Wantok
I have a few really close friends, women who know my heart and let me see theirs. These are the kind of friends who are open to the raw truth even when it isn’t pretty, and they are comfortable with tears, silliness, and even silence. My closest girl friend is my sister. A lifetime of shared memories allows us to understand each other without explanation. There’s a term in Tok Pisin, the national language of Papua New Guinea, for this kind of relationship. Wantok. One who speaks my language. These women are part of my “tribe”. We make sense to each other, heart and soul, no matter our backgrounds or nationalities. It’s not that we never have miscommunications; it’s just that there’s a level of intimacy there that is simple and unafraid. Friends like this...
Read MoreWhat I Need
I am needy. There. I said it. This is a label that has followed me most of my life. It has haunted the edges of every relationship I’ve known since someone first told me this in my early teen years. It’s the reason I have sometimes held back in my friendships, afraid of becoming too much to handle. And this week I got called on this fear. Three times. By three different heart sisters. Sometimes God has to work a little harder to get my attention. I’ve told my story in front of a lot of people over the years, stood behind a microphone sharing intimate and painful details of my life with complete strangers. But when it comes to being soul bare with people I really love, that’s when I get scared. Caregiving, listening, praying for others – these are comfortable...
Read MoreFreedom
“I’m going to take some pictures of the kids. They’re being such free spirits!” My friend Stacie grabbed her camera and ran out the door into the front yard, where our kids, hers and mine, were tearing around in wild circles, yelling loud, and throwing leaves into the wind. It was a chilly day, but only one of the kids had a jacket. Two of them were barefoot and blue-toed. Stacie didn’t take the time to send her boys inside for shoes. She was more intent on capturing the beautiful freedom. There she stood, jacketless herself, hair whipping crazy in the cold wind, soaking in the joy of moments that will be outgrown too soon. It made me smile. And it made me think. How often do I stop freedom in its tracks because it isn’t what is expected? The...
Read MoreThe Parallel Tracks
It’s been all over the news. Images of towns leveled, parents screaming grief for lost children, rancid flood waters slowly receding. My friends have been talking about it on social media, reminding each other to pray and give. But for me it’s personal. Because it’s the Philippines, the place where I spent a large part of my childhood. I have friends there. I’ve sung their songs, eaten their food, watched the sun set on their mountains, and claimed it all as my own. The images of terror and heartbreak don’t fade easily. The only people who really understand how this has shaken me are people who have been there themselves. There’s something about having lived side-by-side, having been eyeball-to-eyeball with people that changes the way we perceive them. It’s...
Read MoreChanged
I stood in Chrissy’s kitchen and cried. The house was still warm and sweet with the scent of cinnamon rolls and snickerdoodles from our afternoon of baking. The last afternoon together, at least for a while. The tears came suddenly, like the rainstorm that was beating against the windows and soaking the parched ground. I cried with gratitude for the rain and for my friend. But mostly I cried because I was leaving. This was another in a string of goodbyes over the last few days, each one leaving me breathless and aching. I did not ask for this. It was not part of my plan. When I arrived in Papua New Guinea, I came prepared to pour myself out, to encourage, to listen… but not to get attached. Hellos and goodbyes move like the tide, sweeping us up in the ebb and...
Read MoreBlessed
I sat this afternoon with a friend. This friend of mine, she’s sick. Her future is uncertain at best. We needed tissues, my friend and I. We talked about Heaven, about family, about dying. About God’s grace, portioned out day by day. We talked about flowers and her love for gardening and about music that heals the soul. We talked about faith and the long path it sometimes takes to get there. She held my hand, and we prayed like we were drowning, desperate and gasping for the presence of the God who brings peace. The way life goes, with its twists and turns, is not for the faint of heart. And perspective is never clearer than when we’re nearing the end of the road. The sky was bluer when I walked out her door. The laughter of my children made me want to freeze...
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