Friends

Baxter and Elsie are buds.
They romp.
They tease.
They poke.
They prod.
They wrassle.
They flaunt their stuff.
They draw out each other's impishness.

Baxter and Elsie enjoy being together. They have fun. They're the kind of buds who know how to have a good time and can make the other laugh and enjoy life.

Their "friendship" is very different than, say, the one Elsie has with Ridge.



That's because Ridge is all business. He's serious-minded. He's not silly or impish like Baxter. He's not a tease. He's not a flaunter, either. He enjoys being with Elsie, but theirs is a "quieter" friendship--one built on companionship, trust, and the comfort of another's presence.




And here we go again: another way our canines teach us.

Don't people need different kinds of friends? Don't we need those with whom we can giggle and tease and just have fun? And don't we also need those with whom we can enjoy quiet companionship?

Rarely do we find both in the same person. We tend to have the "fun" friends we play with and the other friends with whom we do tasks or from whom we seek counsel.

I've been blessed to have found both in one man: my husband. And I've been blessed to have found both in two other people: my twin sister, and my friend Kathy. But everyone else, for the most part, falls into distinct categories: the "play" friends" with giggle factor and the "serious" friends with whom I work, serve, or minister.

With the "play" friends, I can be goofy and silly (I don't have many of these). With the "serious" friends, I work and get something done.

When I'm with the few who've been both to me (Don, Jeanie, and Kath), I can be all of who I am without reservation. The others only get glimpses.

And I suppose that's okay.

As we approach Thanksgiving, I'm thankful for the many good things in my life, among the most important of which are my friendships. Like Elsie, I have friends who allow me to be me and love me all the same.

That, indeed, is a rare gift in this day and age.

I feel blessed. And I'm grateful.

'Til next time,
Joan