In junior high and high school, I had this friend. We were best friends. And we laughed.
In sixth grade, we’d walk home from school together and every single day, we’d end up laughing so hard our stomach’s would hurt. And okay. Maybe on occasion, one of us would pee our pants just a little.
We were inseparable. We played sports together. We fell through the ice together (why yes, yes we did). We had this ridiculous bike we would ride together. Usually to Taco Bell at midnight. And whoever sat on the rack in the back would scream to the one in front to peddle faster, terrified of the dark that chased us. These Taco Bell rides often led to insane, stomach-hurting laughter.
Throughout junior high, we’d write notes to one another. She’d always put BFF on the bottom of the page. Only I had no clue what BFF meant. And my insecure preteen self wasn’t about to ask. So I’d write it back, hoping it made sense.
I know what it means now.
Best Friends Forever.
Our senior year, about a week after we graduated high school, she and I were sitting on this dock at night. The Mississippi River swirling in front of us with all it’s mysterious currents. Bob Marley playing in the background. And we had this conversation. The kind of conversation that sticks with you.
I remember one of us saying, “Isn’t it weird, how in ten years, we won’t know each other like we know each other right now?” It seemed impossible. But we both knew it was true. She was going to Iowa. I was going to Wisconsin. Things were bound to change.
And they did.
Freshman year. Madison. Witte Hall. Tenth floor. My dorm room. I gave my life to Christ.
In my fervor to share this indescribable feeling bubbling up inside me, I sent my friend an email. I wanted to share this joy and this hope. I wanted her to have it too. My passion could not be contained. It spilled over into a letter. And it absolutely freaked her out. I don’t blame her. I would have been freaked out too.
Christ is love. Christ is life. Christ is light. But sometimes, Christ divides.
My friend and I tried to recover. When we came home for the holidays, I tried to smooth over the damage my uncensored passion created. With a little perspective, I could see that perhaps I’d handled things poorly. My friend tried too. But things were different. We were different. Headed in opposite directions.
I don’t write memoirs.
But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t pull from personal experience when I write my fiction. My debut novel, Wildflowers from Winter, is a romance. But it’s also a story about two friends. Two friends who were once inseparable. Two friends who went their separate ways. Two friends pulled back together by tragedy.
And this Christ who divides?
He also heals.
Let’s Talk: Who was your best friend growing up? Are you still friends today?
