More than 'Just' Friends

Relationships between men and women that do not involve romance and sex are usually referred to as ‘just’ friend relationships… few people seem aware that ‘just’ friend relationships can blossom into relationships of dialogical love. Those of us who have experienced the abundant being that can come from a deep personal relationship with a person of the opposite sex would never speak of our relationship as ‘just.’  Calling these relationships ‘just’ is not only misleading; it trivializes the relationship in a way that seems sacrilege. – John Scudder and Anne Bishop quoted in Sacred Unions, Sacred Passions

Some of my dearest friends are women whom I deeply and intimately love.  Because of the deep bonds we have formed, I would never say these women are ‘just’ friends.  I also have several dear friends who are men.  Yes, I am committed to honoring the vows I've made to my husband – and my cross-gender friendships my be of varying levels of familiarity and physical proximity – but I could never with good conscience say they qualify as ‘just’ friends simply because these friends aren't women.  

Several years ago I reconnected on Facebook with someone from my high school years.  It was right at the beginning of all my unraveling, when my process looked ugly and angry and I often argued with people who still believed all the old things I was in the process of discarding.  Even though he is hundreds of miles away, he was a gracious and calming presence, never balking at my anger or turning away when I was far from gracious.  From his years of religious study, he generously shared his perspective in response to my theological questions when I asked.  He introduced me to Volf and Keating and kindled my love for theological reading.  He would gently rein me in when I was disregarding the value of another person's unique life-experience for the sake of winning an argument.   

There is an undeniable bond that forms when someone can look past your pain and ugliness while you burn down the framework of your life, and treat you as though you've already risen from the ashes.  A person who does that is not ‘just’ a friend.

Five years ago, over shared office observations and a similar sense of humor, I became friends with the guy who sat on the other side of my cubical wall.  We don’t sit near each other anymore, but we still chat with each other every work day.  We share stories of what is going on in our lives outside of work and try to add a little levity to the daily grind.  Sometimes we go to lunch and talk about our kids.  Sometimes we grab a beer after work and commiserate about our jobs.  We talk a lot about beliefs, which can be a challenge considering that we could not be more different from each other when it comes to faith and politics, but we navigate the conversations with a great deal of mutual respect. 

There is an undeniable bond that forms when someone becomes a witness to your daily life and allows you to be a witness to theirs.  A person who does that is not ‘just’ a friend.

I have an ongoing dialogue with a long-distance friend I met over social media.  He messaged me one day to say he’d read some of my posts and that my thoughts and unraveling process resonated with him. We have swapped stories about our similar youth experiences and navigating family relationships while straying from our upbringing.  We check in with each other regularly, discussing work and faith and posts we read online, and we frequently swap prayer requests and commit to praying for each other.

There is an undeniable bond that forms when one person is vulnerable enough to reach out to another person and say, “Yeah. Me too.” and the two of you commit to regularly praying for each other.  A person who does these things is not ‘just’ a friend.

The reason I’m sharing about my experience with cross-gender friendships is to bear witness to their significance in my life.  They aren't taking the place of my relationship with my husband, but they are extremely important to me.  If someone has looked close enough to see all of my messiness and chosen to live life with me anyway – that person is dear to my heart.  The appropriate response when I reflect on all my close friendships should be to readily acknowledge that she or he is a dear friend or a kindred spirit or even a person I love deeply.  Life is too fleeting to distance myself from people who mean so much to me because I’m clinging to a religious or cultural narrative that is preoccupied with sex and only allows me to see my friends as “men” or "women" rather than individuals with whom I've formed a relationship that is a vital part of my life.  

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Several weeks ago, Natalie Trust wrote a blog series prompted by Dan Brennan's book Sacred Unions, Sacred Passions on the subject of cross-gender friendships.  This book was already on my to-read list and after reading Natalie’s posts (here, here, and here) I moved the book to the top of my reading stack.  I appreciate Natalie for inspiring me to read it sooner rather than later and I’m thankful to Dan Brennan for writing it. For most of my life, the most prominent narratives about relationships between men and women have been ones that are narrow, contradictory, and often promoted shame and confusion.  We are often cautioned against cross-gender friendships because attraction or closeness are equated with sex, even though the same type of relationship with someone of the same gender would be encouraged.

What Dan Brennan does in his book is provide historical, social, and spiritual reasons – ranging from an exploration of pre-Freud friendships to insights we can glean from teachings on chastity in the Catholic tradition – for why we should reevaluate how we think about cross-gender friendships and embrace a new narrative; he does this while providing a depth of insight to help establish that narrative.  Reading Sacred Unions, Sacred Passions and engaging in Natalie's discussions has been extremely valuable to me as I continue to unravel much of what I was taught about gender and relationships.  
 

I appreciated the analysis and criticism of the romantic myth an how it affects both our romantic and non-romantic relationships.  Dan explains, 

Idealizing romantic passion as the unique, one-and-only, exclusive form of love between a man and a woman has created a pervasive romantic myth in our contemporary world when it comes to male-female paired relationships…This is the fruit of romantic idealism, not romantic realism. The notion that one idealized relationship is the be-all, end-all for passion, intimacy, emotional commitment, friendship, happiness, fidelity, and depth, has a cluster of powerful myths supporting it…

The myths to which he is referring are found both in Christian culture (which tends to idolize marriage) and also in popular culture (with the idolization of romance and sex in movies, books, television, and music). I have seen personally the devastation the romantic myth can cause to marriages and the tainted light it can cast on friendships.  

I know that words like “passion” and “intimacy” have become synonyms for sex and can make some uncomfortable in the context of friendship, but the real synonyms for those words are actually: affection, fondness, love, familiarity, belonging, warm friendship, faithfulness, and loyalty.  In fact, the definition for the word 'intimate' includes phrases like: “belonging to or characterizing one’s deepest nature" and "marked by a warm friendship developing over a long association.”  Aren't those desirable characteristics in all close friendships? I think it is beneficial to examine the religious or cultural myths that might hinder intimate cross-gender friendships. 

While the criticism of the romantic myth can apply equally to any cross-gender friendship regardless of religious belief, one of the other points I've spent a lot of time reflecting on relates directly to my faith.  Brennan notes the “one-another’s” in scripture and how we often overlook the obvious inclusion of both genders when we read them:

Consider all the “one another’s” – none of which have a sex-segregated command embedded in them.  Here are just a few: “welcome one another” (Romans 15:7), “pray for one another” (James 5:16), “be kind to one another” (Ephesians 4:32), “greet one another with a holy kiss” (I Corinthians 16:20), “teach and admonish one another” (Colossians 3:16).  None of these contains transcultural  sex-segregated warnings to keep men and women from meeting privately or in public, or from avoiding the powerful intimacy that may grow because male and female friends seek to be obedient to these commands in their nonromantic relationship.

