"But oh! the blessing it is to have a friend to whom one can speak fearlessly on any subject; with whom one's deepest as well as one's most foolish thoughts come out simply and safely. Oh, the comfort - the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person - having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all right out, just as they are, chaff and grain together; certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and then with the breath of kindness blow the rest away". ~Dinah Craik, A Life for a Life, 1859
{fresh Iris's on my dinning room table}
Lately I have been thinking about what it means to be a friend. Last week an old friend called me, and I haven’t spoken to her in quite awhile. She is very special to me, and I love her with all my heart. We don’t speak very often any more, our busy lives gets in our way. Her brother passed away, and I didn’t know how to comfort her. After getting off the phone I cried for a little while. I feel so sad to hear her news, and I worried that I wasn’t all that I should have been on the phone. All I did was listen; I know there is nothing I could say to make her sadness disappear. Just I still wonder if I did enough.
