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Honestly, People

5 Jan

I almost passed the comment over with a quick glance and smile.  A friend who read yesterday’s post had written one simple line.

“Aw Dawn, I love ya’ for your honesty.”

Then, I let the truth of that sink in.

I love you for your honesty.

We went to high school together, this woman and I, and were friends in a fashion. We shared activities, even sang in a small-group ensemble wearing matching shaker sweaters from the Limited. She might kill me if I posted the picture.

But then again, she’s 1,500 miles away.

1985. That's my only defense. Now you know why I love "Glee."

I liked her for her sense of humor, admired her for her talents, envied her for her blonde California girl looks. But loved her? Not really.

She seemed to me then, effortlessly popular and sure of herself. So I waded into only the shallow surf of friendship, fearing if I was a little more vulnerable, the waves might well knock me over.

And although we all cried at graduation to Michael W. Smith and Amy Grant singing “Friends are friends forever if the Lord’s the Lord of them,” after we headed off to college, I didn’t give her another thought. I’m sure she felt the same.

But as our 25th high school reunion approaches, this California girl and I have reconnected on Facebook. She’s clearly made a deal with the devil and has become even more spectacularly beautiful. But whether age has made me wiser or keyboards make me braver, I find myself not so intimidated these days.

So in a handful of emails and instant messages and status comments, we’ve both waded step by step into the waters of authenticity. Traded stories and prayer requests. Dropped pretenses. Picked up not where we left off, but at a new place where we can be genuine.

I still like her because she’s funny. Still admire her because she’s talented and accomplished. Still envy her gorgeousness and wonder if she’d give me the devil’s number.

But now, more than all those things?

I love her for her honesty.

I don’t want to get all preachy, but you know, that’d be a great resolution for 2010. Let people love you because you’re honest. Stop trying so hard to be who you think you should be, and be who you are.

I know I Corinthians 13:12 is talking about our relationship with God when it says “For now we see in a glass, dimly, but then face to face.”

But we spend a lot of time, it seems to me, making sure the only way anyone sees us is dimly, through a fog. If in heaven, all our perfect relationships are transparent, why not get out the glass cleaner and work on getting that mirror as see-through as possible here on earth?

Just listen to it again, and tell me it’s not worth a try.

I love you for your honesty.

Five-O

12 Aug

One of my favorite people on the Internet is celebrating a milestone birthday today.

And although I have offered up my share of geezer quips,  including asking if Luby’s Cafeteria will have Wi-Fi so he can tweet while he’s eating the senior plate, I’m going to set the snark aside for a moment.

When I first started writing this blog, it came after years as a television news producer. I did plenty of writing, but it was to tell other people’s stories, in styles geared to please news directors and consultants, and then to watch from a control room as other people gave a voice to those words.

So this blogging thing has been a sometimes terrifying process, like going from helping with costumes backstage to walking on a tightrope. I’m hardly new to the circus, but this is a new role, and the balance bar is still unsteady in my hands.

Richard has been sauntering across that tightrope for awhile, as a sports writer and amazing storyteller. We have mutual friends, my husband worked with him for awhile, but we’ve never met. But when I started following him on Twitter, he was gracious enough to return the favor.

In 140-character snippets at a time, we’ve traded snark and sports talk, and occasionally, even sincere snippets of conversation. And Richard, one of the best writers I know, regularly takes time to read this blog, and amazingly, tell me he thinks it’s worth reading.

It’s easy to take small kindness for granted, but today, my friend, I want you to know I do not. Because of the deep respect I have for you as a writer, a journalist, a man of faith and integrity, those 140 characters are powerful. They make the tightrope not so daunting.

I hope, as you celebrate this milestone and begin this year, that God blesses you and your family, and gives you many more years to laugh and write and encourage. Happy 50th.

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