Friendship

Fifty-Two Weeks of Adventure # 10: Putting a Ring on It

Living abroad can be exciting, but there are some really difficult things about it as well. One of the hardest things is missing out on important events in the lives of the people I love. Our first fall in Korea one of my roommates from college got married. On her wedding day I cried for hours because it felt so wrong not to be there. This week’s adventure is a story of me trying to be involved in the big moments from the other side of the world.

Last summer when I went home to the US for vacation, my best friend, Christina, flew out to my in-laws house to spend the weekend with me. At the time, she had just begun a serious relationship with a guy I’d never met – Andy. In the way of best friends, I knew almost immediately that this was it. He was “the one.” So I dragged her to every jewelry store in the mall and made her try on engagement rings. They’d only been dating for a few months at the time and I never would have done that under ordinary circumstances, but I was about to leave for another year and a lot can happen in a year. I wasn’t about to miss this.

Me and my Christina.

Me and my Christina. Can’t fight a love like ours.

See what I mean? You can totes tell they want to be together forever.

Christina and Andy. Not quite as much love as Christina and me, but you can totes tell they want to be together forever.

It might have been pushy at the time, but I felt pretty validated when Andy started asking me about rings in December. If I’d been there I would have just taken him ring shopping, pointed out what she liked and didn’t like, and graciously tried on as many rings as necessary for him to get a visual. But I was in Korea, so I did the next best thing. I made him a thorough, 20-slide powerpoint complete with quiz questions and prizes that plays Beyonce’s “Single Ladies” throughout the presentation. (Remember, Andy has still never met me in person and so undoubtedly thinks I am a complete freak. Worth it).

Put a ring on it

This is the final slide of the powerpoint I made for Andy. For the record, Christina was not being picky and demanding about the ring. She would have been delighted by anything he picked out. I was the one being picky and demanding.

So I “helped” Andy shop for a few months. There was much conferring. There was much secrecy. Then, a few weeks ago I was skyping with Christina and she said, “I think he’s going to propose soon.” At THAT EXACT MOMENT I got a message from Andy.

“Are you still skyping with C? I have an excellent update.”

“Ring has been purchased. I’m picking it up in an hour.”

I stayed stone-faced like a baller. I deserve an award for this. I have a VERY expressive face.

Last weekend Andy and Christina got engaged. (Hurray!) I knew it would be happening while I was sleeping Saturday night which made me so excited I hardly slept at all.

If I had been there I would have met Christina at the door with champagne and a Brides magazine and I would have taken her to get a manicure the next day. Since I am in dumb Korea (just because everywhere that is not where my friends and family are is dumb at times like this) I had to improvise. Another awesome friend of mine who lives near Christina agreed to act as my agent and got the champagne and the bridal magazine and other goodies and brought them to her apartment while she was out getting engaged. The whole operation was a big success.

Christina's engagement

Didn’t we…er he…do a great job? Look at that bling!

Now to tackle my next trial – obnoxiously inserting myself into every part of the wedding planning that happens in the six months before I get back home. Challenge accepted.

If you have an adventure to share, add your link to the link-up by clicking the button below. You can participate in all of the adventures or you can just do a few – no pressure. If you missed last week’s adventure you can find it here. And if you are new to my Fifty-Two Weeks of Adventure project you can find out more about it here.

Friendship for the Socially Anxious

Today I’m participating in Cara Strickland’s synchroblog on friendship. I thought about reblogging my Friendship in 7 Movements post from last year, but it is long and specific and also, I wanted to do something new.

I’ve never been good at surface friendships. I guess I don’t have a lot of interest in talking about things that don’t matter. I don’t like conversations where you’ve spent an hour talking to someone and walk away feeling like you don’t know one another at all. I want to skip the getting-to-know-you part of the relationships. I want sweatpants and you snorting when you laugh and me accidentally breaking into song without noticing from Day One. But as it turns out, most people don’t want to talk about family histories and their biggest dreams and how afraid they are of being a mother (and, equally, of not being a mother) fifteen minutes after meeting someone.

I’m a classic introvert – I greatly prefer one-on-one interactions to groups of people.  Parties both terrify and exhaust me. Most people would never guess that 9 times out of 10 I have to push myself out the door to keep a social engagement. The night of my junior prom I got all dressed up, hair and makeup done, and promptly burst into tears because I didn’t want to go. I suppose you’d call this social anxiety.

