There are several girls I hold in my heart as sisters. These are the women whose weddings I will sob at, children I will devote myself to and achievements I will wholeheartedly celebrate.
Recently I made room in my heart for another. She is Northern Irish. She has to have cereal before she goes to bed, she never says no to a cup of tea, she can't tell a story sitting down and she captivates rooms full of people. Without fail she captivates rooms. We bicker like an old married couple, we nap together, we can have conversations by looking at each other. She's the one who talks me through my (frequent) tears.
And I want to share this evening as a snapshot of how she revives my spirit. She came into my room (she doesn't bother knocking anymore) and sat on my bed with her guitar. She played some worship but didn't sing. Now I've sat by her in chapel before so I know she can sing and asked her to do so now. But she refuses, she says she can't sing. Eventually I persuade her to and she plays me a worship song she has written, with the beautiful voice of one who recognizes her source of grace. She does not see the weight of who she is, through no fault of her own.
She then made up a song about me and the fact she had caught me wearing a facing mask, my big feet... cute stuff like that.
Then we worshiped.
And she is beautiful and talented and sweet and humble and strong.
And she is my reminder that it's okay that I don't have a valentine this year. And she is my reminder that i'm far from being alone.
No comments:
Post a Comment