A Walk

Everywhere I've lived, I have found either a running of walking friend. Together we walk away the pounds, keep in shape, solve the problems of the world (or so we think), and connect. We connect our lives, our families, our joys, our sorrows, our fears, and our fun. It's a connection to one another, and to me, someone who has moved frequently, a connection to a community. Finding someone to walk/run with, tells me I belong.

This move has been difficult--extremely so. It's been just over 2 1/2 years, and I still don't feel I belong; I still feel the outsider; I still feel alone. I have no walking friend. The sign of acceptance and friendship hasn't come although I've tried. I have a "friend" here who often says, "we should walk or run together". Several times I have tried to initiate going; I thought because of schedules it never quite works. We see each other through children and seem to at times share deep thoughts, so I assumed that meant we were friends. This week, I'm off school, so I asked what day do you want to go, and we planned for Wednesday. I could do it anytime, I was free whenever, I was/am desperate. We made the plan, and this morning I emailed casually, "Are we still on? Let me know what time you get out of your meeting. I'll be ready." The response, "Well, I don't know, I'll have to let you know. It may not work." My heart has broken--I remind myself she often changes plans at the last minute, and perhaps something really has come up--she is very busy, works part time, a huge volunteer in the schools and community, and passionate about her children (which is why I thought we had so much in common and would be good friends). But I feel that thin thread of connection unraveling and am reminded once again that I don't belong.

Makes me wonder--what are other peoples' signs of belonging, of hope, of connection? Do I miss them? Am I so preoccupied with myself that I ignore other people's desperate cries for acceptance? And how do I know?

Pay attention, that's what the Holy Spirit is saying to me. Pay attention to those around you and help to heal their hearts and souls. Because I know that for some a walk is just a walk, but for me it is my sign of hope.

Mommed

Yesterday walking across campus I was talking to a fellow classmate. We are all beyond exhausted with midterms. I asked my friend when she was going home to Texas. She said Friday afternoon, and I can't wait. I really need to be "mommed". I felt like I'd been punched in the gut. I knew exactly what she meant, and I knew that even if I was going back to Georgia, I wouldn't be mommed in the way she meant, and the longing in my soul was intense and brought me physical pain. I retreated to my car and cried.

After feeling sorry for myself, I dried my tears and wondered if my children would come home when they were adults to be mommed and whether they felt mommed now. I decided right there that I would make certain they would.

I can't stop thinking about being mommed and the deep longing that we all must have for that. Unconditional love and nurturing--security and warmth. I know and fully believe we are mommed by God, but God gives us human hands incarnated to be mommed for others. So I think, who has mommed me? And I easily came up with several people both older and those my same age. The homes I went to where I felt loved, warmth, and acceptance. I was and am mommed even if it's not from my own mother. And I'm determined to mom my children everyday for the rest of my life.

So, I will continue to put notes in their lunch bags even though I watch the boys take them out, read them, and put them in their pockets on the way to the bus stop. And they will get a hershey kiss in their lunch everyday. I will go into their rooms every night and say prayers and kiss them. And even though my 15 year old says "don't mess up my hair" and rolls her eyes when I reach out to hug her, I know she feels mommed as she leans ever so slightly into me.

Today I have some notes to write to those who mommed me, and for the rest of my life, I vow not only my children, but everyone who walks into my house will be mommed.

Knowing Versus Knowing

I have 395 friends--unbelievable! And it is--it's unbelievable because I really don't. I have 395 people whose lives I follow and who follow mine. Well, that's not even true--I have 395 people whose lives I follow--the parts they want me to know, and who follow mine--the part I want them to know. I know people had a great time at the party last night, but I don't know who's sitting at home sad because they weren't invited to the party, no one posts that. I know who's proud of their child for this or that honor, but I don't know who is sitting at home wondering if their child is doing drugs, is depressed, is failing school, or is just plain driving them crazy, no one posts that. And I know who all loves their husband/wife for all the great things he/she has done, but until I hear they're separating, I don't know who's suffering and miserable.

I'm not suggesting I need to know all the blackest lowest moments of peoples' lives. I love reconnecting with people I wouldn't otherwise, but to say I have 395 friends in the way I define friend is just not true. I do, thank you God, have a few. But you know what I've noticed, they're not the ones who comment on my posts very often and they're not the ones who say "I love you" on my wall for all the world to hear. They comment on my children's pictures because they do love them and they love me and more importantly, they know how neurotic I am about my children. They tell me when to back off and let them grow up; they tell me when I'm being ridiculous, and they tell me when to hold my ground. They don't tell me they love me on my wall because I know they love me and I love them. I know I could call them in the middle of the night and tell them to fly to Utah because I need them but can't tell them why, and you know what, they'd do it--even if we haven't posted on each other's walls or even spoken on the phone for a few months. And, they know I love my husband, but they also know we've had some hard times, times I couldn't have gotten through without them. They know there have been cracks that I thought would break us, and they've been there to help seal them up whether its by letting me vent, cry or shaking me and telling me I'm being ridiculous and I'm wrong. And they still love me, and they still love him. They're our friends, sealed cracks that you can still see if you look hard enough, and all.

The other thing I've noticed is when they do post, it's because they know what's really going on--like when I post, "I miss Ga" they know I what I really miss is having a friend who I can sit on the floor of the master bedroom folding laundry together and share my most painful thoughts or when I post "I want coffee" what I really want is to have a friend who goes along with me pretending I'm walking to the co-op when what I'm really doing is walking to a warm inviting kitchen where a pot of coffee will be put on and we'll talk the afternoon away loving and hating where we live at the same time. And we'll both get it. Or they know when I post "here we go again" that what I really mean is another move, another series of perpetual first dates, another time I have to prove myself to another PTA, and they know I'm really just lonely and want my old life back with my friends who know by the way I walk what kind of mood I'm in. And they laugh to themselves when someone posts on my wall "I don't know how you do it all you're amazing handling everything with grace." because they know I'm really not; they know that really I'm screaming at my children, pulling my hair out, and crying into my pillow and THEN I pull myself up and do it all. And they know that sometimes they have to be the one that calls me on my junk--they have to be the one that tells me I'm being ridiculous, neurotic, overly sensitive, and just plain stupid, because they love me and don't need to post it on my wall for me to know it.

I think that's the difference. It's not the number of friends you have on face book that matters; it's the number of phone numbers you know by heart and that you call--not as often as you should, but they're there. Emails are even better than face book to define friends--how many of my face book friends have my personal email? Face book friends are my virtual sports bar, beer drinking friends who only see me at my best; --only see what I want the world to know. My other friends are my best bottle of wine drinking on a back deck friends. The one who tells her husband, "I don't care if it was the best bottle in the house. We had a great evening."