What Friendship Requires
Buzzards fly overhead and I stare to the sky with half-open eyes. There isn’t anything dead here, at least not anything I can see right now. The sun is hot, sticky on my skin and makes my chest feel heavy. I can’t decide if I want to stay here, skin boiling practically, or get up and walk over to the shore break. It’s a mixed bag really, there’s the enjoyable warmth that the sun brings to my bones, accompanied by the sting from sitting outside too long.
I haven’t got any water. I should have brought water, sunscreen too. Later my face will be red and blotchy and I’ll be mad when I look in the mirror. I’ll want to put makeup on to balance it out, but it’ll just make it worse and unusually shiny. It’s just ten or so years of pent up frustration from my mom making me reapply every two hours that I’m fighting. Hence, my not having any sort of skin protection.
People play croquet to the right of me. Dirt and curse words fly through the air and I mostly pretend to not notice. To the left is a childhood friend. We grew up in front of each other, went to school and summer camp and homecoming together. We lay quiet for a while; talk at each other about the small details of our lives that we otherwise don’t care about. See, we’re silent, say nothing really.
In my head, there’s a wrestling match. Most of me would like to keep it simple, keep it shallow and silent. To be the girl who I was in high school when we spent more time together. I want to let her keep it all in, don’t want to press into any sort of vulnerability. I want her to feel comfortable. Selfishly, I want to feel comfortable. But there’s a growing part of me that’s not okay with not being real- with not at least asking. These days that part of me wins more often than not; the part of me that believes the light is bigger than the darkness of our hearts. The tension we experience in deciding to live honestly before one another is worth the risk every single day of the week.
Broken people. We’re broken people trying to love God and live lives that count for something. The part of me that wants to help people expose the dark corners of their hearts, the places that no one gets to see, that part wins. The naked feeling we come to know after peeling back the layers of fear and pride isn’t disgusting; in the right hands it frees us to be who we’re called to be.
I guess it’s less of a wrestling match and more of a question of whether or not I’ll be obedient to the call of good friendship. The call to love and care for someone is really just the call to prove love is unconditional.
My head turns slightly towards her. She fidgets with her hat and sips warm from-the-sun green tea. She softly pushes her fire red hair behind her ears- looks so pretty even though it’s hot and she’s sweating and hasn’t got a hint of makeup on. Maybe it’s supposed to be like that. Less work, more pretty.
“How are you?” I ask.
Two months earlier she was engaged for two days. It ended in a flash, in one conversation. Give me the ring back, it’s over. Heavy tears come down her face and she makes no effort to hide. It’s stunning, her willingness to show pain like that, to be a real human like that. This is the first time I’ve ever seen her cry. Have known her since middle school and not once have I seen her cry.
She says, “I didn’t know I was capable of hurting someone so much. I’ve never seen a man cry so hard- didn’t know they could cry so much. He just sobbed.” Regret comes out with every word. “My mom says I wanted a way out of the relationship and so I found a way out.”
She stops talking and I keep staring. Never, in my whole life, have I better understood what the Gospel means as I do in these moments- that He came to make us clean despite all we’ve done. Never have I wanted to listen so well, to let every word sink into my head and heart. Sin is met with a great love that sees no wrong. In the person of Jesus we find ourselves judged not as we deserve. The Gospel of grace is about getting what we don’t deserve, every minute of every day.
Silence builds and I stare towards the water.
Her body seems so small, lying on the towel, a bit lifeless too. Usually people compliment her- having lost weight, having grown her hair so long. Now was not the time for compliments.
“Do you feel loved by God?” I ask
After some moments of lingering silence, “Yes. I didn’t two months ago, but I do now.”
I know then that nothing more needs to be said.
