a little bit of Wisconsin life mixed into my Massachusetts one. It was a level of catharsis I did not know I needed.

There is something grounding and centering about sharing new moments and memories with those that were a part of those pivotal years. (Granted one of those memories was to reminisce about the most awful date I went on with one of the baseball boys who, at the time was 21 when I was probably 19 and since he was able to legally drink, he apparently was so worldly that I could not even comprehend what his life was like with those additional 730 days to mine. There was no goodnight kiss. There was no second date). And although fleeting, because three out of 42 is a small snippet of my life, the years spent in youth group were mighty in scope.

Maybe this is all to say that throughout your life you find yourself in various chapters with no idea the outcome or impact. Sometimes it is hardest to see the potential result of something when you’re in it. There have been easy chapters in life and ones I was not convinced I would survive. All added to the depth of my life and the person I am today. Not to say there are not scars from the difficult ones. Or that there are certain ones I wished had lasted longer. But that being able to build on those three years, twenty years later was such a joyful addition. I am hopeful that we do not need to wait another twenty for the next visit, but grateful for this recent one.