This was never where I wanted to be. A stepping stone, a temporary pit stop, that was all that this place was meant for. Not life, and certainly not forevermore. And yet, here I was. Married, settled, and in it for the long haul. Trying, struggling, aching to pull the pieces together and make them fit. It was working, for the most part, but something was missing.
There, in the deepest recesses of my soul I was screaming, “God, send me a friend. A real one.”
Baby came. Oh, the joy he brought. Words cannot describe. We discovered, for the first time, the weight and depth of God’s mercy. So much that we did not deserve. Our love for one another grew to new heights, as we marveled at what it had produced. My heart began to beat faster and fuller. For the first time the void labeled "family" was full and as it should be. But still, something was missing.
A vacancy lay in my heart that no existing relationship could touch. Husband filled his role, above and beyond all expectation. Baby was all I dreamed he would be. Yet the longing remained. For someone, any someone, who shared my perspective. Someone who wore my shoes: wife shoes, mom shoes, post-partum woman shoes, hormonal, frazzled, and trying to survive shoes. Someone who loved me, my family, and my marriage. Someone who would push when I needed a push, speak when I needed a voice, and, on occasion, sit beside me and cry a good cry.
So gradual was this process that I nearly missed it. It was a while before I stopped and realized that something—that missing something—was found. Several somethings in fact.
The kind that speak truth so steeped in love that it dulls the sting.
They are with me in the valley, they are with me on the mountaintop.