At least five times in the gospel of John, Jesus implores his audience to “love one another;” and other variations of this phrase can be found throughout the New Testament.  It strikes me that there are entire books centered around a very few scriptures that speak specifically to one gender or the other and that those verses dominate admonishments for the interactions of men and women.  In contrast, it seems these multiple “one another” verses are viewed in the abstract, as an almost sterile “love” for some mythical “other.” I had not previously dwelt on these “one another” verses as a call to deep friendship with other embodied people, regardless of gender, but now I can think of them in no other way.  I’m learning to embrace an understanding of cross-gender friendships that can be both encouraged and celebrated within my faith tradition. 

//

I know Christians are the intended audience of Sacred Unions, Sacred Passions, but there is a lot to learn from this conversation even if you don't view cross-gender friendships through a religious lens.  It could be invaluable to your emotional health to evaluate what narratives govern your relationships.  If shame or the romantic myth are keeping you from forming intimate connections in your life, it may be time to look at things from a new perspective.  

As a Christian, the book left me hopeful that we won’t always be trapped in a destructive narrative where we idolize romance and are taught we should avoid cross-gender friendships.  As Dan points out, “The mystery of incarnation is that God in Christ overcame the boundaries between heaven and earth, between the spirit and matter, between flesh and spirit, and between men and women.”  The example of Christ is deep friendships with both men and women, who he lived life with and embraced and loved.  I truly believe that through understanding a narrative based on Christ's example the Church can see the truth of how cross-gender friendships can be deep and intimate, as well as holy.

Speaking the Same Language

I was homeschooled beginning in forth grade until my senior year, when I enrolled in the local public high school. I went to classes there in the morning and took courses at community college in the afternoon. During that one year in public high school, I shared a table in study hall with two exchange students, Andre' and Maria. I know what you’re thinking and yes, that does tell you everything you need to know about how well I fit in that year. Lucky for me, Maria and Andre' are fun, friendly, welcoming people and became some of my dearest friends that year.

Andre' was from Brazil and spoke Portuguese and Maria was from Spain and spoke Spanish.  I am not a linguist, so forgive me if I don’t explain this well, but apparently the more Cuban dialect of Spanish that Maria spoke was enough similar to the Portuguese Andre' spoke, that they could have conversations with each other in their own native languages and almost completely understand each other. They weren't speaking the same language, but their own knowledge of words and phrases, along with context and possibly some English thrown in from time to time, allowed them to communicate with each other more effectively that way than in English.  It was fascinating to observe their interactions when they did this.

Several weeks ago, while discussing my new church with a friend, he asked me why I feel it is so important to go to church when I can clearly maintain my faith without attending church (as I have been doing for almost a year), through reading and personal study. He then admitted that it has always surprised him that I identify as “Christian,” because I don’t put off a “Christian vibe.” 

Back in my youth group days, a comment like that (especially from a "non-Christian") would have sent me into some sort of existential crisis, but I knew exactly what he meant. He and I have always been able to communicate well and discuss various topics even though we have some fundamental differences on faith and politics and social issues.

Something about this reminded me of Maria and Andre'.

I realized that the most meaningful conversations I have about my faith tend to be with people who do not share it. I think the reason I connect so well with my non-faith friends when we talk belief is that these friends care about the process by which we arrive at our beliefs in the same way I do. We may not have arrived at the same conclusions or share the same faith, but we understand each other because my sick-soul, messy, uncertain faith-process quite similarly mirrors the journey that led them to choose not to believe. Parallel journeys with different conclusions, similar enough that we can understand each other even if we haven't arrived at the same place.

Different languages, but with dialects that allow for connection and understanding and community. It is beautiful, and I would argue, holy, even if they would not use that same word.

I know. None of that explains why I need church.

As much as I care about and need my Atheist/Agnostic/Other friends, I've come to see that I also need to be part of a community where I can discuss my faith without the necessity of translating our dialects back-and-forth between faith and non-faith language. I have found a few of these people via blogging and social media and I don't mean to downplay how much I appreciate those connections, but I need some of those in-person connections as well.

I do have people in my life with whom I have Christianity in common. I have my family and I have friends from previous church communities. Yet even though we share the language of faith, our dialects are so drastically different it can be difficult to communicate without misunderstanding each other. We may try to have discussions, but we’re often left gazing at each other over a seemingly untraversable chasm of theological differences. I may have a close enough relationship with some of them that we can talk to each other without shouting angrily over the chasm, but our attempts can leave us exhausted from the effort required to make sure we are questioning thoughts and belief rather than attacking each other. It is often easier to find a common, non-faith-related topic to discuss to avoid making too much of our differences.

I need to be in community with people of faith who speak the same faith language and dialect that I speak. This is not to say that I do not love those who speak their faith differently or will stop trying to connect with them over our differences This is not to say that I no longer need my non-faith friends, because I do need them, and I love and appreciate them more than they could know. Yet I am also longing to sit at a table and hold hands in prayer and break bread and make eye contact with at least a few people who speak faith with the same dialect, accent, and syntax I use. I know we won't agree on everything, but we will be able to speak freely without translation required.

And that is why I need church.

Neighbors

I grew up in the outskirts of a small town, not in a neighborhood, but not really in the country.  Our house was on Main Street, which was really just a mile-long stretch of a busy state road, where the houses were closer together and drivers were supposed to slow down. Instead of our backyard being adjacent to another family's backyard, it butted up against a bean field. We did, however, have wonderful next-door neighbors on either side.

When I was very young, both homes were occupied by beautiful, elderly, white-haired widows. Despite that I was so young and my memories of that time are more like snap-shots, I can still close my eyes and imagine each of them. I remember sitting on the double porch-swing with Mrs. Brown. It was painted green and occupied a spot in her front yard in the shade of two maple trees. She would let me swing with her and talk, I'm sure about complete nonsense, but I still felt like she wanted me to be there with her and I loved our visits.

I remember Mrs. Rankin, on the other side, who called me "the pig-tails girl" since my mother almost always had my hair in two ponytails to keep it out of my face. I remember her minuscule galley kitchen that had a thin shelf all the way around, on which she displayed different kinds of tea tins. When she eventually got too old to live on her own and moved to a home, I ended up with a little red tin that had once held some kind of British loose-leaf tea. I don't remember her giving it to me, but I still have it tucked away in a box of keepsakes.

When I was six, a young family moved in where Mrs. Brown had one lived. A year later, Mrs. Rankin was replaced by another young family.  Both of them became like extended family to us. Even after they eventually moved away, we have all remained close.