But unlike some introverts I know who fade away into the background at a gathering, I’ve always tried to combat my social anxiety by acting self-assured. Ironically, it is in social settings where I am least comfortable that I am loudest. I try to be the funniest, the friendliest, the most interesting. It’s like watching a train wreck from above where I can’t seem to stop myself from blurting out the first thing that pops into my mind.

Believe me, the irony of trying to make deep connections with people while putting on this party persona is not lost on me. I know that it makes no sense and is even counter-productive. But sometimes I feel like something comes over me and I can’t stop myself even as a part of me watches in horror. I am desperately uncomfortable, but something in my subconscious screams that if I give in and stand quietly against the wall no one will like me and I’ll never have friends. And what could be worse than having no friends?

***

As a child I fell in and out of best-friend-ship on a yearly if not monthly basis.

My problem with friends wasn’t the cattiness or pettiness that ruined so many other playground friendships. It was the intensity I brought to friendship that seemed to overwhelm my peers.

I loved too fiercely. I chose someone and I clung to them with a loyalty that sometimes frightened us both. I wasn’t possessive – wanting to be their only friend—but when I chose someone I longed to show all of myself to them and to have them choose me back. And often, who I was was just too much.

It wasn’t that these friends didn’t like me – they just weren’t prepared to or maybe even capable of putting as much into the friendship as I did. I cared about all of their details. I wanted to show that I loved them by learning as much as I could about them. And inevitably, the day would come when I would realize that I knew all their favorite songs, their middle name, and what kind of sandwich they brought for lunch, but they didn’t even know my favorite color even though I’d told them three times. My feelings would be hurt and they would be freaked out that I had a notebook where I recorded all of their preferences (just kidding!) and we would move on to different friends.

***

Eventually, I learned to be self-protective in my friendships. I learned to expect that others would not love me with the fierceness and loyalty I felt towards them. I learned to guard myself from sharing too much too quickly and from expecting that everyone I chose would choose me too.

And then, in college, I made a new kind of friend – the kind I’d longed for growing up and nearly given up on. I found my people, the ones who will forgive you when you’ve hurt them and will join in when you make up a song about your toothbrush. And I learned something crucial about friendship – you can’t make it happen the way I try to at parties.

True friendships are divine. Yes, they require attention. They require effort. But mostly, they are gifts. Like love letters from God himself.

A friend isn’t a possession. You don’t collect friends like souvenirs from places you’ve been. You can’t make friendship happen. But when one comes your way, you say thank you. You treat that friend like a spectacular sunset or a stunning concerto – you thank God for its beauty and for letting you experience it, even though it’s something you can never wrap your grubby hands around.

I have a friend I’ve known since high school. She’s a few years older than me and we didn’t do a great job of keeping up once she went to college. We have seen each other only a handful of times over the past decade. We don’t talk on the phone. We only occasionally chat online. I try to see her when I’m in town visiting my parents. But she is precious to me beyond words. She is a friend of the heart –someone I trust completely and admire deeply. She is one of the first people I think of when I need support and one of the people whose encouragement means the most to me. I cried when I saw the first pictures of her daughters and on my wedding day she gave me a handkerchief she’d used at her own wedding to use as my “something borrowed.”

This friendship is not the work of my hands. It’s not a credit to my engaging personality or a testament to what a good friend I am (because, as I said, I am rubbish at keeping up with this particular friend). It is pure grace. And all I can say in response to that kind of grace is, “Thank you.”

Does It Have to Be Public to be Real? Social Media And Authentic Community

Recently Jill Duggar brought down public speculation when she announced her pregnancy a mere two months after her wedding to Derick Dillard . She defended the purity of her relationship and their decision to announce their pregnancy at only eight weeks, saying, “Understanding that the majority of miscarriages happen within the first trimester, and believing that every life is precious no matter how young, we decided to share our joyful news as soon as we could.” Pro-life conservatives raved.

