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The thing that I love and equally hate about vacation is we’re off schedule. Or, there is no schedule? Perhaps routine is a better word. Go here, do this, fit this in and let’s not forget about that. Beach today? What are we cooking for dinner? Oh, there’s a new ice cream place in town? A taco truck? Where’s my shirt? Did you wash my swim suit? My head hits the pillow and I notice the clock. 11:57, it says and I think to myself, what did we do today?
Vacation feels like a whirlwind of activity and often I don’t appreciate it later. . . until we are home.
Yesterday, I am walking off the rough sandy beach of a lake near my hometown where we are spending the week, when a woman walks toward me with a smile saying, “I recognize that face”. I am balancing a ball under each of my arms and one in my hands. Charlie, Chanelle, Meadow and my nephews are scattered every which way washing the sand off their feet and Chad is assisting them with six brightly colored water noodles tucked in his arms.
I glance toward the voice and see a woman, flanked by little people, carrying her own beach supplies. In the 1.5 seconds it takes for the woman to walk toward me, I do a quick scan of the rolodex in my brain, trying to place the familiar face from my history. As she approaches, I utter an “oh my goodness!” and reach my arms out to hug her. We have a brief conversation. “How are you?” she asks. “Where are you living now?” I ask. “These are my kids.” she points to a young boy and girl. “Are you still teaching?” I ask. “Are these your kids?” she asks. Chad approaches us and I introduce the two of them, Chad, this is Eva, I laugh as I finish the introduction, she was in our wedding.
We are surrounded by little people now. Mine waiting to go home, hers waiting to touch their feet to the rocky lake sand. In the moment I feel a tug in my heart, a longing to catch up with my long-lost friend after 17 years and a pull to gather our little humans into our car and head home. There is a part of me that wants unpack the blanket we just folded and invite my old friend to sit down next to me in the hot sand on this warm summer afternoon. I want to travel back and visit each of the years since we last spoke and I want to hear her story. Who she has become, who she is becoming. I look up and see that her sister is waiting for her, little ones beckon my friend. I look up and see Chad waiting for me, our little people waiting for the ice cream we promised on the way home.
The blanket stays tucked away. The questions I have for her remain unasked. She is moving one direction, I am moving another. I reach out toward her again for another hug. “It was so good to see you”, I say. “So good to see you, too“, she says. In the moment there is so much to say and nothing to say at the same time.
I climb into the car and Chad heads toward the highway that will take us back my Dad’s house. The chatter coming from the seats behind me is drowned out by the thoughts swirling in my head. I am quiet as I think about my friend from long ago. The friend who walked down the aisle, donning a pale yellow dress and carrying a sunflower-laced bouquet, before me as I prepared to begin my life with Chad. The friend who I knew vaguely in high school, but reconnected with in my later college years when we worked at a camp in Michigan together. I thought back to the nights singing around campfires with her, hammering nails on top of a roof in West Virginia with her, and playing silly staff games with her. As I thought back through the years, I remembered our last morning at camp when my friend and I woke early and walked out into the chill of the morning to take in the sunrise together. I remembered sitting in the golden glow of that summer morning with a feeling of peace and accomplishment–one season ending, before another would begin.I remembered her quiet spirit and gentleness. I remembered the trust I had for her. And the safety of her friendship.
I stare out the window as Chad navigates the car toward my Dad’s house. “I don’t think I’ve seen her since our wedding.”, I say to him. He listens as I continue my thought, “Still, even all these years later, I would not have wanted anyone else standing beside me on our wedding day.” Chad nodded in understanding.
I’ve been thinking about Eva a lot since that chance meeting on the sand. The friend who stood beside me on our very important day before walking one way while I walked another–just as we did on the beach. I’ve been thinking about her impact on my life. The way she walked into my life during a season when I needed her most. During a season when I needed her gentleness. Her inquisitiveness. And her ability to sit the silence. To sit in the questions.
I’ve heard my college roommate say often, friends for a reason, friends for a season. I know that there are friendships that enter each of our lives at a specific time and for a specific reasons. Sometimes it’s for us, to receive, and other times it is for us, to give. These friendships are important chapters of the story of our lives. Without them, the entire story could not be written. The story would be lacking. It’s a scene left out of a movie, a chapter out of a book–without them, nothing would make sense. Without these friendships, life would be incomplete. But as my Dad has told me from the time that I was very young, “Summer, you are lucky if you have five really good friends in your lifetime.” These, I now understand, are lifetime friends.
Each of these friendships are gifts. Reason, season, and lifetime friends–they are treasures.
Crossing paths with my old friend reminded me of these treasured friendships. I was reminded that despite the reality that the whirlwind of our lives have taken us in different directions, I carry a piece of her in my story today. And just like vacation, sometimes we don’t appreciate them until later.
If I were to cross paths with Eva again, I think I would skip small talk. I think I would simply hug her and look her in the eyes and tell her, thank you for the part you played in my life–I’m better because of you.
