It is a blessing to have friends that love you. It is an even more extraordinary blessing to have friends who all love each other.
I lived with the same girls through most of college and our dearest friends all lived together for much of that time as well. And when I say lived I mean lived. These women were, and still are, like family.
When we moved into our 2 bedroom apartment junior year we decided to cram all the beds into one of the bedrooms, and instead of splitting up groceries we opened a joint checking account with four debit cards. This, for some, might sound like a recipe for disaster. But we somehow made it work beautifully for us. We were knit together.
I am never very sure why these strong bonds were so seamlessly formed. We were...and still are...such very unique women. Yet for all of our obvious differences we are what Anne Shirley calls "kindred spirits."
We sing the same melody, but each plays it out in varying ways. A distinct interpretation of a shared tune, the theme always holding us in harmony.
|My sis and best friends the night before my wedding.|
Last week I got to hear it once again.
On Saturday I stood in a church pew and watched one of my lovely friends walk toward the man who is now her husband. As she walked the organist played "Simple Gifts" and all I could think of was what a gift she was to me. What a gift all the girls seated next to me have been.
It was difficult for me to see her face during the ceremony seated as close as we were. The face I saw most clearly was that of her fiancé. I began to wonder if tradition did this intentionally, seated friends of the bride and groom on those respective sides of the sanctuary not so that they were aligned with their loved one, but so that they could best see the face of the one who was now loving them.
|Zoltan and Rebecca|
I am truly thankful for my friends. I consider them one of my great treasures, something to be cherished. They are not my right, but my privilege. I honestly don't know how I would do life without them.
On a May day in 2005 I stood in our empty apartment. It was quiet and cleaned out, all of our possessions packed up and stored for the summer. I went to the bedroom to grab my suitcase and as I paused between the tiny bare boned bunk beds my eyes filled with tears.
I set my bag on the floor, raised my hands and tilted my head toward the ceiling. Right there, all alone, I sang the doxology.
It was the only appropriate way I knew to thank Him.
In that unusual emptiness of the room I felt extraordinarily full. I still feel full to this day.
|This is my dear friend, Melody, which makes the title of this post even more fitting.|