When we are little I pretend to be the boss and “allow” him to use the watering can I first stole from him, and he cheerfully accepts and hands it back when I tell him it’s time.
Only 5 years grown up, I borrow his cowboy boots and hold tight the reigns in one hand and his toy gun in the other, while he stands by. Happy to share his pony and watch.
When we get to be grown-ups, he remembers that I said I want to go fishing someday. So he baits the hook for me and teaches me how send it flying. The fish slip by that night, but we catch a turtle. And some magic when the sun goes down and the fireflies burn holes in the night.
We are family, our mammas sisters.
And we are friends. Always friends.
We know what it is to wrestle.
We know what it is to feel the pain. When the struggle doesn’t go away.
We know what it is to search for the known in the nameless, like fingers feeling a face in the dark.
We know what it is to get lost in the maze.
We know what it is to need a Savior. And we know what it is to find Him.
We know what it is to be rescued. And we know what it is to wait to be set wholly free.
The day the flowers came, the day I can’t stop smiling at those 12 stems of lavish love, attached to these words from my cousin, my friend, “I understand.”
And something begins to unfold in me.
Words that only bring healing when they come from the true knowing.
And this kind of knowing?
Only comes from the wounding.
And I think how my friend looks like Jesus, generously offering healing to me… through His own wounds.
“But he was wounded for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his stripes we are healed.” Isaiah 53:5
What could be more beautiful?
I walk by them and reach for my camera again and again, aching to capture every angle of lovely.
But it never ends.
I reach for the words to unfold these glimpses of the glory of this Salvation I’m only beginning to grasp.
Of which there are no end.