At some point, during one of my parents' landscaping phases, they decided to install a split-rail fence around the front and side of their property. In the side between the house where Mrs. Brown had lived, they left a gap in the fence at the base of the small hill in the backyard, where we could easily pass back-and-forth between our backyard and the next. Shrubbery eventually grew together overhead, creating a 'secret passage' sort of feel for the opening.

Our families made the trip through that passage so often over the years, that the grass wore away between the fence posts. Countless cook-outs and afternoon visits and shared dinners at each house left us all with strings of memories. When I close my eyes and think about it, I can still see how the adults would have to duck slightly to avoid the over-growth when coming or going, and how the kids would run back-and-forth between the yards like they were a single, magical playland.

Now I live out in the country where our closest neighbors are empty-nesters who keep to themselves. My husband and I both work full time, so family time takes precedence over daily visits with friends. Don't get me wrong, I love watching my boys grow up as best friends by default, since there are no other kids nearby for them to play with every day.  I like living where there is no traffic and I can hear the pair of owls calling to each other in the woods at night.  Yet sometimes I can't help but feel nostalgic for a time and place where friends as close as family were just on the other side of an opening in the fence.

Do Better

I mostly do my job from home these days, but I go in to the the office a few times each month.  My cubicle in the office has tan walls, with a black overhead and black file drawers.  It is just like everyone else’s cubicle, but I helped choose the colors.  Years ago, when the company was updating the building, I sat next to Jen, the facilities manager, and those are the kinds of things she let me help with. We also chose carpet and made friends with the guys from the cubicle vendor who spent weeks on site setting up tan walls and black drawers. Usually I don’t think about that stuff, but I was thinking about it today.

Back then, I worked in the office every day.  As admin to one of our vice presidents, I didn't have any team members and since there were no other facilities people, neither did Jen.  Because she was in charge of facilities, she always managed to find a place for us to relocate and remain cubicle neighbors, even as other departments were shuffled and people were moved around the building.

We talked each other through many a work-week and commiserated about everything from bosses to car problems to relationships.  We ate lunch together most days.  She talked about the trips she and her partner took to the lake and I talked about home improvement projects.  We shared memories about our families and growing up.  I found out that she has almost no photographs from her childhood because they were destroyed when her dad’s house burned down years ago.  I know that she always knew she liked girls and never even tried dating a guy.  I know that she and her prayer buddy from church prayed with each other every day on their way to work, each from her own car with phones on speaker.

When I told her I was expecting my first kid, she was thrilled.  She loves kids.  She put up with me and my hormones every day and managed to contain her laughter on her side of the cubicle wall when I turned into crazy-pregnant-bitch over stupid work stuff and gave people a piece of my mind (They totally deserved it, but I swear it was the pregnancy hormones.  And because I had never been like that before, she thought it was hilarious).  She was one of the first non-family people to visit me in the hospital and hold Luke after he was born.  Weeks later, she put up with my incoherent ramblings when I returned to work from maternity leave, a blurry-eyed first-time mom, still trying to figure out what to do with the beautiful, maddening baby at home who woke up every two hours, all night long, for months on end.

When I transferred to a different job on a team and had to move to the other side of the building to sit near them, we both got very busy with new responsibilities and things changed.  We still tried to do lunch from time to time, but it was difficult to coordinate schedules.  We both had too much going on.  I didn't even hear it from her directly when her job was outsourced and they let her go.  We played phone tag a few times after that, but then nothing.  I haven’t talked to her in several years.

I know this is what often happens when people work together every day and see each other all the time and know each other’s stories and then move across the building or to another company across town.  You think you will keep in touch, but you don’t.  Life is busy and hectic and there just. isn't  time. And when you've had as many jobs as I've had -- working at least two jobs from the time I was seventeen until Luke was born when I was twenty-six -- it is impossible to keep track of every single person.

But today, when I walked in to the office and sat in my cubicle with the tan walls that I helped her choose, I thought of how nice it would be if Jen were on the other side of the wall and I missed her. A lot.

There are some people it is not okay to lose touch with.  There are some people you have to keep track of.  There are some people who are worth the effort and who deserve better than giving up after the second missed phone call.

I have to do better.  I don't know if I'll be able to get back in touch with Jen.  We have some mutual friends who might have her current number, so I'm going to try.  But whether I can or not, I was reminded this morning that regardless of what job I have or what other busy stuff I have going on in my life, it really is the people who deserve to be a priority.  Losing touch with people who are that important to me is not okay.  I may not have a calling in a job I'm passionate about, but my job has allowed me to meet and get to know some remarkably wonderful people.

That is worth keeping in mind.  That is worth making the effort to stay in touch.  That is worth making sure I do better.

$#!&-y First Drafts

My beautiful friend Kara, who happens to be one of the world's best givers of gifts, sent me books for my birthday.  I recently finished the last one, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life, by author Anne Lamott.  I highly recommend it even if you don’t write.  I have no plans to write a book, but I have been trying to incorporate some of her instructions into my writing here.  Presently, I've been focusing on the chapter titled “Shitty First Drafts.”  Ms. Lamott offers some amusing narrative on how she views these terrible first drafts, but also offers this bit of wisdom:

For me and most of the other writers I know, writing is not rapturous. In fact, the only way I can get anything written at all is to write really, really shitty first drafts…. Almost all good writing begins with terrible first efforts.  You need to start somewhere.  Start by getting something – anything – down on paper.  A friend of mine says that the first draft is the down draft – you just get it down.  The second draft is the up draft – you fix it up.  You try to say what you have to say more accurately.  And the third draft is the dental draft where you check every tooth, to see if it’s loose or cramped or decayed, or even, God help us, healthy.

After considering this, I realized I need to break a bad habit I picked up when I was in college.  Between working two part-time jobs, taking a heavy course load, serving in student government, and trying to fit in a bit of a social life, there wasn't much time left to set aside for all of my writing assignments (Political Science major + English minor = a ridiculous number of papers).  I would try to do the reading and research in advance, but I rarely started writing a paper until the night before it was due.  At that point, I would write until the wee hours, review the paper, sleep an hour or two, glance over it one more time to correct any glaring errors, and turn it in.

Although I managed to do pretty well with this routine, it certainly was not ideal.  I realize now that never developing any kind of true editing and revision process back then has bled over into my current writing.  Until the past week or so, I used to write and post most of my work in the same day, without putting in much time for real scrutiny.  I went back and read some of my older posts and realized the ones I’m most proud of are those I worked on for several days before I posted them.  There are a lot of filler or ranting posts in between the better ones which are, quite frankly, just shitty first drafts masquerading as actual blog posts.

I’m trying now to focus on spending more time in the editing process so that I post less first-draft work.  I've found that taking a break from a draft for a day or so and revisiting it later makes errors more obvious to me; I also find I’m much more willing to delete sentences or entire paragraphs once I've distanced myself from them a bit.  When I used to write/review/publish all in one sitting, I felt more attached to what I’d just typed and ended up leaving in a lot of superfluous writing.

