F is for Friendship

For the past few Sunday evenings, I’ve attended Newtonbreda Baptist with my friends. And, afterward, gone out for ice cream before landing back in my living room.

Have I mentioned that I am now the sole Lady of the Manor these days? I’ve got to admit: it feels pretty good.

It also feels good to have friends to host.

Last evening, we sat around chatting and, randomly, one of the guys decided it was a good idea to have a circle of testimonies time (while I pinterested one of the girl’s hair).

It was pretty fitting, since the morning message at Vineyard was about the power of sharing stories. On 

Easter, as they did baptisms, each person had a friend read aloud the baptee’s cliffnotes spiritual journey.

I cried pretty steadily through the whole thing. The power and encouragement which comes from hearing of 

God’s good work is more than emotional walls can withstand.

So we went around the circle and shared our spiritual journey with Jesus.

Stories and handwriting are similar.

I’ve got this handwriting analysis book (no memory of where I got it or why I have it) that I used to use to casually analyse the handwriting of my friends. It’s pretty dead on, surprisingly. Or, rather, not surprisingly. Either way.

It’s part of why I miss letters. 70% of communication is non-verbal. Emails and type face just don’t get across the same kinds of things a pen can.

When people tell their story, the way in which they construct it reveals just as much about them as the content. It also demonstrates their level of comfortability with their cohorts and with themselves.

What do they include? Are they jittery when they speak? Eye contact? Tone? Do they even share at all?

For an hour or so, I got to hear the honest hearts of my friends as they told of heartbreaks and inconsistencies and screwups and the desperate knowledge of their need for Jesus. It amazed me yet again of how different we, as humans, all are. And at the same time, how very similarly we fall apart.The circumstances may all be different (or eerily similar), but all people hurt the same. We're pretty fragile things. 

Every day here I all more in love with Jesus and this country and these friendships.

And there’s a part of me that wonders how and why I didn’t have these people 8 months ago when I was so desperate for them. At the same time, I maintain that I would have been incapable of engaging in their friendship. Emotionally unavailable, as someone once told me.

Day by day, I come more alive and my spirit more free. There’s still that voice and my calendar which remind me of the tick tick ticking of my countdown here, but I refuse to live inhibited by the fear of that. I serve a God of anomalies and impossible things. What I have right now is what I thought was an impossible thing. I’m gonna revel in it.

Ain’t that good? Isn’t he just so good?