Jill Duggar

Photo credit: jezebel.com

Reading this story brought up two issues for me. First, her defense of her early announcement (and conservative reactions to it) implies that the reason others might choose to wait to make a public announcement of a pregnancy is because they don’t value the life of the child until they are past the stage where miscarriage most commonly occurs. For most people, this couldn’t be further from the truth. Many people choose not to publicly announce a pregnancy early on because they greatly value that life and having to share the grief of losing that life so publicly if something were to happen would be unbearably painful.

My other problem is something I touched on in my last blog post. I am uncomfortable with the implication that unless something is public knowledge, it isn’t being celebrated – at least not properly. Pro-life conservatives applaud Jill for making a statement about the value of human life from the moment of conception, but my question is why does all of America have to know about it for it to be valued?

In our technology-dependent world I wonder if we’ve come to rely too heavily on the response of others for affirmation of our own emotions and experiences. Many of us act like nothing we think or feel is valid unless someone else says it too or at very least acknowledges and affirms what we’ve said. I’m not saying this from a lofty place of judgment. I am a blogger. I want people to read what I write and validate me too. It’s because I see this in myself that I want to bring attention to it.

I don’t think it’s necessarily wrong to share news on social media – to celebrate important moments in our lives or to seek encouragement in times of struggle. I just want to push back against the attitude I see subtly taking hold at times – even in myself- that real celebration can only happen in the public sphere.

I think there is something important about sharing God’s work with the people in our lives. I just don’t think that has to take the form of a public announcement. There are many benefits to social media and I don’t think it’s bad or wrong to participate in. The problem comes when we make social media a false substitute for authentic community. We deceive ourselves into thinking these people on Facebook and Twitter are our community, when, largely they are people who really haven’t earned the right to access our intimate thoughts and feelings. (And whom we haven’t earned the right to demand that they care about our intimate thoughts and feelings).

After reading my last post, the friend I wrote about in it sent me these thoughts. I had already written this post before she sent this and I loved how she put a lot of what I have been trying to say:

“Here’s the story: I’m not a super thoughtful, loving person. In fact, the main reason I did what I did was to avoid being a terrible hypocrite. After trying for a few months to get pregnant, we were told in December I have PCOS, a hormonal condition that makes it very difficult to get pregnant along with a host of other discouraging symptoms. Miraculously, we got pregnant that same month, only to lose the baby in February. Meanwhile, all our friends announced pregnancy or popped out kids. I was consumed by grief, but even more by envy. I unfriended or unfollowed people who I previously counted as good friends. And at least publicly, I suffered silently. 

So after countless doctor’s visits and fertility treatments when I finally got pregnant again and we managed to make it to the 12 week mark, how could I plaster my Facebook page with indiscriminate joy? I imagined myself reading my own page and crying herself to sleep every night, feeling that she’ll never be a mother. I couldn’t do that in good conscience, considering the miracle God had given me with this second baby.

My experience made me realize that Facebook is not a good place to share either joy or grief with other Christians. I don’t think the verses about mourning and rejoicing together refers to social media, I think it refers to real live relationships with other Christians. I poured out my grief and my joy in heaps on my closest Christian friends in all sorts of life situations, and all of them mourned and rejoiced with me. But Facebook is too contrived, too easy to manufacture. Not only that, but I never mourned on Facebook. I never announced my miscarriage. I never let social media see the reality of my suffering. So it feels very imbalanced, and very contrived, to ask Facebook to rejoice with me. Besides, only my friends and family who walked with me through my grief can fully celebrate with me in my joy. In just that handful of people I’ve received more than enough validation; I just don’t need any more from social media. 

Because really, are we looking for rejoicing and mourning with other Christians on a deep level when we post a status? Or are we just looking for the superficial validation of popularity represented by a number of likes?

I made an Instagram account solely for the purpose of sharing pregnancy updates for those who DO want to rejoice with me in that way. Also I send my mom, my sister in law, and a few of my best friends pictures of me in maternity clothes, weird craving updates, and ultrasound pictures nearly every other day. Even people who weren’t suffering would unfriend me out of annoyance if I thought it was appropriate to put all that on Facebook.  so not posting all that to Facebook doesn’t not equal not going crazy with joy in a community, mine is just a select community of those who don’t mind and understand the crazy.

