My Blog Lesson for Today

**sigh**

Ever since I discovered a certain three blogs, I log on to the Net just about every day just so I can check in with those ladies, hoping they have posted something new.

Sadly, I regret to admit -- I am not that regular, or eager, to check in daily with the one friend I have who is the best friend I'll ever have. This friend will never, ever blab my secrets to anyone else. This friend will never, ever abandon me when I am depressed, grouchy, whiny, have a stuffy runny nose, feel bloated and feeling ugly and maybe even acting a bit ugly. This friend will never, ever leave me to fend for myself, even when I've gotten myself into the mess by my own stupid actions or decisions. This friend is rich -- far richer than even Bill Gates. This friend is powerful -- far more powerful than OPEC or NATO (combined). This friend is important -- far more important than any head of state, even the Queen of England or the King of Sweden.

Amazingly, this wonderful friend WANTS to be my friend. And even more amazing, to me, wants me to be a friend in return.

I mean, me? I'm not rich, beautiful, important, powerful. I cannot add anything to my friend's treasures or jewels or accomplishments. I'm not someone that anyone important or rich or powerful even takes notice of. I'm just one of the millions of minions that hope to be noticed and maybe get a handshake or a wave from the rich and powerful.

Yet, I have a friend who is rich and powerful.

And, I am not as eager to check in with this friend every day like I am with these interesting bloggers?

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?

No, seriously, what IS wrong with me?

If you had a friend, a best friend, like that, wouldn't you want to spend all of your time with that friend? Wouldn't you want to check in everyday at the very least to have a chat? Wouldn't you be eager to meet up with your friend as often as possible?

If you had a friend who was so much more than you were yet wanted to be your friend, wanted to have you as a friend, AND who never let you feel like you were something less than or inferior to him or her, and never made you feel like a tag-along in their shadow, wouldn't you just be head-over-heels in love with your friend?

So, why am I afraid of my friend?

It can't be that my friend knows all about me. I mean, that's one of the definitions of "friend" -- someone who knows all about you but loves you anyhow.

It can't be that my friend will scold me for staying away so long. Instead, I'll hear "Come on in. I've been hoping you would show up today! Oh, friend, I've missed you! Glad you're here now."

Could it be that it's because I didn't do what I said I wanted to do, but then later changed my mind? I doubt that. I'm pretty sure my friend would say, "Why didn't you come to me for help?" And I would say, "I wasn't sure it was what I really wanted to do after all." "You know, you can always talk these things over with me. I'll gladly listen anytime. I'll even try to point you in the right direction if you'll let me." (My friend isn't pushy.)

Is it because I think I have to change or do certain things so that my friend will keep liking me and keep on wanting to be my friend? Is it because someone else told me I'm not good enough to be friends with my friend?

I honestly don't know what keeps me away.

By now, you've probably figured out who my friend is. The God of the Universe, Jehovah Himself.

He wants to be my friend. He wants me to be His friend.

And, here I am, someone who knows an awful lot about Him but knows Him very little.

I've been working on a novel, based on a scenario of "what might have been if ..." I had made different decisions years ago. And then suddenly I began avoiding working on that story. Not because the actual decisions or consequences or subject matter I chose to be the "hot issue" of the story were troubling or difficult to write about. On the contrary. It was all hitting the computer screen almost too easily.

At first, I said I was not working on the story because I did not like the ending I had concocted and wanted a better one before I went any further. A better ending came a long and still I didn't want to write it down. Back and forth it went. For each excuse, a solution was found; and a new excuse was invented.

Finally, I knew the reason.

And it is not a happy thought.

Even though I made one decision and the character makes the opposite one, the consequences are horrifically different for us -- for her far worse than I ever faced (and I'm happy that "facing" it is just in the form of imagination and fiction for me), in the end, twenty years later, we are not that different. And, here I thought we were different. I thought I had a pretty good life and had grown in my faith. In truth, we both must face similar persistent fears and doubts, face the heartaches that have shaped us and embrace them as important aspects of who we are, and acknowledge the need for a deeper (much deeper) faith.

There is a mad sort of comfort in clinging to a rope that is studded with nails and broken glass that dangles above a black pit of unknown. The nails and glass cut and stab my palms and fingers as I cling to the rope, but the rope is strong and is known; the pain is unbearable but it is far less frightening than the pit below that is unknown, untried, unmapped, uncertain.

Both the character and I have to let go of the rope and fall into the pit. At the bottom, through the darkness, waiting for us is my Friend, who WILL catch me, who WILL hold me, who WILL protect me and love me and yes, I noticed I moved from "us" to "me" -- in the end, that's what the story is about. Her journey is the journey I must take.

Okay, that's why I am avoiding the novel. Is that why I am avoiding meeting with my friend?

It's because I have to let go of the rope and fall ...