My writing may or may not be improving, but I feel like I've produced some better-edited posts, which is a pretty big deal for me.  I am extremely critical of my own work and almost always have a twinge of panic as soon as I click "Publish," wondering if I really should have shared whatever I posted.  Being more intentional with my editing has helped me feel a little more confident in my work, which is not an insignificant thing for me.

In the words of Flannery O’Connor, “I write because I don’t know what I think until I read what I say.”  That pretty accurately sums up the entire reason I write this blog.  Improving my writing will help improve my understanding of what I think and believe, so I should absolutely put in the effort to be intentional about it.  Better editing and more clarity may also be a welcome change to the few people who read what I write.

Of course, I've spent several days editing the heck out of this post, but there are probably still superfluous words and flow issues and errors.  I'm okay with that.  I'm not trying to be perfect, just better.


PS.  Thank you again for the book, Kara!  I loved it as much as you said I would.

My Heart

I know it's Thanksgiving weekend and we are all focusing (or trying to focus) on what we are thankful for.  Social media is full of posts and tweets with daily thankful thoughts and reminders to give thanks.  I realize the importance of focusing on what we have in our lives that makes us thankful.  I understand why we should back away from the stress and the noise and remember the good.  I love Thanksgiving and giving thanks and I am so, so grateful for countless people and good things in my life.

Lots of good has happened in the past year or so.  In my circle of family and friends there have been babies and promotions and successes and new homes and new jobs and... good.  So much good.  And my heart is thrilled thinking of all of it.  Sometimes life is amazingly wonderful and I love that there are people in my life that much amazingness has happened to and that even in a small way I have been able to share their joy. 

Yet, in the midst of all the thanks and happy and good, part of my heart is very heavy.  In my circle of family and friends there has also been loss and pain and heartache.  So much heartache.  Some have experienced hideous, catastrophic loss that takes my breath away when I think of it.  Others have endured one shitty thing after another piling up, to the point that they wonder if things will ever turn around.  Sometimes life is horrifically awful and I hate that there is nothing I can do to ease their heartache.  I hate that all I can do is keep a place in my heart where their pain is neither forgotten nor trivialized.

So, while I anticipate this holiday weekend with joy and and thankfulness in my heart, these are tempered with lament for the anguish of others. My heart will give thanks and celebrate the good and my heart will hurt for my friends and family whose thankfulness is eclipsed by pain.  My heart will be filled with thanksgiving, but also with hopes of peace and comfort for those enduring heartache and with prayers for them for better days ahead. 

Sink or Swim

In her sermon titled “The Shepherd’s Flute,” Barbara Brown Taylor begins by telling the story of when her husband and a friend were going duck hunting in the friend‘s boat. When they arrived at the boat dock, they discovered that the boat had come untied and was floating away. As much as they tried to reach if from the riverbank, the current carried it away and the friend eventually had to shed his hunting gear, jump in the frigid water, and swim out to get the boat. They both agreed it should be the friend to take the plunge because it was the friend’s boat.

The second story is about two friends who parked in a parking garage and the driver accidentally bumped the car next to him as he was exiting his car. The driver of the other car jumped out and began yelling, despite that there was no damage. The first driver’s friend got out of the car to diffuse the situation, but the irate car owner told him to stay out of it as the dispute didn't involve him.  To which the friend replied, “When you’re talking to my friend, you’re talking to me.”

Later she goes on to explain the following, which I have been thinking about all weekend:

All in all, we are warned away from getting involved in other people’s problems. Parents teach us to mind our own business and let other people mind theirs. Therapists call it “trespassing boundaries,” or “ co-dependence,” and they have a point. Sometimes our ownership of others’ problems ends up crippling both them and us, by eroding our responsibility for our own lives.  When we make a habit of rescuing other people, we prevent them from learning about the consequences of their actions. We help them keep illusions about themselves, and we get to be heroes in the bargain, but it is not good for them or for us. Everybody deserves a chance to fail.  It is how we learn to be human.

But we also deserve to have someone in our lives who will say, “When you’re talking to him, you’re talking to me,” someone who will tear her clothes off and dive into the water when what is disappearing down the river happens to be us. That is not “ co-dependence.”  That is agape, self-giving love, the kind of love the good shepherd practices and the kind he teaches.

In reading this, I began to think of how much I appreciate the people in my life who have been there for me, to swim after me and keep me from disappearing down the river. But I also realized how ill-equipped many of us are, myself included, to be that person who is diving in, reaching out, standing in, or pulling someone back to shore. We don’t know what to do, aren't sure of our ability to swim, aren't sure exactly of how to help. We stand by either hoping (or praying) for them to save themselves or we end up offering assistance that doesn't really meet their need.

I know it’s not really fair and I know it feels like other people should know what we need, but if we’re being berated by life or struggling to stay afloat, we need to say something to the panicked onlookers. Tell them that we need them to yell back, to pull us in, or to just tread water with us while we get our bearings. If they are trying to put together a rowing team to come out and get us, but what we need is for them to remind us that we are an excellent swimmer and to simply cheer us on, we should try to tell them that. If someone wants to take revenge and shout back at the bully but we just need them to stand quietly by our side, say that. It is easy to think that the people who care about us should instinctively know how to support us. But people process and approach situations differently. What they are offering may seem like the best idea to them, but may be hurting us.

Again, it isn't fair and I know sometimes we may not have the strength to fully explain what we need, but, if at all possible, I really think we need to try. I’m speaking just as much to myself here as I am to anyone else.  It may make all the difference between sinking or making it back to shore.

How Christians Should be More Like Atheists (or How an Atheist Helped Save My Faith)

Once upon a time, I was a good Christian girl.  Somewhere along the way, I began to realize that a lot of what I'd been told about God and Christianity and how I was supposed to "live out my faith" was complete bullshit.  It pisses me off to realize that a lot of what I’d been told was actually made up as a way to control others or make money.

I know I've written about my struggle with this process previously; yet what I haven't written about till now is the eclectic mix of people who threw me life preservers and kept me company while I was floundering, struggling to keep my head above water – trying to figure out not only how to swim, but if I really wanted to be in the water in the first place.  I was fortunate enough to find several beautiful souls in some seemingly unlikely places.  Someday, I may write about the others if I feel they might not mind it, but today I'm going to write about my friend Kara.