I think [the problem] comes from this expectation to treat Facebook like a community, when really it’s more like a bulletin board. I’m sharing my pregnancy joy with my community, but not on Facebook, because the two are not synonymous. We should not feel shame about sharing either joy or sorrow with a community we trust, but Facebook is not a community. For people in our generation, sometimes it can be difficult to understand the difference.”

I thought her words expressed what I was feeling beautifully. I’m continuing to work through the question of how to balance rejoicing and mourning with others with sensitivity and compassion. I am finding that in my life that also means asking the question of who truly is my community and what role  the internet and social media should play as I seek to live out that question with authenticity.

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*As a disclaimer – I have nothing against Jill Duggar Dillard and I certainly think she and her husband are entitled to their own decision about what information to share and when. I really don’t have an opinion on whether she should or should not have announced her pregnancy so early. I don’t think it’s anyone’s business. My beef was purely with the responses I saw to her reasons.  I also think as someone who spent a lot of time in the public eye while growing up, Jill’s perspective on public and private information is probably different than many people’s.

Recipes and Relationships: A Guest Post That Will Make You Hungry

My friend Asharae Kroll is one of the most talented people I know. Not only do she and her husband own their own photography and videography business doing weddings, engagements, and lifestyle photography, but she is also a fantastic cook. If you’ve ever tried to take good food pictures before, you know what a challenge it can be to capture on camera just how delicious and inviting a particular dish is. Asharae’s food photography will make you want to drop whatever you’re doing and start cooking.

Asharae gave me the amazing opportunity to do a guest post for her food blog, This Wild Season, and my first thought was to share the scrumptious zucchini lasagna I started making a few months ago. I sent her my post along with the recipe and she made magic happen. Here is an excerpt from the post:

“Eleven months ago my husband and I moved to South Korea to teach English. Living in a foreign country can feel exciting and adventurous, but there are still times when it’s hard not to be overcome by homesickness and longing for the comfortable and familiar. One of the best ways for me to feel connected to home is through food. I love to cook, especially for friends and family. Here in Korea, I don’t have access to the same ingredients or cooking methods I did at home (no ovens!) so I’ve had to make some creative adjustments and adaptations…”

Click HERE to read the rest of this post and get the recipe for my zucchini lasagna. Be sure to check out Asharae’s other delicious recipes and gorgeous photography. And if you’re in the market for a photographer or videographer, be sure to consider Asharae and her husband Tim’s business Grain & Compass.  She took my wedding photos and some anniversary photos for us, so I speak from experience when I say you won’t be disappointed.

No Right Words: What to Say When You Don’t Know What to Say

The news came in bits and pieces – a trip to the hospital, some internal bleeding, too much blood thinner. Then the suspicion of diabetes which would mean big lifestyle changes. More tests to confirm. And then they found the tumor, wrapped around pancreas and liver, obstructing valves and major arteries. Then the biopsy and the final (though no longer unexpected) diagnosis – Cancer.

And just like that, life changes. Conversations about what will happen next year or even next month are fraught with hesitation. The future everyone has taken for granted now dangles by a thread.

I am amazed by how quickly perspective shifts in these situations. Something clicks into places and our fundamentally adaptive natures try to bend themselves around a new reality. We find ourselves saying things that would have been ridiculous just weeks ago. “I’m so glad he made it to the hospital when he got sick.” “It’s wonderful that he has family with medical training to help.” We are grateful for the most absurd things. For the shots of insulin that simulate a pancreas. For a treatment plan that may buy a few more precious months.

This grief is one step removed from me -the loved one of a dearly loved one. I won’t pretend that this affects me as directly as it does her and her family. (But surely the next worst thing after losing someone you love must be watching someone you love losing someone they love).

I stand in my shower on the other side of the world and sob, hiding my face in the corner of the tiled wall. My loved one is losing her loved one and I am not there. How could I not be there? And instead I am in this wretched (right now) country 7,000 miles away, unable to do the only thing I know how to do. Be present. I get out of the shower and try to prepare myself for the conversation I’m about to have. I am afraid. I rely on words like air and suddenly there aren’t any right ones.

I think of the story of Lazarus. That famously short verse that simply says, “Jesus wept.” This story has always moved me deeply. It’s not just that Jesus shows empathy and humanity in this moment. It’s because he shows it in spite of the fact that he is minutes away from raising Lazarus back to life.

