Friendship

Friendship by Amena Brown

(Adapted by Melinda Welch to fit my friends)

We find our friendships in restaurants and at lunch tables; in pews, green rooms and neighborhoods.  In walks and quiet corners at parties.  We skip the shallow small talk and pleasantries.  We tell all.  We bare our souls.  We know it’s held sacred.

We decide not to hide where the extra folds have made their home on our bodies.  We drink smoothies and hot cocoa and diet coke.  We tell jokes over guacamole and queso and tortilla chips.  We revel in chocolate chip cookies and rolls with butter, because who needs the next best diet when we can talk over tacos ?  Because calorie counting doesn’t count here.  

Your round hips are welcome here.  Here we celebrate cellulite and stomachs that never return to taut after gaining weight and birthing children, or slowly losing our need to impress people who care nothing about us here.

We love  ourselves, just like we are.  We preach acceptance to each other.  We say to each other, “Hey, love yourself the way you love me, the way you forgive me when I’m late even though I say every time that I’m gonna be on time.” The way you let me cry when I’m angry.  The way you let me vent when my world is seemingly falling apart.  The way you pray for me to find rest when you watch me carry my stress to panic attacks and migraines.

We are warriors and menders.  We have watched each other become women, become wife, become mother, become student, become boss, become teacher, become grandmother, become missionary.  And we decide not to judge.

We’ve learned you can never know the pain another woman hides behind insecurity, too much mascara, ill-fitting outfits, until you have not only walked in her shoes, but also know her pain and wounds, how she survived her scars; that it’s brave to look yourself in the eyes every day and love the woman who stares back.

We take the word friend.  We carry its meaning in the wrinkles of our hands.  We take each other’s stories and secrets to the grave with us.