A little piece of my heart left for Tennessee. As I write, my friend is driving to her new home ten hours and three states away.
I’ve never been one to speak of “best” friends, nor ever once to sport a broken-heart, BFF necklace.
Instead I’ve long praised “different friends for different reasons” and “changing friends in different seasons.” I don’t think I’m changing my tune.
But that doesn’t mean certain friends don’t rise to the top.
I am a mess of unfinished business. I feel pangs of “in process-ness” every single day. Not that I have attained or been made perfect, Paul said. But if there is anything true, lovely or admirable about me, odds are it was shaped by my friends. The truth is, I wouldn’t be me without my…
You cannot be profoundly influenced by what you do not know. Let’s talk about influence. Dr. Pepper seltzer, Tim Hawkins, the ragged copy of My Utmost in her WC twenty years ago that led to one in mine; the elegance of Hedgehog and Goudge and countless other good books, whole cream in coffee, radish slices…
You have been my friend. That in itself is a tremendous thing. -E.B. White, Charlotte’s Web She writes fiction very well. I write nonfiction not so well. My Friend Cathe But my friend Cathe is the one who called me up after reading a post one summer dayand said, “Abigail, there’s something wrong.” I braced…