It was dark outside. The truck lights shining a path as we journeyed down the road. The men were talking. They usually are. I was sliding the crochet hook in and out, making material out of yarn, feeling my way across.

We were running a bit late. Trouble in the barn but not our trouble this time. We went to pick him up, the farm hand on the neighboring dairy, and he wasn’t quite ready. So we sat and waited and talked— my Husband and I. He’s a good person to talk to. Full of wisdom. Solid and unwavering. (I’m a bit in love with him.)

We arrived then. Slid out of the vehicle. Me, carrying my bag of yarn. She opens the door before we get there. Her, with the flowing skirt and flowing hair, smile stretching and eyes dancing. She picks up the smallest dog who is wiggling at her feet, welcomes and ushers us into her home.

The men follow me inside and walk into the kitchen that is glowing with candles and warmth.

The last one is there waiting, tall with red hair. He is telling a story before I even set down my bag and we are all laughing and smiles are spilling.

We wait there in the kitchen for the water to boil. No one stops smiling, not once. When the tea kettle lets off a fog horn instead of a whistle, laughter echoes again. (I want one of those tea kettles!)

We settle in the sitting room. Husband and I on the love seat. Orange spice tea cradled in my hands, piles of yarn at my feet.

She walks in with a plate of chocolate cake and cloth napkins. My Husband’s eyes widen. Chocolate cake. I can make many things but I have yet to master chocolate cake. (perhaps because I don’t care for it?) He is ecstatic.

She sits in the office chair, sliding it backwards slightly. Once the teaching video is started, she settles back with her purple yarn and knitting needles.

Something warm and deep spirals through me. I look about the room. The farmer holding a mug of hot chocolate in large callused hands. The real estate agent with the stories and joy and contagious laughter. And my Husband. I’ve told you of him. Of his wisdom and unwavering faith.

My gaze goes back to her with the knitting needles and gentleness. She looks up at me and we share a smile across the room.

An hour passes and we listen and talk about deep things. What is evil? Who is man? What do we really believe?

And from each of the occupants, truth becomes defined.

When the hour is late and we’ve laughed so hard our sides ache, we start the drive home. Again I sit and listen as the men talk and the yarn I am holding grows into material. They discuss what it means to be men of God who walk with boldness in a lost and broken world.

And I thank God, yet again, for friendships that are safe and warm and good. Friendships that breathe new life into me again and again and again.

poem on my wall, (by Meg)

For men of God who I can respect and depend on. For women who long for the King with the same passion and hope that I do. For evenings when we can all gather and look at His Word and His goodness and His truth.

friendship journal from the teenage years, (with Brianna)

magnet on my fridge that tells a friendship story, (with Delite)

[week.of.thanks] do you have friendships that are drawing you closer to Jesus? Have you thanked Him for them? The Bible says we are “not to forsake gathering together” with other Believers. There is truth and light to be found in relationships that have a common goal: Jesus Christ. Take time this week to thank those around you who have worked to maintain relationship with you and with our King and Redeemer.


letter to Brianna, the one whose friendship kept me growing...


One thought on “[laughter.in.truth]

  1. Pingback: [Week.of.Thanks] « To Live For Him

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