My friend Lynda never met my husband, yet she "knew" him through me. I met her the day after he died of cancer. When I went into the pizza place she managed, she took one look at me, came around the counter, hugged me, and said, "You look like you need a friend." We were fast friends from that day on.
Two years after my husband's death, I had dinner with Lynda. That night I told her about a recurring dream I'd been having of my husband telling me he's OK. I'd experience this dream as though his death were imagined, a hoax; he was still alive. Then when I'd wake in the morning, reality would set in once again, and I'd feel as if I was grieving his loss all over again.
Lynda took my hand and said, "Oh Barb, you're missing the bigger picture. Didn't you tell me he promised to find some way of letting you know he was safely in heaven?" I'd been looking for this sign during my waking hours and was growing frustrated he had yet to find a way to send it. Grief had blinded me from seeing he'd kept his promise through my dream.
Thanks to Lynda's insight and friendship, I finally saw the sign my husband sent. From that moment on, I was able to deal with my grief much better. Through my faith and my dear friend Lynda's constant encouragement, I continued to heal.
–Barb
Last year, I arrived at one of those birthdays I always thought I'd celebrate with a special someone. Instead, I made plans with my best friend—my mom. She sacrificed to give me my desires for the perfect day, willingly riding the train from the suburbs into Chicago even though she hates the bustle of public transportation and the city.
But when I learned of her desires for the birthday lunch spot, I hesitated. After all, I'd stood outside the Walnut Room on the 7th floor of the former Marshall Field's building numerous times and promised myself I'd only dine at that elegant restaurant when accompanied someday by an elegant man. But discussing which fork to use and where to place the butter knife while sharing butternut squash ravioli and Frango mint pie with my mom after an hour or two of browsing designer labels on the floors beneath the restaurant was far more comfortable—and girly—than any pressured date could've been. And listening to her laughter at a production of Wicked a few hours later reminded me how much I value our shared sense of humor and our countless chuckles over witty, inside jokes.
The long train ride home and then one more first–time restaurant visit to a fancy Italian spot I'd always considered as another "date–only place" reminded me how fortunate I am to enjoy being in her company for long, relaxing hours. We giggled shyly over pronouncing items on the menu, yet my mom boldly informed the intimidating server to treat the birthday girl royally.
When I returned to my apartment after our feast that evening, I met a new neighbor outside who, after learning of my birthday, asked if I'd be celebrating later that night with a guy. "No, I don't have a boyfriend," I replied. But as I told her about the special memories I'd created with my mom earlier that day, I knew they'd last far longer than any I could've formed with a potentially temporary boyfriend. And even though I have a guy in my life now, I just might spend my upcoming birthday with my very best friend again.
–Andrea
My friend Ginny and I met for Chinese food last month. Ginny is one of several women in my life who refresh me like a large sweet tea on a hot summer day. Like me, she had a radical salvation experience, and her fire hasn't dimmed these seven years later. Sitting with someone who "gets it" when I talk passionately about Jesus is a precious gift. And seeing her awe at a recent revelation of how God is "ravished by us" was contagious.
We talked for nearly three hours about sin, disappointment, singleness, hope, joy, longing for deeper humility and more consistently holy walks with God. Even after we paid our check and bundled up to head out into the wintry New York City night, we kept talking all the way to the subway.