Almost two years ago to the day, a classmate of mine from college passed away unexpectedly. At the time I wrote this post about grieving where I reflected on what it meant for Jesus to weep for Lazarus in spite of knowing that glory was mere minutes away. Maybe this isn’t just a story to reassure us of Jesus’s compassion, but is also instructive for us in how to be human.

“I think it’s this exact feeling we have when things like Josiah’s death occur. We are wracked with grief because the world is not as it should be. Our hearts are torn because, even though we have the hope of eternity, in the present things are broken. I think Jesus shows us by example that it is appropriate, even correct, to grieve for the brokenness of the present even as we hold the hope of the future. What is more horrific  in the present than the stark contrast of the way the world is now against the glorious way it was meant to be and will be in the future?”

I open my computer and my friend’s face fills the screen.  “This is NOT OK,” I say to my dearest friend, whom I love as though she is a part of myself,. “And it’s probably not going to be OK for a long, long time. And it’s OK not to be OK.” I don’t know if it’s the right thing to say, but I refuse to profane this moment by spewing words I don’t mean. Maybe these aren’t the most encouraging words, but they are the only ones that feel true.

 

Friendship in Seven Movements

I’ve never been someone with an overwhelming number of friends. I’m not the sort of person who can’t stand being alone. I’m not that person everyone knows, or the person who can make friends with anyone effortlessly. I’m not the smartest, the prettiest, the funniest, the kindest, or the most fun to be around. And yet, I have been honored with some extraordinary friendships throughout my life. And when I am loneliest, here on the other side of the world, I remind myself that through no virtue of my own, through only the goodness of God, my life is rich and full because of these women. Beautiful women. Strong women. Talented women. Women who inspire me with their creativity, their passion, their perseverance, their grace, and their courage. This piece to remind myself and to make sure that they know.

Friendship in 7 Movements

I. Rachel

You are one of my first friends. Kindergarten is a scary place when you’re the girl who can’t stop talking, suddenly thrust into a classroom where you are expected to sit quietly and LISTEN.

I don’t remember the first day we met, but I remember so many days afterwards. Hours of dress-up, for some reason obsessed with re-enacting the movie A Kid in King Arthur’s Court and swimming in your above-the-ground pool. I was jealous of your pool, but more jealous of your bangs, which I begged my mother to cut like yours. She said if I had bangs I’d just have to grow them out by wearing one of those fountain ponytails on top of my head. You moved away before you grew yours out so I never got to see if that was true.

When you moved back in middle school we discovered that all those years apart we’d been growing to love the same things. We had so much in common – books and movies and a somewhat severe sarcasm we seemed to encourage in one another. Maybe we actually had too much in common? Sometimes in high school we seemed to rub up against each other like two flints whose friction created sparks without meaning to. We were trying to figure out who we were and sometimes it was like we both wanted to occupy the same space at the same time. Sometimes it felt like there wasn’t room for both of us.

And yet…somehow, we made it through. You extended grace where I was selfish and l Iearned that we could be alike and also different and there was room for both.

We both moved away to college and you came to visit me. You sent me cards on my birthday, and we still borrowed each others books (and I’m sorry that I never returned A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius). When I got engaged, you hosted a bridal shower for me. And for my wedding, you welcomed all of my friends into your home and counted them as yours.

We have lived apart for the last seven years – in Texas and Chicago, Honduras and North Carolina, Washington DC, Denver and South Korea. We’ve been apart, but we’ve continued to grow together. Discovering some of the same things in our own ways. Catching up on skype is full of, “Have-you-read? Have-you-seen? Have-you-heard?” and “I feel the exact same way!” That thing that was too alike when we were pressed up against each other, each of us trying to spread our own wings, is now the thing that keeps our hearts connected across continents and years.

Your mind challenges me, your heart inspires me, and your generosity humbles me. (Also, the fact that you are smarter than me humbles me, but this might be the only time I admit it. ;)) You’ve been my friend for more than twenty years and you still seem to like me. What a rare gift.

Winter 2008 (I think?) in Chicago

Winter 2008 (I think?) in Chicago

 

II. Leigh

I know it’s a cliché, but really, who would I be without you? We are the most unlikely friends. You are closer in age to my little sisters than to me, but somehow that’s never mattered. It didn’t matter when I was 8 and you were 5 or now that we are 26 and 23. Maybe it should have mattered when I was 14 and you were 11, but by then you were my family.

