She is one of the most graceful people I know. She could have been a dancer... maybe. She is gentle. She is kind. She puts others desires before her own. She has a strong identity in Christ and stands firm in His promises and truths. I count her as one of my friends. I have lots of people who I love but I have few people who I call "good friends." I am no facebook junky with thousands of friends but rather a starbucks long coffee drink gal with tissues for laughing tears and crying soul water with a handful of good friends.
Sometimes I find myself in the awkward position of the friendly gal with a friend who thinks I am a good friend and I sadly am not feeling the same vibe. Yesterday we visited someone who I count as a good friend. The kind of friend who after not seeing each other after years you hug and move into the mundane while crying over the heavy, mourning over the sorrowful and laugh over the victories. The kind of friend who you haven't written to for ages but whose very life's mundane realities are important.
Back to this friend who I consider a "good friend." While I love her dearly I also am plagued with much self doubt over friendships. Perhaps, I thought, she does not count me in her "good friend" category. It did not seem to be so. We took one look and it was like welcoming one another again. Major things had changed. We both had new grey hairs. I had two new little kids who interrupted everything. She had a new apartment, job, country and church. These are all big things but still it seemed that the friendship was there. The comfortable companionship of real frienship.
Still little doubts niggled. Am I her friend? Does she count me in her circle?
It was not until my husband pulled down a mug and handed it to me with my morning coffee that a peace settled. The mug had a surfing cow. Yeap! Complete with swimming trunks this cow was utterly ridiculous and surfed around the mug in stereo. Really it is a rather hideous mug that grated against the beautiful original hand paintings of Europe, the picture of the Opera House in Vienna (or maybe Salzburg), the photos of Venice, the tenderly loved and used piano and the overall beautiful ambience of the apartment. But at the same time it fit. And it was proof. I almost cried. Honestly. That is how pathetic my little worries had been. This little mug, a birthday gift from ME so very long ago, had made the cut to live on her shelf! I was honored and moved. Even though it didn't quite fit, even though it was ugly, it was on her shelf. We all know what we wrap our hands around to drink something warm is often something special. Whether it is a memory or a person it evokes. Like a hug or a letter in a far away place our mugs are dear!
So is my friend.
Thank you Liz for loving me!
Sometimes I find myself in the awkward position of the friendly gal with a friend who thinks I am a good friend and I sadly am not feeling the same vibe. Yesterday we visited someone who I count as a good friend. The kind of friend who after not seeing each other after years you hug and move into the mundane while crying over the heavy, mourning over the sorrowful and laugh over the victories. The kind of friend who you haven't written to for ages but whose very life's mundane realities are important.
Back to this friend who I consider a "good friend." While I love her dearly I also am plagued with much self doubt over friendships. Perhaps, I thought, she does not count me in her "good friend" category. It did not seem to be so. We took one look and it was like welcoming one another again. Major things had changed. We both had new grey hairs. I had two new little kids who interrupted everything. She had a new apartment, job, country and church. These are all big things but still it seemed that the friendship was there. The comfortable companionship of real frienship.
Still little doubts niggled. Am I her friend? Does she count me in her circle?
It was not until my husband pulled down a mug and handed it to me with my morning coffee that a peace settled. The mug had a surfing cow. Yeap! Complete with swimming trunks this cow was utterly ridiculous and surfed around the mug in stereo. Really it is a rather hideous mug that grated against the beautiful original hand paintings of Europe, the picture of the Opera House in Vienna (or maybe Salzburg), the photos of Venice, the tenderly loved and used piano and the overall beautiful ambience of the apartment. But at the same time it fit. And it was proof. I almost cried. Honestly. That is how pathetic my little worries had been. This little mug, a birthday gift from ME so very long ago, had made the cut to live on her shelf! I was honored and moved. Even though it didn't quite fit, even though it was ugly, it was on her shelf. We all know what we wrap our hands around to drink something warm is often something special. Whether it is a memory or a person it evokes. Like a hug or a letter in a far away place our mugs are dear!
So is my friend.
Thank you Liz for loving me!
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