Summer of Stories: Old friends

Allison, Sarah, Jessica, & me, circa '91-ish (my chubby, toothless stage). :)

I have several amazing, lifelong friends, a blessing of providentially epic proportions. It is something which I have taken for granted nearly my whole life, and am only now beginning to realize the full weight of.

Jessica and I like to say that we've been best friends since before we were born, since our mothers were best friends, and our grandmothers were also good friends. We lived down the street from each other until we were about 4, when her family moved to Texas, and then to Florida. From then on we faithfully drew each other colorful stick-figure pictures, progressing to chicken scratch-covered postcards, which eventually blossomed into real letters. They visited Tennessee over the holidays; we made the trek down to share in steamy Florida summers and whirlwind trips to Disney World. Somehow the states between us (ok, state - Georgia is HUGE people) didn't seem to matter.

(awkward much? yeah, we were)

I think I took having Jessica for a best friend for granted, because she was just always there, writing letters, calling, loving me for who I was, even though we are really different in a lot of ways. When it came to friendships, she put Jesus skin on and lived in it.

I was overjoyed when Jessica transferred to my college, and we got to share my senior year & her junior year of school. She also stuck around after school for a while, so we got to live in the same city once again. Now that she's moved back to Florida, it's harder to keep up with each others day to day lives, and I'm sure I'm back to taking her for granted all over again.

Sarah and Allison were my daily companions, my playmates, my partners in crime. We held Barbie yardsales, had birthday parties for our stuffed animals, built forts in the backyard, and did all of this in layers of dress up clothes. Our visits became more infrequent as we got older, and we lost touch when we all went our separate ways to college. Then, I was at an Irish pub with friends a few years ago, and the server that came up to our table to was Allison. I jumped up and hugged her; I think she kind of stared at me with her mouth open for a second. We discovered the three of us were all in Chattanooga, and now we get together fairly regularly for dinner or a cookout.

It's a wonderful thing when you're around old friends. It's just comfortable. I don't worry about my hair being frizzy or the dishes in the sink. Old friends know exactly who you are, and somehow still want to be around you.

The most recent childhood friend I've reconnected with is Emily. Emily also spent a lot of time at our house when were kids. Fun loving and accident-prone, she was the instigator of many of my childhood injuries, like the time we played golf with a broom and I ended up wearing a pirate-like eye patch for three weeks. After her family moved to Michigan, Emily and I were also regular pen pals. Between Emily and Jessica, I probably wrote more letters in my pre-teen years than most people do in a lifetime.

Em, her husband, and their three kids recently moved back to Tennessee. Although we hadn't seen in each other in a decade and hadn't even spoken in years, it was so easy just to pick up conversation, to catch up and reminisce.

I wonder if, when time ends and we meet Jesus face to face, if it will be like reuniting with an old friend. I imagine he'll tell us how much he's missed us, how glad he is that we're finally there. And then we'll sit down together, and he'll tell us about how he hung the stars, and why he had so much fun creating sea turtles, and we'll rejoice together that everything has been made new and right again.

Yes, I think it will be a lot like that.

Summer of Stories: New memories

Even while we're remembering the past, we're forming new memories.

Here are a few pictures from our recent Florida trip. I want to remember the beach this way, before the oil came and blackened the pure white sand. It'll be beautiful again someday, but it's going to take a long time.

Summer of Stories: Beach trips

I love this picture of me and my grandmother. I'm not sure who was more wary of getting in the water, and I think we both feel the same today. :-)

I grew up going to Florida nearly every year with my mother, grandparents, aunt, and cousins. Grandma grew up in Pensacola, so we would go down to visit family and play on the beach. My memories from those trips consist of happy nights snuggled in homemade afghans at Aunt Marylou's house, playing in the red dirt of her fire-aunt infested backyard, and picking up seashells on the beach. Most of my beach memories include my cousin Melody.

For visual reference, Melody is on the left, next to Harvey.

For many years, we would go to Pensacola to see family, then head over to Panama City for our relaxing beach time (this was when it was just starting to become an airbrushing, go-carting tourist trap. don't judge). I have great memories of Melody and I playing in the surf for hours, building sandcastles, getting eaten alive by sand fleas, and even dancing around in our matching grass skirts. Our annual trips got more infrequent as all of us grandkids got older, and the long car rides got to be too much for my grandfather.

My grandfather passed away several years ago, but my Grandma still likes to go back to Pensacola every couple of years visit her nieces, and be reminded of the place she and Grandpa met, I think. Last week my mom, aunt, and I had the privilege of joining her on such a pilgrimage.

I'd had high hopes for the trip, because of all those wonderful memories. But wasn't everything I'd hoped it would be.

Grandma was sick, and wasn't quite herself. In between coughing fits, she was bossy and irritable. I probably would have been, too, if I was 80 years old and felt as bad as she did. Mom and my aunt were both stuffy and snoring, so no one slept a whole lot. Melody wasn't there, neither was my little brother. Neither was Grandpa. I had no desire to collect shells, because they didn't match my house's decor (snooty, huh). This trip was just different. I wasn't a kid anymore.

There were many really good things about the trip, too. The beach was beautiful and clean, still unspoiled by the coming oil slick. The weather was perfect. The hotel was great, with a nice little pool and a great view. We saw amazing sunsets. We got to visit with family. I got to talk with my aunt a lot, which I don't think I've been able to do it years. I think I had the most fun of the whole trip when mom and I went out to the beach by ourselves on our last evening, walked along collecting shells for a craft project she wanted to work on, watched the sunset, and entertained ourselves by setting the camera's timer and attempting the perfect jumping-in-the-sand photo.

We can't get the past back, obviously. But the present can be good, too. And I'm so grateful for such wonderful grandparents, who took the time to share their past and present.

And, in case you're wondering, our timer photos were hilarious, if unsuccessful. :)