Dear Brenda

Dear Brenda,

Hmn. How do I start out? A funny joke to set the mood? A three-paragraph explanation on all the things that kept me from responding to your messages earlier this month? A poem written in honor of you that barely scratches the surface of the woman you are?

Sigh.

Why don't I just start off by being honest? It's scary and may make you think less of me. Ha! As if my poor reaction to your notes (and by "poor" I mean my one sentence response of "can't talk right now but will write you soon") even has you considering me at all.

Okay. Here goes.

Although we haven't been in physical contact for over a year, the connection we made at our class reunion still warms my heart. We've had frequent Facebook chats and shared things that have brought back memories (both good and bad), broken each other's hearts as we compared battle scars and war wounds that are still being picked at on a daily basis. We've exchanged funny pics and even gossiped a little about...well, let's not tell all of our secrets!

We've opened up our hearts and souls and prayed for one another. Our friendship deepened and plans were made--though never finalized--to catch up in person soon. Soon. What an odd word. Isn't is supposed to mean in the near future? Why is it then that over a year later our paths haven't physically crossed again?

So, enough avoidance, Stef. Let's get to it.

You wrote to me earlier of how your heart was aching and breaking for so many of your loved ones, as well as for many of our mutual acquaintances. Your soul cried out to me and I...

I...

I hurt with you, Brenda. I really did. More than you know-- because I took the easy way out and instead of sharing our hurts, I put them off because I--here goes--I didn't want to deal with them. Again. Still. Our families have caused so much grief to us and it just doesn't appear that there is an end in sight. Our friends' hurts are also never ending and I did not want to be brought down lower than I already was. Even though you stayed up with me late into the nights many times and "listened" as I poured my struggles out to you, I was too selfish to return the favor to you, you, you wonderful red-haired, fiery, passionate, compassionate, loyal, sweet, beautiful soul! I was afraid that if I got involved that my heart would possibly have its final straw handed to it and I wasn't ready to end.

Does that make sense? I think you know what I mean because your tenderness is much like my own. Our hearts are big but they have been stretched and sometimes, like when a big meal is eaten, one more bite could cause a major blowout in another part of our bodies.

I am sorry. Sort of. My need for self-preservation outweighed my desire to help out a friend and my shame is great. If you will consider it, I'd like another chance. I'd like another opportunity to share with you: all of it. The good. The bad. The sad. The ugly. The beautiful--for you and I both know there is beauty in these ashes. We both know there is joy in the morning. Sadly, I let the night last too long but...today is another day. Another chance.

Here's another truth: I was terrified. I knew if I started to reach out in response to your pain, that somehow mine would rise up and because you are just so great, you would have been there for me. But I didn't want that. I didn't want to be helped; I wanted to bury it all and not deal with it. Again though, as we both know, some things just don't stay underground. They push at our surface until they come out--usually at the most inopportune time.

Sigh.

Dear Brenda, this is your sorry excuse for a friend apologizing publicly to you so that not only will you know how sorry I am but anyone else who reads this will know and hold me accountable for this promise to be better. I am not even going to ask you to forgive me because I can see your eyes flashing at me now with the spark that rages inside of you that can perhaps best be described as holy fire. Christ lives in you so much so that you see things for what they are, not just what they appear to be. You see me as a gal who messed up but is worthy of another chance (even though I don't deserve it). "Forgive you" you may scoff. "Come over here and give me a big hug so I can smack your back a little harder than necessary to let you know that 'Oh yeah: I understand. I understand, my feelings were hurt, but yeah, you former red-headed, hot-tempered, feels-too-deeply sister of mine. I love you.'"

Brenda, I love you too. And I'm tired of being afraid of getting close to someone. Especially you: the woman who challenges me to be better, to be honest, and to honor God with my actions. I let Him and you down this time, Brenda. And I really am sorry. Don't be a little rascal and write me back, saying, "Dear Darla--I mean, Stef. I hate your stinking guts. You make me vomit. You're scum between my toes! Love, Alfalfa."

Well, maybe you could write something like this. I promise I won't be offended--as long as you sign it with love. RSVP, Sweet Cheeks! I'll be waiting. heart emoticon