“courage is being scared to death but saddling up anyway.” – John Wayne
That’s the poster hanging on the wall over my bed tonight. It’s not at my house because I’m not at my house. I’m staying with an old friend this weekend. My moment of compassion.
She didn’t have to invite me into her home … but she did.
She didn’t have to stay up talking til 12:30am … but she did.
She didn’t have to involve me in her weekend plans … but she did.
And I needed it. I needed the chance to just be me for a few days, to focus on what I need to move forward in this world. The last year has been anything but great and I’ve reached the point where I’m ready to move on, to take new steps, to find that courage despite being scared to death.
I know those steps are ultimately mine to take. I know I have to find the courage in me to make them and follow through. And I thought I’d be walking down this path alone.
But the reality is, every time I think I’m on my own in this, I find my friends waiting to catch me, to listen, to lend a hand and an ear and some laughter. They bring me fudge and candy canes. They eat my cookies, as if they were good. They lend me a bed for a weekend. They stay up late chatting as if we’re teenagers with nothing better to do. They hug me. They read my blog. They tell me what an awesome book cover I have. They let me critique their writing, as if I know what I’m talking about. They tell me I’m beautiful and important and needed and wanted. And … sometimes … they tell me I’m wrong.
Because that’s what friends do.
Friends are the truth that we can’t see in ourselves, the strength we aren’t able to find, the joke we forgot to tell at the end of a bad day … compassion.