Grace. It moves invisibly in our being and, at spectacularly awkward moments, abandons us completely. Such is the way of all things which rely on our free will.
I have this friend. She has grace in spades. I suspect she does not know it. A simple afternoon with her always reminds me of how generous is this grace in her. How she handles the rough curves of her life and still holds on to her soft and gracious heart. Even in the midst of true heartache and loss.
She is strong and so very kind. I am blessed indeed that she sees goodness in me and shares her love with me. I do not give nearly so much as she does but, as with all true meetings of the Soul, I get so much more in return than I truly deserve.
I watch her woodsy green eyes fill up as she talks about her struggles. They are not major by many peoples standards, I am sure, but they cut her sweetness to the quick. I tell her it is not her fault. She has done nothing wrong. Her honesty, her desire to be transparent, open, real, can sometimes be a challenge to others. But she can be nothing else and she does not need to try. I love her rawness. I love her fudgey insides. I love that vulnerability even when it discomfits me. I am grateful that she has the courage to be so in a world where few people can do the same. She does not know what a gift it is especially when it costs her so much sometimes. This is her grace.
I sit with the edges of her sadness caressing my skin and feel lucky that I am here. That I am able to reassure her of her truth. I know that I am right. Hopefully she does too.
There are always more smiles than tears in our friendship. We share so much more than an equally wicked sense of humour. I am seen by her. That is a rare indeed. I am nourished by our connection and always I am left with a desire to let my grace flow more freely. To be more vulnerable and embrace the uneasiness it provokes in me. She does that to people.
So now as I sit and wind my way home, I feel sated with my brush with grace. Filled by her twinkling and her thirst for honest communication. And so, though one precious door has closed firmly in her face, I would like to remind her that mine will always be open to her. Just like my heart.
Here’s to you Lausy
I love ya.