You gave me the freedom to play when I was too old for it. Together our imaginations took us to places far beyond the blue house by the train tracks. My most vibrant childhood memories are wrapped up in those worlds that we created. We played Mandie and Annie, The Sound of Music, and American Girls. (And, OK, I went through that one phase when I was obsessed with Steve Irwin, Crocodile Hunter). For several years we addressed each other by various fake names (the longest-lasting I remember were Annette and Annelise). When we were little we ate hot pockets for lunch and cookie dough straight from that tub in the freezer. Eventually our tastes grew more sophisticated and we splurged on virgin pina coladas and filet mignon.

Your family became my family. Not just your parents, but your aunts and uncles and cousins, your family friends and even your doctor. Each summer I came to DeRitter and stayed at your Aunt Mel’s house so I could see you in whatever production the Little Theater was putting on that summer. I went with you to your grandfather’s funeral where I wrote an inappropriate poem to slip into his casket. For a while, I had crush on your much older cousin David. When you were sick, my mom drove me down to New Orleans to visit you in the hospital. We overtaxed your poor swollen belly with laughter and trips around the nurse’s station. I’m sure you couldn’t walk for days afterwards. Your mom and I both cried at your high school graduation when you were named Sacred Heart girl.

Your family helped me to love Louisiana for its history and unique culture. You took me places like Abita Springs and Maringouin – tiny towns I never would have known existed without you. Before my wedding, you took me on that  overnight getaway to that precious B&B in Abbeville that our younger selves would have just died to stay at. Together we explored the world and learned to appreciate our heritage.

All of these moments are beautiful memories for me, but the real beauty of our friendship is how it has grown. It never mattered that we were in different life stages or lived in different places. We understood each other at the soul-level. So even though we have changed from the people we were when we first met, our friendship has always stretched to accommodate those changes.

You have become this confident, elegant, accomplished, independent woman You are focused and organized and you work hard for the things you want. You are the very definition of charming. You are warm and kind and incredibly fun to be with and people listen to you because you know how to communicate with both wisdom and grace. I want you to know, I would love you now, even if I hadn’t known you most of your life. But I’m so glad to have had you these18 years. One day, we will be old lady friends together. I can’t wait.

Record of us once being young and beautiful - something we will reminisce about when we are grumpy old ladies.

Record of us once being young and beautiful – something we will reminisce about when we are grumpy old ladies.

 

III. Lanise

You are a beautiful soul.

We met in the high school youth group. We were both designated as “leaders” (whatever that meant) but we quickly realized we were also kindred spirits. We waded through the murky waters of evangelical purity culture together wearing safety shirts and spending most of youth retreats and summer camps trying to keep teenage boys and girls from flirting, hell-bent on saving them from their own sinfulness. And somehow, we both journeyed out of that world and into a place of grace.

We talked for hours and hours about our hopes and our fears and our dreams, the way teenage girls do. But we also laughed a lot, watching old movies, listening to music, drinking coffee and eating brownie batter straight from the bowl. We both fell in love. You were a little ahead of me in that process, but we both got engaged and then married within a year of each other. We’ve walked together through seasons of excitement and wonder and seasons of brokenness. Your capacity for empathy has always inspired me. Throughout our friendship you have encouraged me, you have celebrated with me, and you have grieved with me. You call out beauty in me that I don’t see in myself and you make me want to be the person you see in me.

These days we hardly see one another and we don’t talk as often as we should. But when we do, I am instantly reconnected, like we’ve never been apart. Our hearts beat to the same rhythm. You inspire me. Your hands create beauty all around you. The home you have built with your husband is a refuge of peace in a chaotic world.

You are lovely. Your creativity, your sense of humor, your gentleness, and your wisdom make my life and the lives of others more beautiful. And, girl, let’s face it, you’ve got some of the best damn hair God ever put on a head. 😉

I know this isn't our most flattering photo together, but it's probably the most accurate.

I know this isn’t our most flattering photo together, but it’s probably the most accurate.

 

Here's another one so people can appreciate your bridal beauty and your awesome hair.

Here’s another one so people can appreciate your bridal beauty and your awesome hair.