Late one night as I was randomly looking at blogs, I stumbled on one that was decently interesting and read a few posts.  When I looked at the blog roll and spotted "Answering the Apocalypse” listed there, I clicked over to it.  What I found was some of the most honest, witty, sarcastic, entertaining, and heart-wrenching writing I have ever read.  I have to share her "About Me" description here so you can see why her blog caught my eye:

I am a currently underemployed writer/graduate school dropout who has no idea how to pave a path for herself in life. In addition, I am an "out" atheist, I don't want children, and I am nowhere near as financially independent as I would like to be. And, no, I don't think that my lack of direction, my dislike of children, or the absence of money in my life will be improved by accepting Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior, although I guess it would take care of the atheism.

I literally laughed out loud.  This chick is seriously funny and seriously self-effacing in the most endearing way.  She is sharper than most other people I've met, yet she realizes that her flaws make her just as human as anyone else.  I spent my free time over the next few days reading all of her old posts.  I tried several times to leave a comment, but something about my browser settings wouldn't let me.  I finally gave up trying and sent her an email.  We struck up an email friendship, which quickly became chatting and commiserating almost daily.

I genuinely appreciate Kara and her friendship is invaluable to me.   For over three years now, she has been one of those people in my life to whom I could honestly say ANYTHING and know she was not going to judge me or hold it against me or be offended.  She was there for me -- with just the right mix of support, questions, rants, dialogue, and silence -- while I struggled with the incongruity between what I'd been told I should believe and what I saw with my own eyes, felt in my own experience, and read for myself in the Bible.  She would encourage me to see things from other perspectives without ever once pressuring me to change my beliefs to match hers.

While I don't like to tell people what to do or how they should act, after thinking about this for quite a while, I am going to share a few of the things I've learned from my atheist friend that I honestly believe Christians should take to heart.

1. Accept that it is okay for people to be different from you.  Christians seem to talk a lot about loving everyone and "meeting people where they are."  Sadly, we are often so preoccupied with our small groups, purity programs, and hating the sin but loving the sinner, that we fail to realize that none of those things show we can handle it if another person’s life experience does not allow them to see things the way we do.  Kara and I have very different backgrounds, but she never made a big deal of our differences or acted like I needed to be more like her to be worthy of her friendship. That attitude is much more like the attitude of Christ than what I typically see from a lot of Christians.

2. Stop being scared of questions.  Jesus almost always answered questions with questions or with stories that led to more questions.  I know from experience how the certainty that we have the right answers makes us seem haughty and arrogant, because I have been treated that way many times.  Life is messy and full of questions.  We don’t have all the answers and pretending that we do is living a lie.  I don’t know how many times I've started a conversation with Kara with “I don’t understand…” but those conversation almost always lead me to a place of meaning.  I may still have the same questions, but discussing them with someone who never made me feel like I should have it all figured out opened my eyes to the vastness of God’s love and the realization that he doesn't expect me to know it all either.

3. Stop acting like you have it all together.  You don’t.  None of us do.  Be a real person.  People can spot an agenda from a mile away.  No one wants to be your project.  In I Samuel 16, we are told, “The Lord does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”  Look at the heart of others and wear your own heart on your sleeve a little.  One of the most refreshing things about talking to Kara is that I knew she would tell me what she was really thinking and respectfully admit if she disagreed with me.  We need to accept who we are, regardless of who others think we should be, but we also need to allow those we come in contact with to be who they are.

4. Never tell someone they shouldn't feel how they feel.  Open your eyes and look at the reality of the world around you.  There is real pain.  There is real suffering.  Abandon your slogans, church-sign zingers, and clichés.  Those things not only trivialize real heartache, but they also make you seem like an ass. You do not know exactly what it is like to live someone else's life.  From your perspective, the other person may not actually have it so bad, but how is that helpful to someone who is having a really difficult time?  Proverbs 14 tells us "Each heart knows its own bitterness, and no one else can share its joy."  I cannot tell you how much it helped knowing that if I told Kara how much trouble I was having with something, she would agree that it sucked instead of telling me what a terrible person I was for thinking I had it bad when there were women being persecuted in Iran.

5. Show up.  Be there.  Don’t shy away from the things that challenge you and your world view.  My friend Kara has been hurt by Christians in the past.  "Christians" used their "biblical world view" to verbally attack her, to judge her, and belittle her.  Yet she never asked me to stop talking to her about my own beliefs and where I was in my journey.  I’m sure there were times it would have been easier for her to tell me she couldn't handle my baggage, that she’d had more than her fair share of Christian rhetoric, and to please talk about something else.  But she didn't   She kept telling me that I’m smart, that I will figure it out, that I will be okay.  It’s easier to back away when we don’t want to get our hands dirty with someone else’s issues, but that isn't what we are supposed to do.  Roll up your sleeves.  Offer a your hands to help, your ears to listen, and your shoulder to cry on.

These are just a few of the things, but I am sure I could go on and on.  My main point here is that when I was standing on the edge of losing not only my faith in God, but also my faith in myself, there was someone there for me who doesn't even believe God is real.  She loved me for who I was, for where I was, and helped me pick up the pieces.  She stood by patiently while I put them back together in a way that allowed me the beginning of an understanding I'd never imagined possible.  Regardless of your beliefs (or non-belief), I think there is something there we can all learn from.  With her unconditional acceptance and constant encouragement, an Atheist helped me salvage my faith.  Imagine how different things would be if more Christians treated other people with the same warmth, respect, consideration, and love.

Stirring

I owe a great debt to Barbara Brown Taylor. I've never met her, but I have been irrevocably changed by her words.  I'm working my way through her books, experiencing a sort of rebirth as they pierce my heart.  When I read her thoughts, I feel something I haven't felt in a long time.... a stirring in my spirit.  It's something that, if I'm honest, I had thought I may never feel again.

I know I've written before about my conservative upbringing and how, over the past few years, I've diverged from that upbringing quite a bit.  I would imagine that at least part of my experience is similar to anyone who has been raised in a certain tradition, become disillusioned with that tradition, and then found themselves feeling lost and unsure of how the frame their life from there. The process has been extremely awkward, like some kind of spiritual adolescence.

At the beginning of this experience, I was focused on shedding the old beliefs, walking away from where I was before.  It was painful and difficult, as I was not sure how much of the old had to be stripped away. I doubted everything.  I was worried that clinging to too much would feel like being weighed down with baggage.  I think once I'd made up my mind that I no longer believed so much of what I'd grown up thinking, the old way seemed bad.  I was so frustrated with my "before" that I began to see most of it as wrong.

Some of those "before" things had to do with how easy it is to have the appearance of certain aspects of faith, without really "meaning" any of it.  It is ridiculously simple to go through the motions of many faith traditions because you know people are watching you and expecting you to behave a specific way, yet without any of it changing your life.

Once I realized that I did not "mean" some of these things, I didn't know how my faith experience should look.  At the risk of being associated with some of my old ways of thinking, I restricted any faith experience to philosophical discussions with people I deemed safe and I kept everything else to myself.  When I did try to open up to people outside my safe little circle about what I was going through, I can see now that it had to seem like I was lashing out -- not from my own struggles (as was the reality), but at those people for not being in the same place as me.

