Not When the Light Shines

This is when friends are important. It is not when the light shines. It is not when the day brings laughter. It is not when tea cup chatter rises in our hearts. Even a friendly stranger will do in times like these. But when the hour hand is stuck at midnight, we need our friends. When we forget who we are and the wind howls with the wolves through our souls, we need our friends. And it is in this present darkness that we discover what kind of friendships we have made.

Are they fairy floss and candy apple friendships? Or do they have substance? The kind of friends that will search for you in the midst of haunted lands? Not everyone falls to the bottom of life and then looks around to see who is still standing beside them. But I fell. And there were few left. My husband, Matt, came looking for me. And one or two others. The sad thing is, they were not the one or two I expected.

I realized that I had carnival friends. Sure they were happy to ride the odd scary roller coaster. But what about getting stranded in the haunted house? What about holding my hand after I lost every single game I played?

They were gone.
"We'll email you," they said.
"We'll call."
"We must do dinner."

 But dinner came and went, my email box was full of empty, and my phone stood arms folded and quite on the bench.

I cried. Like all lost puppies.
But then I took in what I had. A husband. My boys. And the one or two who sent a meal and came to sit with me awhile.

So why do I write this? Because humanity is best enjoyed as a meal shared. And even if you are starving, it is nice to have someone to share the hunger pains with. Someone to say, "I understand. I too have hurt."

Writing is just as long and lonely sometimes. Especially when nothing blooms and you are chipping away at rocks trying to plant seeds. What keeps me sane are the fellow 'Wanters' who dream the writing dream. Those who hold their desires out for me to see and I, in turn,  hold out mine. And to those who have such friends, you are never truly lost.

So thank you for two sets of footprints. Especially those who walk in mud beside me. I can count you on one hand. What a precious hand that is.

What about you? Who walks beside you? Shout their names out proud. Who holds their hands out to you as you dream the writing dream?