All of my friends are mysteries to me.
Wendy’s steady gentleness
That can still speak hard truths when needed
Ann’s proud self-assurance
That hides her too-real insecurity
Norma’s thoughtful faith
That welcomes my many doubts
Carol’s urgent caretaking
That out-strips her diminishing strength
Their lives, their souls are ever mysterious to me
But then so is my own
My writing, my praying
My fractured relationships
With my children and
My sometimes God
No friend is more mysterious to me
Than that God
Whom I am never really sure
Even exists
But whom I talk to daily
Not to seek favors
Or even salvation
Simply because
As mysterious as it is to believe in God
It is impossible not to.
Like this:
Like Loading...