if i could pick another sister, she would be my pick.
Sitting
I have a close friend who has been going through a major crisis for a while. The kind of crisis that makes you hold on to people longer when you hug them and makes you look deeper into people’s eyes when you talk to them. One day recently as her crisis continued and deepened I showed up at her house. Mostly because I felt helpless watching life swirl and plunge around her and I wished I could do something. When I got to the door I thought that I should not have come empty handed. Maybe I should have brought a frame with a sentimental verse inscribed on it, or a plant, or at least a Skinny Vanilla Latte.
But when I went inside it was obvious that there was nothing any human could do to change her situation and nothing that I could offer to ease the stress. So we sat. We sat on her beautiful and happy white and yellow flowered couch, each hugging a beautiful yellow pillow as if clinging to the last shred of peace and comfort. As decades-old friends who have known each other through the parades and storms of life, we talked. A little about the crisis at hand, a lot about who God is, about who God is not, and about who we think we might be discovering God to be. We cried sorrowful sobs together and laughed meaty laughs together and talked about books, kids, our high school days, and we said many remember when’s and we sat in deep-breath silence together. And somehow, in the middle of all that sitting and talking and being, I found satisfaction, peace and familiar strength. Sometimes I walk through life entirely absorbed in all the hub-bub of pseudo-community and social networking. I love Facebook, but how many of these cyber friends have sat on my couch or I on theirs?
As we sat in the warmth of a comfortable home and a comfortable friendship, my courageous friend let me see the depths of her struggles and the length of her journey. I think crisis’ have the power to make us grow and help us realize stuff. Sometimes about ourselves, sometimes about our friends, and sometimes about the immense beauty of just sitting on a white and yellow flowered couch being real with somebody who has more to offer in the midst of tragedy than she ever expected.
by anjuli
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