When you unplug from the world for two weeks to connect with the ones you pushed into the world and the man who vows to do life with you forever, you wonder if everyone else will forget about you. Will two weeks of silence with the outside world mean your essence will evaporate into a distant memory for all the others?
The sun still sleeps and I’m lying in bed with my eyes open, thinking about this day, my birthday. We’re in a season of friendship poverty. The kind that laughs tears, knows what you did yesterday, finishes sentences, reads your sadness without needing words and brings you a latte in the middle of the day.
It’s okay, He told me it would be this way for a while. But I’m preparing for the silence on a day when there should be confetti and noise blowers and cake crumbs laying all over the coffee table.
He asks me the same question I’ve written about all week, the one that echoes over dirty dishes, grocery carts and cut flowers. “What do you want me to do for you . . on your birthday,” Jesus asks.
I want to know your presence, feel you with me today in a tangible way, I tell him. Because is there a better birthday gift than this?
He answers in phone calls from voices I haven’t heard in months, random conversations with strangers in Ann Taylor Loft and the used bookstore. In text messages about taking walks, emails from distant relatives, and over 100 birthday wishes from friends far away.
And when I end my day couched among gift bags, crumpled tissue paper and the ones that own my heart, I close my eyes and thank Him for the way He connected with me. Because in friendship poverty comes the realization that He’s the best friend you’ll ever have. He finishes all my sentences.
This post is a bit of an uneditted continuation of posts inspired by the Circle Maker by Mark Batterson posted on Monday and Wednesday.