I've only recently begun to feel that I'm moving away from that into a new realization of my faith.  This involves the awareness that I must have grace for the faith process of others which may or may not lead them down the same path I've traveled.  It also includes having grace for my own process.  This has been a long time coming, but I feel like I'm right there, on the cusp of freedom.  I can think and believe what my own journey has taught me while accepting others right where they are.  I can understand and appreciate that the minds of others work differently, based on their personalities and life experiences and environment.

Thanks to my introduction to Barbara Brown Taylor (as well as to several other authors and bloggers), I'm realizing that I am not alone and that growing to a new place doesn't have to mean abandoning my faith out of distaste for some of the ways I had framed it in the past.  Neither does it mean rejecting others who may still be where I was before and may never be where I am now. I can be cognizant  that the right place for me is not necessarily the right place for everyone else, and vice-versa. 

In her book, "Leaving Church" Ms. Taylor discusses that when your journey takes you to a place away from your roots, it can be difficult, but freeing.  It also allows you to connect with people you otherwise would have been completely isolated from. Life on the fringe of your tradition can be scary and lonely, or it can be rich and affirming.  We don't have to rely on clichés and dogma; we can be at peace with uncertainty.  She explains:

I have learned to prize holy ignorance more highly than than religious certainty and to seek companions who have arrived at the same place.  We are a motley crew, distinguished not only by our inability to explain ourselves to those who are more certain of their beliefs than we are but in many cases by our distance from the centers of our faith communities.... This wilderness experience sets up a real dilemma for some of us, since we know how much we owe to the traditions that shaped us.  We would not be who we are without them, and we continue to draw real sustenance from them...

I will keep faith - in God and in God's faith in me, and in all the companions whom God has given me to help me see the world as God sees it.... We may be in for a long wait before the Holy Spirit shows us a new way to be the church together, but in the meantime there is nothing to prevent us from enjoying the breeze of those bright wings.

 All this is to say that I feel like my spirit is emerging from the dark place where it has languished for so long.  This isn't any sort of Now-I've-Arrived statement, but more an attempt to convey the hope I feel that I'm catching glimpses of a way forward. Connecting with the stories of others has contributed to this hope and given me a sense of belonging.  I find myself reaching for my Bible and feeling my spirit stir as I find new meaning in passages that had seemed flat and confusing before.  I know I have a long, long way to go.  I know this journey will likely take me to places I would never expect, and that a year from now (or even tomorrow) I could look back on these words and wonder what the hell I was thinking.

I'm still questioning and learning and growing and emerging and changing.  I don't know where I will end up or if I will at some point feel like I'm back where I started.  But, for now, I feel like the pieces of my tradition are coming back together in a way that awakens my spirit.

And for that, I am grateful.

Girlfriends

When I was growing up, I really only had a few friends.  These friends were my BFFs and I loved them and spent as much time with them as possible.  We did everything together and were always trying to coerce our parents into letting us spend more time together.

Of course, as invariably happens with girls, things change.  Families move, we grow up, new BFFs come and go.  It's difficult not to take these changes personally.  She likes her more than me, spends more time with her than me, is more like her than I am, gets to hang out with her more than I do.  There are so many questions.  What did I do wrong?  What should I have done/said/given/been to keep her as my friend?  Losing a friend from childhood or those awkward tween/teen years can be devastating.

As an adult, I've been lucky enough to acquire some new "BFFs," if you will.  Girls who are there for me, accept me, encourage me, inspire me, and are kind enough to share their lives with me.  One of the big things I've learned from them is that having friends who have plenty of other friends is wonderful.  There is so much freedom in knowing your friend is not dependent on you for everything and that you have at least several other people you can call if necessary.  Conversely, it is wonderful to not feel like you are imposing too much on one friend or expecting too much of one friend.

A couple years ago I started hosting some parties at my house I call "Girlfriend Appreciation Parties."  I invited friends from growing-up and work and church and other random places I meet people.  I wasn't really sure of what to expect when I started doing it, but it has become something wonderful.  Sometimes I have ten to fifteen people show up.  Last night, I had only three guests.  Regardless of how many or how few ladies attend, one thing I always come back to after one of these parties is how nice it is to spend time talking and laughing with other women.

I've come to realize how important is this interaction and conversation and confession and commiseration. We may be very different or pretty similar.  We may be mothers or not mothers, employees or SAHMs, not that far out of high school or surprised at how long ago we graduated from college.  But we are all women, so what we have in common almost always outweighs our differences.

I've so loved getting to know the ladies who show up and gaining this appreciation for having a variety of friends.   No, every friend you make is not going to be a kindred spirit or inseparable companion.  But there is nothing wrong with that.  In fact, it's a wonderful thing.  I now realize that even if a girl isn't your best friend or even a very good friend, you can appreciate each other and learn from each other and support each other.  You can drink a glass of wine together and shoot the breeze over whatever you may happen to have in common.  You can offer each other the gift of time and understanding.  No pressure.  No expectations.  Just offering each other the time to talk and discuss and share mutual fears and laugh.  And, even if this only happens occasionally (or even once) between you, you're all better for it.

Friend Quota

"Since there is nothing so well worth having as friends,

never lose a chance to make them."

- Francesco Guicciardini

Am I the only one who feels like a lot of people have some sort of pre-determined "friend quota?" I don't know. Maybe it's me. Maybe I'm just not that funny or not that nice. Maybe I'm too weird or too silly. Maybe. Or maybe it really is what I think it is, that some people have reached their quota of friends and no matter how great the two of you seem to hit it off, they just don't have any more room in their lives for additional friends.

I don't mean this in any sort of desperate "I need more friends" kind of way. I actually have plenty of friends. It's just that sometimes I meet people and we seem to talk easily and we have kids the same age and feel the same about a lot of things. These are the kind of people who say things like, "We really have to get together again soon!" when we part, without me even bringing it up. And then? Nothing. I may even try to invite them over once or twice and they say they are busy but would love to get together soon. And they will let me know when. And I never hear from them.

Now, I'm pretty busy. I work full-time and have a husband and two crazy boys. My parents and my sis live nearby, so I spend a lot of time with them. There are friends who I consider very dear to me, with whom I always have a blast when we hang out, but who I can only get together with every few months or so. I guess I just don't feel like I have to be talking to someone or seeing them all the time for us to be friends, even GOOD friends. I really don't like to talk on the phone, but I usually keep up with people enough via Facebook, instant messaging, and text that I feel I have a decent idea of what is going on in their life, yet I'm not so involved in every second of their days that we have nothing to talk about when we see each other in person.

