A real ode to friendship and a spin on the storybook Dee Dee Doodle and her friend Almond
My stomach flipped as I dropped, free-falling on the elevator and bracing for the crash. Panic took over. My breaths became short, my mind darted between deadlines, disappointment, chalkboards, self worth-
There’s a friend that creeps under my covers and gently wakes me up from the nightmares, with coffee breath and dreamy eyes lit up like twinkling lights. She reminds me that the day is just starting, that my Favorite is waiting for me, speaking to me; I just need to be willing to go to Him, to believe I can. My reality is better than my dreamiest dream. I get up with her and come to Him.
There’s a loneliness that taints your day when you’re in an unfamiliar city, in an unfamiliar area, in an unfamiliar building. I keep myself from breaking because I know if I step outside, I’ll still be staring at unfamiliar trees with unfamiliar people that already have everything they seemingly need. So I cope by wearing myself down and giving myself a way with big smiles and bleeding knuckles that have been stepped on by girls who are the best painters and guys who callous their fears with force.
There’s a friend that reminds me that the air I breathe is made out of grace. Who rubs the stiffness out of my shoulders, who holds my arms down when they naturally hide and protect and wipe my face. Who slams the door and drives recklessly and dreams of teahouses and pumpkin buggies and lavender candles and we realize we have the good gifts right at home and the best gift in the love from the One who chases after us and leads us when it seems so dark. We return with Him, our faces radiant.
The invitation was personal, my name embossed in elegant calligraphy; it was no mistake. But I know my worth, so I’m convinced I must’ve been invited for something I could do, something I could offer. It couldn’t be just for me. My mind tricks me to feel the burden of going to the King only to bring him something he needs, something he’ll desire, something that will make me worthy of his presence. I tuck the shame under my fine gown and I string a script of embellished white lies together with the hopes of trancing Him into loving me, as if it was dependent on this one unmistakable mistake of a meeting.
There’s a friend that travels with me to the King. Who holds my hand all the way there. Who quietly approaches His door so meekly, with a bowed head that is eager to look up to his glory. I step back, amazed. She reminds me that I get to Come to him
only because he has Come to me,
for me,
because he loves me,
unconditionally,
“Just Be”,
she says, and he loves, and I rest.
There’s a pain of loss. Of never seeing someone, ever again. Never hearing their voice, their laugh, their love for you. As finite as life is, the thought of it lingers so deeply in my gut that it pangs, making me pull away and crawl down until the world stops spinning. But it doesn’t, of course.
We’re two fatherless friends with the same Dad, clinging to each other, loving deeply. We’re freed from slavery and sold to scandalous redemption. There’s a friend that writes a note and just knows. She knows which shake of my head means I’ll be in the library indefinitely, and which one means I’m so overwhelmed and so full on the best emotions that I just can’t hold it in and joy shakes from my core and makes me tap my toes and she sings along like my very own Canary. We binge on strung lights, classic looks, the Fall Club, and spontaneous, cheap friendship dates. We’re citizens of heaven, and we’re almost home. I wouldn’t be this me without you. And it’s the worst I’ve ever been in the best way. Thank you.