An Odd Collection of Friends

It was a decade or so ago and I was in desperate need of help. 

In search for tangible and lasting help that brought healing and not more pain I kept trying to find some one or some thing to help.  It's all a blur, unless I slow down and think about it, the stream of people I looked to for comfort and ministration and found that their capacity to simply hear my story was so small.  The few who could hear some parts of it and remain my friend and not turn me into a dreaded sympathy project were those who themselves were so wounded.  We gathered together at all night restaurants and talked till dawn.  Just friends talking, no projects allowed.

After a time, and so many hours drinking sweet tea, coffee and cappuccino and splitting hash browns at three in the morning, the gatherings eventually had more reasonable hours and we met at my house for popcorn, hot chocolate with butter schnapps, white zinfandel and talking and board games.  We felt like normal people, with friends.

Our conversations were different than any other gathering of friends or church people I'd ever experienced.  We spoke of cutting; head banging; sleeping the darkness away; the need to check on a friend who might be suicidal, again; and abuse, all kinds.  We spoke of God and Bible verses that helped, but mostly we were the hands of Jesus to each other because everyone else hurt us more.

I'd like to say that I was strong and a source of comfort and was full of empathy for these dear ladies.  In reality we were all barely functioning and from day to day what kept us together was the knowledge that we were all we had.  We were all in different churches, and each of our churches were actively "helping" in our lives in some way.  We needed each other.