Is that it? Is it maybe because I can go a while without talking to someone and still consider them important in my life? Or maybe it's that I don't actually believe in the whole "BFF" thing. I don't have a BFF. I have my "person," my younger sister Tiffiny who I have a special connection with in a lot of ways, but I just don't like feeling as though I have to limit my interactions with friends by assigning labels. I think we need multiple people in our lives, who communicate in different ways and have different interests. I don't want my friends to all be the same as me. I just want us to have enough in common that we can really enjoy each other and be understanding enough that we can appreciate each other's differences.

I have no idea where I'm going with this. Now I'm just rambling. But seriously, has anyone else noticed this with some people or is it just me?

Distractions

I know it has been forever since I've written. I blame my third-of-life crisis. I'm mad that I know what I want to be when I grow up, but I can't be that and instead I'm being something else. I can barely tolerate all the office politics and stupidness that consume my job right now. I was talking with my friend Irena today about how much time work sucks up out of our weeks and it was completely depressing. Despite that there were years in the past that I was working two jobs, weekends included, I don't remember feeling this way back then. She feels same way and thinks it's because we had goals then, biding our time till we graduated college, moved away, got married, or whatever was the next step then and we thought our real lives would begin soon.

Now that our real lives are here, we realize that we're kind of trapped. And that makes it almost unbearable. It's nice to have a distraction.

Tonight, my distraction came in the form of a long-time friend's wedding. She looked gorgeous and happy and I am ecstatic for her that she has found someone who treats her the way she deserves. My husband couldn't attend with me because of work, so I met up with my dear friend from forever, her husband, and a friend from back in my working-all-the-time phase. There is something so refreshing and almost soul-cleansing about spending time with people you spent so much time with in your past. People who knew you back when you were an awkward teenager and then college student, trying to figure it all out, and who still embrace you as a grown-up once you've all realized you will never have it all figured out.

I'm not really sure of what else to say about it. I love those moments when you are completely comfortable in the company of people who really know you. This night could not have happened at a better time.

Come on Eileen

It's so funny how songs you don't even like can just stick with you and bring up memories at the oddest times. Tonight I was at happy hour with some friends. The place was really loud so I couldn't hear the music.... until I walked into the ladies room. The speakers in the ladies room were screaming the song "Come on Eileen."

"Come on Eileen, well I swear (what he means) At this moment you mean EV-ER-Y-THING!!....."

Ah, memories. Every single time I hear that song, I'm nineteen again and it's 12 AM and I'm closing at work and trying to finish my tasks while that song is blaring out of the dish washing area. Blaring over and over and over again because whoever is washing dishes gets to choose the music and my friend and co-worker who I closed with a lot at that time always chose that song. I can still see her, soap suds clinging to her forearms, carrying the heavy chili crocks out to put them away while singing under her breath.

The place I worked starting my senior year of high school and on breaks all the way through college was the same place most of my friends worked. Some of my favorite memories from those days were from work. It adds another layer to your friendship to work late, side-by-side, commiserating about lousy tips and annoying customers while mopping and scrubbing crocks. And my friends all having a certain song or band or radio station they always liked to listen to just added another layer to the memories. Whether it was Barenaked Ladies, Aerosmith, "Mickey," or 103.9 The Edge (before Pizza Hut sued them and they became "The X"), I will always associate that music with those friends and that job and those times. And that is not a bad thing, even if I can't stand "Come on Eileen."

Seasons

Spring, summer, and fall fill us with hope; winter alone reminds us of the human condition.
-Mignon McLaughlin

I've been thinking a lot about seasons. Partly because we are in the miserable midst of my least favorite season, but also because of how much things always change. I don't think I'm ready to fully explore this topic in my blog, but it is something that has been on my mind a lot the last few weeks. There are some things that are so important to do or experience for a while, but then you realize you are overstaying your welcome and it is time to move on. Sometimes the moving on is easier than at other times, but trying to stay in a season when it is over can cause you more heartache than it's worth.

I think that even in the things that are consistent in our lives, we experience seasons. In a new relationship or new friendship, you want to spend a lot of time talking and getting to know that person. You want to know all about them -- how they approach life, their memories, their quirks, their strengths, and their weaknesses. But as the relationship matures, you move past that foundational season. If it is a lasting relationship, you've already spent the time energy to create the basis from which future interactions will grow.

In a way this is comforting, but it can also be disconcerting until you learn to trust that the foundation you've established will be able to withstand the move to a new season. Sometimes it can't, and you have to come to terms with the fact that your relationship was only for a season. But when your relationship proves that it can withstand a transition, you can begin to add new dimensions to it that will only enrich it over time.

I do have more on this, but I'm still working it out for my self. When I'm ready, I'll post more, but this is what I have for now.

Sometimes

Sometimes you just really need a good laugh or good cry or a good scream or a good, stiff drink. Sometimes you know you need one of those things and you just have to wait for the right time. Sometimes you don't even realize how much you need one of those things until the moment hits. I found out tonight that I really needed a good laugh and the moment hit and it was delicious.

My sister and her husband came over for dinner tonight. After dinner and hanging out a while we turned on the TV. Despite that we have satellite television and more channels than anyone could possibly need, there was nothing on. Well, nothing except shows on Food Network. We started watching 'Dinner:Impossible' and the challenge was to create a meal for Mattel VIPs for Barbie's 50th birthday. All the food had to be super tiny -- Barbie size. It was quite amusing.

My brother-in-law has to get up early so they had to leave half-way through the show. My sister jokingly asked me to please let her know how it turned out. I'm not even sure how it started, but we started acting out how it would look if Barbie were trying to eat the food. She was a straight-arm Barbie and I was one with bent elbows. It was so silly and funny and stupid and we were laughing SO HARD! Our husbands were just looking at us like we were completely crazy (for the record, we are only mostly crazy). The thought crossed my mind, "It feels really good to laugh like this."

I love moments like that. Moments you aren't really expecting, but you just embrace them when they happen no matter how silly or crazy they may be. I'm so thankful for my sister and that we 'get' each other and can have those moments. I feel like I've been so stressed and deep in thought all the time lately, trying to figure out all the stuff I have going on in my head. A good laugh was exactly what I needed.

1 Corinthians 13:8-10 in Two Translations

"Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears." (NIV)

"Love never dies. Inspired speech will be over some day; praying in tongues will end; understanding will reach its limit. We know only a portion of the truth, and what we say about God is always incomplete. But when the Complete arrives, our incompletes will be canceled." (The Message)

1 Corinthians 13 is arguably one of the most well known passages in the Bible. We've all heard it in numerous sermons and quotes, as well as in more wedding ceremonies than we can count. Many people are familiar with it. I even considered 'The Message' version of verse 13 'Love Extravagantly' for a tattoo (but eventually settled on just the word 'Love' to represent many 'love' passages, Colossians 3:14 specifically). I still think 1 Corinthians 13 is quite meaningful, despite that it is overused and over-quoted.

