I woke up in tears on Saturday morning, crying because I am lonely for my friend. I find myself still reflecting on it several days later. I'll call my friend "Phoenix" to protect her privacy. I thought of Phoenix as my best friend in junior high school, more than 30 years ago now. But a rift grew between us as I began developing other friendships in high school. I was confused by her rejection, not understanding that it must have come from her own fears of being rejected. And experiencing this loss was not enough to teach me kindness, as in high school a few years later I mercilessly cut off a friendship with another girl. It was for a very small reason, though at the time it seemed to be of monumental importance to my teenaged self.
One year not long before an upcoming high school class reunion, Phoenix called me. We talked hour after hour, the conversation flowing easily as we updated each other on our lives. I was thrilled to rediscover this lost friend. She had married a good man and they had children. They lived in a beautiful home in a new development in a town not far from the Cities.
She had kept up friendships with several people we both knew from school. I had intended to skip the reunion, but decided to go because she (and they) would be there. I was looking forward to meeting them all again. The reunion was to be held at a hotel here in Saint Paul. Phoenix offered to pick me up so I wouldn't have to worry about transportation. To be truthful, there were a couple of bright spots that evening. But on the whole it turned out to be one of the most miserable experiences of my life. And I would gladly re-live every last agony of my adolescence rather than go through a night like that ever again.
In phone conversations with Phoenix, I had mentioned my fledgling involvement in my own Amway distributorship. I was very excited about its potential and all the new people I was meeting at business functions. But I was still unsure about how to sell products or introduce the business to people I was too shy to approach. I really had not been brave enough to tell many people outside of my immediate family. But at the reunion, Phoenix seemed to delight in announcing to every person I attempted conversation with that I was "in Amway."
I was fat, shy, depressed, socially isolated, could not drive, had health problems, had not finished college, was not married, had no children, had no home of my own, was barely able to function in my job as a clerk, and was trying to make small talk with people who were mean to me when we were high school kids. Oh. And I was in Amway. I may as well have rung a small bell and cried out, "Unclean! Unclean!" I couldn't escape, because Phoenix was my ride home! I came home from the reunion feeling confused and upset.
Some time later Phoenix called me while her friends were over. We talked for a little bit. I was uncomfortable because she was talking about the reunion--which I gathered she had enjoyed immensely--and was asking questions about what I thought of seeing this or that person. Then she asked me if I remembered the name of a friend's husband. I had been told it at the reunion, but to save my own life I could not remember the man's name! Suddenly it occurred to me that I wasn't being included in this group of friends by this phone call. No, I had failed a little test and was being used as a silly entertainment. I understand why Phoenix may have acted that way, then and at the reunion, and I forgave her for it even as I hung up the phone. Still, I went to my room after the call, taken over by the sadness of realizing that this had not been a renewal of our long ago friendship after all, but a display of her triumph at my expense.
I can't bring myself to believe that her intention was to hurt me. But neither in all the years since have I been able to bring myself to return her calls or letters. I simply don't have the emotional resources to deal with getting set up and cut down, however unintentional it might be. She usually sends a Christmas card this time of year. I'm always glad when it comes, happy to know that she is doing well and has a good life, and that she thinks of me sometimes. She is a very brave woman who has come through the fire, and every year (so far) she has been willing to risk reaching out to me and getting no answer. I think of her as a Phoenix rising in new glory from the ashes of a difficult childhood.
That high school reunion happened a decade ago. I didn't realize how deeply I had been hurt by it until I dreampt about it and woke up crying. God must have arranged it that I would dream about a lost friend on that particular night. We don't generally get to pick the subjects of our dreams, after all. And knowing better than I ever could what stunning sadness I would feel, He also arranged to comfort me. For in my morning meditation, the passage I read focused on the deep sorrow Mary felt in saying goodbye to her Jesus, knowing He was to face rejection and the most painful of deaths to make us His true friends.
She accepted that bitter separation and her own impending martyrdom at the foot of His Cross because she loved Him and us. She knew she would be a witness to Our Lord's suffering and death. David wept bitterly at the death of his beloved friend Jonathan. Mary's grief, because from an utterly pure and loving heart, was more intense even than David's--certainly more than my cramped little heart can feel. Mary's sorrow is described as a sword piercing her heart, her soul.
It helped me a great deal to know that God knows about our sadnesses and hurts. I am grateful that He has not allowed sadness to destroy me, but instead has used it for His good purposes to increase not only my understanding, compassion and mercy, but also my trust in Him.
I'm not shy anymore. Amway didn't make me rich, but I did learn how to get to know people, and how to let them get to know me without allowing them to trample the barriers of my dignity. Maybe I will call Phoenix this year. I don't know yet. If I do, I'll certainly go into it with different expectations and my guard will be up. I will not be expecting to renew an old friendship so much as to build a new one.
