Years pass and memories fade. And then comes a lunch invitation with the hope of reconnecting with someone I once knew. I wonder if our friendship will take up where it left off, wherever that was. Does my friend regard me the same way that I think of her? We have each undoubtedly moved on to other friends that fulfill our needs. Can we still make room for each other?
It brings me comfort to think that I am known by someone. And yet it is a misleading notion since we are not images in frames on a wall, frozen in time. We live. We breathe. We move into our ever-changing beings, becoming at times even unrecognizable to ourselves.
Sometimes I will think back to how I first met someone and reflect on my initial impression. I retrace our shared journey on a well-worn map in my mind. Spending time at someone's home reveals more about the person than his or her favorite colors or the ability to purchase quality furnishings. There are tell-tale signs of children--toys that have not found their way back to the toy box, muddy soccer cleats by the door, clothes en route to the laundry room--or the equally apparent lack of children, quietly filling a room with the emptiness of a woman's longing to turn the office into a nursery.
A weekend trip to the beach in which each woman is encouraged to share her story can launch a friendship into an intimate place with lightning speed. An invitation into someone's deepest heartaches opens a door that does not close easily. Celebrations open all of the windows. And with each opening of space into someone's life comes the knowing that something mystical is at work, forging a relationship in a way that requires more than human will.
Given all of that, I promised myself to hold it together and wait until my friend responded to me so I would know how to respond to her. Joy spread across our faces as we exited our vehicles and walked toward each other in a restaurant parking lot. There we embraced and openly wept in each other's arms. We could have pretended that it was not that big of a deal. We are grown women, after all, and each have active lives in which we are counted on to show leadership ability and professional conduct. But we chose instead to live, for that moment, in a very sacred space.
It brings me comfort to think that I am known by someone. And yet it is a misleading notion since we are not images in frames on a wall, frozen in time. We live. We breathe. We move into our ever-changing beings, becoming at times even unrecognizable to ourselves.
Sometimes I will think back to how I first met someone and reflect on my initial impression. I retrace our shared journey on a well-worn map in my mind. Spending time at someone's home reveals more about the person than his or her favorite colors or the ability to purchase quality furnishings. There are tell-tale signs of children--toys that have not found their way back to the toy box, muddy soccer cleats by the door, clothes en route to the laundry room--or the equally apparent lack of children, quietly filling a room with the emptiness of a woman's longing to turn the office into a nursery.
A weekend trip to the beach in which each woman is encouraged to share her story can launch a friendship into an intimate place with lightning speed. An invitation into someone's deepest heartaches opens a door that does not close easily. Celebrations open all of the windows. And with each opening of space into someone's life comes the knowing that something mystical is at work, forging a relationship in a way that requires more than human will.
Given all of that, I promised myself to hold it together and wait until my friend responded to me so I would know how to respond to her. Joy spread across our faces as we exited our vehicles and walked toward each other in a restaurant parking lot. There we embraced and openly wept in each other's arms. We could have pretended that it was not that big of a deal. We are grown women, after all, and each have active lives in which we are counted on to show leadership ability and professional conduct. But we chose instead to live, for that moment, in a very sacred space.
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