Anyway, I was looking for something else, but noticed this line in 'The Message' version of verse 9 "what we say about God is always incomplete" and I've been repeating it over and over in my mind. I think this is a great balance to my near-obsession with the verse in I Peter 3 that states "Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have." I've been driving myself a little crazy about that, because despite my studying and praying, I still often find myself at at loss for words when it comes to talking about my faith.


I'm certainly not taking "what we say about God is always incomplete" as an excuse to stop searching and studying and practicing and trying, but I think the realization of it has reminded me of God's grace a little and made me realize that when we try to use mortal, finite, earthly words to discuss the immortal, the infinite, the heavenly... well... there is always going to be more that you just can't express.


I was thinking about these two verses this morning and thinking about how it's like the difference of knowing someone or knowing about them. Take my friend Shanen, for example. I can tell you about her, that she is brilliant and caring and beautiful and fun and funny. I can tell you that she has the most compassionate, open heart and that you always feel better about yourself after talking with her. I can tell you that she looks like the love-child of Niki Taylor and Faith Hill. I can tell you that she has been through some really terrible and difficult circumstances in her life, but despite that, her faith remains steadfast. Yes, she sounds like a pretty great person and I know that she is because I know her. But chances are, anyone reading this doesn't know what a great person she is because you don't know her. Anything I say about her will be incomplete for you because you don't have that relationship with her to fill in the gaps between my words about her and who she actually is. (And for those of you who might be lucky enough to know her, you know that what I've said about her doesn't fully express what an amazing person she is.)


I know this probably seems completely elementary, and that something like this has probably been said many times. But for me, for right now, this is a big deal. The more I know about God, the easier it will be for me to talk about him. But there will always be that bit of incomplete unless I'm talking to someone who knows him.

I've been working on this post for days now. I guess it's fitting that I can't seem to wrap it up. I'll just leave it.


in·com·plete
adjective
Definition:
1. lacking part: lacking something such as a particular part that should be present or available
2. unfinished: not yet finished or fully developed

Connections

Before I launch in to my rambling, I just want to note that I do realize I touched on this subject very briefly in an old post, but I've been thinking about it a lot more this week and felt I needed to explore it more fully. Plus, I wrote a poem last night and the following stream of consciousness leads up to that.

I know that I am not 'normal'. I have lots of idiosyncrasies that I try to keep in check when I'm around people I don't know. It's difficult to do that. I've been thinking about how much I question the way my quirky-ness translates in my interactions with other people. There are a few people I seem to 'click' with. People who aren't scared away by my strange comments and the fact that I have a hard time being serious in person. There are plenty of people I don't 'click' with. This is understandable. Some people are boring and only like other boring people.

But sometimes I think I have made a new friend and then it just doesn't seem to work out and I find myself wondering... did I say or do something to make that person not call me back or not respond to my email? In the past, I would wrack my brain trying to figure out if I'd said something or done something they could have considered rude or offensive. Now I'm beginning to realize that sometimes you just don't click with certain people, no matter how much it seems like you should. Not that you wouldn't make small talk with them in a social situation, but for some reason, you just don't connect on that deeper friendship level. Even if it seems you have everything (or even just a lot of things) in common with that person. I've met people with an almost identical upbringing to mine, people with kids the same age and gender as mine, people with the same beliefs as mine.... and we just didn't connect.

I was thinking about the few close friends I've made since I became an adult (well, since I graduated college). If someone were to write up a brief description of each one of us and print it out, you wouldn't read it and guess us to be friends. But when you look deeper, I think you'd see that it's not those three or four big things that make people friends.... it's the million smaller things that form the true understandings. When you look at those smaller things and really get to know the person, you can understand where they stand on the big ticket issues and appreciate their point of view and accept it even if it is strikingly different from your own.

I guess I'm just seeing that it really is fine to not connect with some people regardless of how much sense it makes at first. No one needs to feel bad about it and the worst thing you can do is to try to force it to happen when it obviously isn't working out. Your true friends should be people you feel comfortable with. People with whom you each feel the freedom to express your thoughts or feelings about something without worrying the friendship will end. The people you always have a million things to you want to tell them, but it's okay to just be together and talk about nothing. It's something you can't create or force. It just happens. And when it does, there are few things better.


(needs work, but go with it.....)

You know when it's there
because of all the times it was absent.
An easy back-and-forth.
Plenty to say, but never needing to say it.
The understanding...
a small part of one belonging to part of the other.
The few glaring differences fade
as thousands of little similarities
come to light.
Suddenly realizing you can't
remember not knowing.
And you don't want to.

Keeping Up

I lose track of people. I feel terrible about this. Or, I did until recently. I would have friends I'd made through one of my many part-time jobs through college or through one of my second jobs I had when Ryan went back to school. We'd see each other so often and get to know each other and then one of us would quit and after a few texts or emails.... nothing. There are also college friends, friends-of-friends, cubical mates who it seemed we really had a connection, but then when we didn't have to see each other every day the friendship just faded away. I used to feel guilty about it when something would remind me of one of these people, but I've really come to realize that's just the way life is. You are not going to be friends with all your friends for all your life.

But... the people I actually do keep up with.... I wish there were a word better than 'appreciate' for how I feel about them. I had a get-together tonight with four girls I grew up with. One, I've known since kindergarten, and the others we accumulated along the way. There is something about sitting in a room with people who knew you before you were who you are and the freedom to talk to them about anything and everything that is absolutely amazing. There is no pretending you don't have baggage. There is no embarrassment that you were completely wrong about how you thought your life would turn out. They knew you when you were an awkward adolescent and they liked you anyway. There is little you can do to shock or offend them. I wish everyone had that.

We don't see each other as often as we'd like. We all keep up with each other in varying degrees in the in-between times. We all have such different lives.... one single, one newlywed, two full-time moms, me.... so it might seem that memories would be the only things to unite us. That is surprisingly not the case. Sure, when we get together there are lots of "Oh yeah, I remember that... and then you...." conversations, but we also talk about now and what we're dealing with and our families and our frustrations and our successes. I love those girls.


I think tonight was a good reminder to me that there is a reason you keep up with some people. Not that those you lose track of are not great people or weren't good friends, but there has to be more to that bond than just showing up at the same place several times a week and having a few things in common. Keeping up with someone requires that you have created a place for them in your life outside of the circumstances of your meeting. Keeping up requires that you keep that place open for them regardless of how often or little you are able to see them. Keeping up with those people to whom you've granted one of those places is probably one of the best things you can do for yourself.