On Resolutions, Photos and Friends

Ok, it's January and it just happens. As much as I weary of reading about resolutions in every magazine, ways to keep them, and which ones a body should make for the new year based on current fads, I still do it. This year, though, some things were different. I resisted the urge to write them down and kept my list a mental one. The title in my head varied a bit, too. Instead of being a "Wanna Do/Gonna Do" list, it was more of a "Wanna Do/Gonna Do Better" list. Nothing was brand new... and most things I had already made small changes in. I just wanted to do more of what I was already doing. And to my surprise, physical fitness and health wasn't topping my priorities this year, either. With the big 4-0 breathing down our backs, Marlin and I have upped our consumption of green stuff enough that I am tempted to buy stocks in those markets.

What has made it to the top of my list this year is to take time to consider those things that intrigue me... those small impressions that tease me on the edge of my consciousness almost without my noticing.

You know what I mean when I say we've got moments - huge ones - I'm sure we'll never forget; those days when something happened that closed one chapter and pushed us into another. Those are the days we look back to and say, "that was when, that was why, that was where..."
I tend to swim in those moments until I am all pruny, and they are worthy of it. The day I realized I love Marlin (happy sigh), the months my dad was not well, the day we said goodbye to him, the births of our kids, business decisions, those days an opportunity beckoned and we went for it.... you know - you've had them too. And what makes them so worthwhile to swim in is that God's touch and guidance are woven so significantly through them.

And then, there are the little moments - those small impressions that hold so much potential to soften me, and teach me, to make me laugh, and to shake me into awareness if I would only give them a chance.

So I have given myself permission this year to spend time and energy noticing small things much more than I have. I want to linger in the "insignificant" - long enough to splash a little and get my feet wet. I don't know quite what to expect, which is very much the point, except that I don't expect to be disappointed.

With that fresh on my mind, I pulled a book off my shelf to re-read by Lynne Hybels, Nice Girls Don't Change the World, which is punctuated by fascinating photos. I read it like I normally read, focusing on the words in black and white, absorbing their meaning. I read the last page, and as I closed the book, this flick of a thought thread its way into my consciousness. "Read the pictures." So I opened the book again, flipping through it page by page, appreciating the creative photography and how it complimented the message in each chapter.

But I kept returning to one in particular, so this being post-resolution, I propped open the book and picked up my pen so I could process the stirring in my heart I felt when I spent time looking at this photo. Most of the other photos were small; they covered the bottom half of a page, or at the most, a whole page. But this one extended through the center fold to cover almost two full pages, and I applauded the lay out editor's choice of space. I wanted to be in that picture.

The photo is simple at first glance. Four girls - 20ish - are on a beach surrounded by sand, sky and ocean. They are walking away from the camera toward the water, so the viewer only sees them from the back. They are dressed casually in tees and jeans rolled up to their knees. They are barefoot, caught right in step with one foot planted firmly in the sand and the other up and moving forward. The sun is behind them; long shadows fall ahead of them stretching into the water.

It is a beautiful picture of four friends enjoying the beach, but that is not what captivates me. What moves me is their body language. They are walking close together, arms wrapped around each other. What is so uncanny is the way they seem to be leaning into each other and supporting each other at the same time. They are moving ahead, leaving individual footprints behind them, yet they are not alone. They appear comfortable with each other, confident and trusting. If their lives are like their arms, intertwined and interwoven, they are four lucky friends.

I imagine I was there.....

I hear the laughter of my friends. There are those who are my age with similar responsibilities and commitments. They get it. They know how important it is to shop Costco, they understand what a taxi driver feels like, they feel the tear of the apron strings, and they wear ear plugs. And then there are my friends who can still blow out all their birthday candles in one breath. I draw from their energy and passion to take on the world; I dream more daringly when I am with them, and sometimes I even take out my ear plugs. And beside me, too, in my little day dream, are my friends who use double the wrinkle cream that I do. I envy their freedom, and crave their spiritual discernment and teaching. When they talk, I find myself leaning forward.

I smell the salty ocean water, feel the sand on my toes, and the sun on my back. And I feel the arms - the arms of my friends whose lives are interwoven with mine. Friends with whom I will roll up my jeans. Friends who link arms and move ahead. Friends who allow me to support and lean and appreciate my individual footprint.

That is such a feel-good picture. And it is reality. Often. But not always. I know that sometimes the camera of life would catch me in a different pose. Instead of my arm around the back of a friend in support and love, it would catch me with my arm withdrawn, pointing a finger instead. Instead of my focus being ahead, I would be gazing at my friend's faults. And I know myself well enough to know, that often the photo would show me with two feet firmly planted, pulling back against the forward movement of change and challenge. And sometimes, I would be staring at someone else's finger.

I need to stay in this picture, to live in community. I need to keep it a reality in my life, whether we are on a beach, around a table, in a vehicle, on the phone or writing emails. And those days when the camera of life catches one of us in a unattractive pose, we'll do what committed friends do - lean in a little harder, support a little bit more, keep our arms around each other and head for the beach.