Thursday, June 18, 2009

A magnificent storm passed over Wilmore today, and I watched out the window as it thundered and lightninged and poured down torrents of rain. Sometimes the thunder sets off nearby car alarms which, though a little irritating, amuses me. The storm was dark and I’m always impressed with how different my room looks when it’s sunny outside from when it’s stormy. In the sun, turning on my lights makes no difference because the light streaming through my windows is brighter than the dingy bulbs in my room, but in the storms, though I can still see outside, the lack of sunlight is so thick that my room is as dark as if the sun had just sunk below the horizon in its final curtain call of the night. I can hardly see where I’m walking.

I love the storms that come through here. Sometimes they miss us and go around, but when they hit Wilmore, I’m as captivated as a child’s first time in a candy store. No matter what I’m doing, I stop everything and simply stand by the window and watch. I am not supposed to do that, I recently learned. Apparently, I’m supposed to steer clear of windows when there’s lightning, but I just can’t help myself. I’m mesmerized.

Aside from the storm, today lacked anything in the way of eventfulness. I got up today with the plan to read some of Jeremiah, and in the afternoon to work on church history, my online class. The storm threw my schedule off, though, and I didn’t try particularly hard to get it back on track. I baked cookies instead. I did, however, get to read some of Jeremiah, and I hope to do the same tomorrow.

It is earlier than usual as I write this and a number of thoughts are mingling in my brain and I could pick anyone of them at random and write. A lifelong friend of my chaplain died today, and so she and her husband are on their way to Canada for the funeral. I am thinking about my friendships, and I’m wondering who will still be in my life when I am fifty-three and what my history will look like. And then, with this on my mind, an old friend from Alaska called me. We don’t talk often, but it’s always fantastic when one of us calls and the other actually answers. It’s a four hour time difference and her life is in a flux of transition as her family is unexpectedly expanding. She recently married and a baby is coming in September. I first met this friend through the common connection of being Quaker. I was an upper classman in college and she was preparing to transfer in from a state university and we were both participating in young adult events in the yearly meeting. Friendships are strange. Some take a long time to build and connect and yet others come together like Lego pieces, with just a click. This is like my friendship with Rachel, and I look back at when our friendship began and think that never in a million years would either of us expect to have the lives we have right now. What will this look like in another seven years and what will it look like in another twenty-five?

I have learned a lot about friendship in Kentucky. I have learned the power of what it means for friendships to have history, to have years of a story attached to it, to have memories and emotions and a sense of knowing. To be known, really known, is something I don’t have here in Kentucky, and it is often painful to be here because of that. I am left longing for the day when my friendships here have history too, and it is not because I shouldn’t be here or I am unwelcome, but simply because that is what new places are.

I’m thinking about my friends lately and in these last two days I’ve had much needed conversation with two of those old friends who knew me before the thought of seminary even crossed my mind.

New friendships are forming here in Kentucky and I am very grateful for them. I look forward to the day when we can laugh and remember that long ago time when we were at Asbury together. And it was crazy.