IV. Christina

It is possible that you are my other half. I know people usually say that about their spouse, but you are the only person in the world who can join in with a song I am making up on the spot. You are the only person in the world who understands that when I say I want to live in Disneyworld, I mean that in the most literal way possible and I am not joking even a little bit. And you totally get it. You are also the person who will listen to whatever ridiculous fear or frustration I am having without judgment and will say, “I love you, but I think you’re really wrong about this.”

When I first met you in college, I didn’t have any idea what God had just dropped in my lap. It was the beginning of college, you were my suitemate, always there on the other side of the bathroom, but frankly, there were hundreds of new people to meet and I knew that just because the college assigned people as roommates and suitemates didn’t mean you were destined to become best friends. But over those first couple of months we started to click. And then, a few months in, when you started moving your mattress into our room instead of yours, the magic happened. Midnight runs to Wendy’s without my pants on. Waking up to birthday pancakes with candles in them the way my mom always did it. Crawling into your bed in the middle of the night when I had a bad dream, you rolling over without questions to make space for me.

And after our first international trip to Russia together the summer after freshman year, the deal was sealed. Something about traveling together, something so sacred to both of us, cemented the bond between us. Now we have been in six countries together (7 if you count Disneyworld as its own country, which I sort of do.) We have been together for some of our biggest moments – my wedding, your grad school graduation, our first marathon. And we’ve been together for some of our weirdest moments – laying on the floor inside your dorm room closet, almost being trampled by an elephant in Africa, spending hours making ourselves tutus.

Nobody is as stupid with me as you are. Sometimes it’s like we speak our own language and I don’t even realize it until someone who isn’t us comes into the room and the look on their face seems to say they don’t understand anything we’re saying even though I’m pretty sure we’re making perfect sense. Our combined ability to rationalize and justify absolutely any decision (especially if it is related to why we really need Chinese takeout and fro yo again) is both a powerful and dangerous tool.

You have become an essential part of me. When you are happy, I will celebrate, when you are hurt I will be indignant. When you have to make a big decision I will help you weigh the pros and cons. When you are sad, I will cheer you up, and when it’s too heavy for cheering up, I will sit with you and share your sadness so you don’t have to carry it alone. I can say with confidence that I will do these things for you because you do these things for me.

You freely give of yourself more than anyone I have ever known. I’m pretty sure that nobody in the world (not even Jonathan or my own mother) would go to the lengths you are willing to go to just to make me happy. The people you love are some of the luckiest people in the world. I am one of the luckiest people in the world. You are a once-in-a-lifetime friend (maybe a once-in-many-lifetimes friend) and I am profoundly grateful for you.

 

One of our most recent pics together.

One of our most recent pics together.

V. Taylor

The story of how we met makes me laugh every time. It started with a boy. A boy you had dated and a boy I thought maybe I wanted to. I was jealous that he was still hung up on you. And you were (maybe?) jealous that he was hanging out with me. I thought, “Who does she think she is?” I decided to talk to you –figure out what your deal was. It took all of one conversation to realize your “deal’ was that you were awesome and we were going to love each other forever.

You taught me so much about having friends who are different from me. It’s easy to appreciate people who have all of your same interests, but with you I learned to appreciate new things simply because you loved them. Without you I can guarantee I never would have cared about whether or not Wheaton had a poms squad. And I’m sure I never would have gone to an NFL game.

I love that you are adventurous and always up for whatever life throws at you. Remember the time Christina and I hid all your bras and made you a treasure map to find them? You didn’t even bat an eye. You just followed the map giggling in that cute way you do when you are about to laugh so hard you cry.

I sobbed myself sick the night in November when you got married and I was a world away. I’m sure my absence in no way ruined your wedding, but I was overwhelmed by how wrong it was for me to miss it.

Watching you do the hard work to build your photography business over the last few years has been inspiring. Not only do you create stunning images that speak for themselves, but you have vision and you are able to invest and be patient, even when it takes years for your dreams to come to fruition. You have taught me so much through the way you manage to make life work for you wherever you are – in Seattle or in Ecuador or in Charleston. You are independent and wildly talented, but unrelentingly kind.

