This week I’ve been drawn back in time through memory and face to face, spinning into decades ago when I didn’t focus on my future but ran with a few dealing with the very immediacy we were facing. The day to day. We were late to college, already having babies, divorcing and reconfiguring, shifting apace with the swift seasons. We leaned heavily on each other each and every hour. Generally desperate to laugh or write or cry or paint or sort out a way through life’s obstacles. Our twenties and thirties are woven into a shared crazy quilt that binded all our loose strings. Last weekend, after decades apart, we were us once more.
In this time marked by the disintegration of morality in our politically frayed America, where hateful politicians posing as caring humans justify their inhumane practices by treating children with the cold abuse of a Nazi, we must hold on to hope. That fragile and slender of emotions that alone fuels my soul, and no doubt yours, hope, elusive yet necessary. Thankfully for me, this past week, there is the reminder, where there is love one can find hope. Of course there is the always love of family, of sunshine and water, of a cool breeze after a hard day, but in this crazy here and now, I find the love of these friends. Friends who arrived from luck yet stayed dear through the years. Without a falter, these women are there. Yes, lucky me indeed. They provide me hope to endure.