Last week I got a package full of sweet and thoughtful gifts. You had chosen each thing for a specific reason and put them all together with notes explaining why you wanted me to have them. I am moved by your thoughtfulness and by how intentional you are in making the people you care about know they are loved. Thanks for making me one of the people you love.

Remember that one time your hair was straight and dark and we were twinsies?

Remember that one time your hair was straight and dark and we were twinsies?

 Interlude

Check out these pictures, guys.  It’s so weird to put them all together like this! We’ve changed so much. Especially our hairstyles, haha.

Ok, earliest picture I can find with most of us in it. (Sadly, no Anna) This is sophomore year, spring of 2008.

Ok, this is the earliest picture I can find with most of us in it. (Sadly, no Anna) This is sophomore year, spring of 2008.

Graduation 2010

Graduation 2010

Roomie Reunion 2012

Roomie Reunion 2012

Roomie Reunion 2012

Roomie Reunion April 2013

Roomie Reunion/Taylor the Bride party 2013

Roomie Reunion/Taylor the Bride party July 2013

VI. Asharae

Sweet friend. I can’t think of a single fault in you. You are gentle and graceful and you dance to some beautiful music of your own creation. You make me want to love simplicity and see beauty everywhere I look.

I loved living with you in college in our stuffed-to-the-rafters room with the squeaky fan. I loved when we made that painting, barefoot in the parking lot of Northside Park – my car speakers cranked up as far as they could go playing music while we danced in the paint under the stars. I loved that we got to be roommates while we were both engaged – planning weddings and futures. And I love that we ended up in North Carolina together, finding Home in the same corner of the world.

Here is the thing I love most about you, Asharae. You are yourself. Always.. You are ok with being unconventional. You are unconcerned with the expectations of others and you don’t allow anyone to pressure you into fitting into a certain mold. And who you are is lovely.

I am deeply moved by the intentional way that you and Tim love people – your family, your friends, and your clients. The way you are willing to slow down and just BE with people is tremendously rare. You have a unique capacity to make others feel valued and important and to capture the things that matter most to them in your photographs and videos.

You are so supportive and so encouraging to me in every venture I’ve undertaken. You continually speak words of grace and hope into my life. I’ve often wondered where that never-ending fountain of hopefulness in you comes from. I wish I were more like that. Thank you for the way you always open my eyes to beauty I can’t see. In the world and in myself.

 

Asharae the Bride!

Asharae the Bride! And I’m pretty sure this photo is Adam Pratt’s work.

VII. Anna

You are one of the most loyal people I’ve ever known. When you love someone you love them forever. When you love someone you will defend them, you will stand with them, you will fight for them, and you will never lose faith in them.

You (and your family) have welcomed me so many times. Some of my best memories of college and afterwards have been the times we spent at your family’s lake house. I got the unfair advantage of getting to go more than the other girls the summer I spent in Wheaton during college and the year Jonathan and I lived in Naperville. So many happy moments spent tanning on the deck, waterskiing on the lake, eating the enormous spread your mom always prepares, and, of course, drinking too much tequila at Taylor’s little bachelorette weekend. Your constant friendship has been a gift – in times we’ve been together and in times we haven’t and I’ve gotten cards in the mail or an email in my inbox just to remind me that you’re thinking of me.

I see amazing resilience in you. There have been difficult moments for you over the years that we’ve known each other – struggles with your health, or with family circumstances that weighed on your heart, or with questions about what direction your life is meant to go in. Through all of those things I have seen a faith that is unshakeable. This especially inspires me because I am not that way. I find cause for doubt in the tiniest circumstances. But you are steadfast.

The last few times we’ve spoken or have seen each other, I have seen something new in you. A joy and contentment has welled up in you and it spills over. It’s beautiful, and I hope for my sake that it’s catching. Know that I think of you every time I see an adorable coffee mug or a killer pair of shoes, and I’m in Korea, so that’s often. 🙂

Brandon and Christy's wedding, August 2011

Brandon and Christy’s wedding, August 2011

****

This piece couldn’t possibly encompass all the people who have touched my life, who have shown me love and have taught me better ways to be. Rachel A and Julie and Mary and Christa and Julia and Jerusha and Laura, you have all been gifts to me.

To all of you: You have served, you have loved, you have challenged, you have encouraged. You make my life rich and full of beauty. And I am truly, deeply grateful.