Getting Honest About Friendship

Betsey: Jane, I’ve been thinking lately about a question that’s been bothering me. Recently a young woman gave the children’s message at church, and she was talking about friendship and how hard it is to sustain one over time, and gave some examples of this from her own life. I suspect the grownups got at least as much out of this message as the kids! Certainly it made me think about my own friendships, and I realized I don’t really have any close friends from, say, college. You know, every now and then you hear about some group of friends that have known one another forever and get together for a “girls’ getaway” once a year or so. Do you have anyone like that? I think lives are so fluid now that it’s hard to maintain those connections (Facebook does NOT count).

Jane: Oh, nuts, that's too bad . . . because I've reconnected with some high-school and elementary-school classmates via Facebook, and it's been fun to exchange fluffy, encouraging comments from time to time. But you're right, Betsey, that's hardly friendship in the true sense of the word.

Sometimes I wonder what would happen if my Facebook friends and I actually got together in the same room.

We'd probably end up staring blankly at each other with very little to say! That's because for some strange reason I'm more outgoing on Facebook than I am in real life.

I look at my parents, especially my mom, and see how they still have these wonderful connections to high-school classmates. I wouldn't call these former classmates my parents' close, day-to-day friends, but they all share a childhood history they value highly. For my mom, attending her high-school reunion in Chicago remains a priority. I can't begin to relate to that . . . and sometimes, I feel sad that I can't. Jennifer Aniston once said ex-husband Brad Pitt was missing a “sensitivity chip.” Could I be missing some nostalgia gene, or some “friendship chip” that they have? I hope not!

Betsey: One of the things I really like about our friendship, yours and mine, is that we’ve reconnected. I think of people I used to be close to, say, from former churches and through work connections, and it’s sobering how people can drift in and out of our lives. If we see a friendship kind of dwindling, we don’t really exert effort to resuscitate it.

Jane: I know – and I'm sure I've been guilty of that. But here's a pet peeve, Betsey. I once had a friend who rarely initiated activities; if I didn't set up a lunch or breakfast, it wouldn't happen. That would put me in a funk because

it takes two to do friendship!

It finally dawned on me that this particular friendship was obviously more important to me than to her (I was slow on the uptake). Accepting this hard truth stung. But the older I become, the more easily I can accept a relationship for what it is, and if it fizzles out, I try to move on. I have to; life's too short.

Most friendships, I think, are situational anyway. But who's to say one of those more transitory relationships won't surprise you by reappearing and unexpectedly deepening? You can never write off that possibility!

Betsey: A couple of other things come to mind. One, what is a “friend”? Do you have to see each other all the time to be friends? Certainly there are people at church I count as friends, even though we don’t socialize much outside of that. Are people at work friends or just colleagues? I’ve actually heard people say that when they left a job, they just didn’t keep in touch with their former workmates as much as they expected to. It seems the definition of “friendship” is really slippery.

Jane: I've experienced friendships forged in the pressure mill of the workplace that I considered fairly tight. But after someone changed jobs or left for some other reason, the challenge became preventing that friendship from dying on the vine. I once had a close friend at work who just dropped me a year or so after she changed jobs – even though I made overtures to reconnect. The reality is,

once your common bond is removed, it becomes more difficult to maintain your ties.

You quickly discover if that specific friendship is deep enough to bridge the gap. Many aren't, and in the end that's okay, because new ones, hopefully, come along. Although I do think sometimes it's easier to make friends in certain seasons of life, and more difficult in others.

Betsey: So what makes someone “good at friendship”? I think I’m pretty good -- I’m not especially high-maintenance, I think I’m an okay listener, I’m funny. On the other hand, I can be introverted and things can get under my skin.

Jane: Anything you want to tell me, Betsey?

Joking aside, I'd like to think I'm a good friend too, but I can be easily hurt. And that's something I'm going to spend a lifetime overcoming.

In the end, I'm not sure how to define a “good” friend, except to say I think she's someone who can make you laugh (and you can make laugh, too!). She's someone with whom you can be your true self; someone who “gets you” in ways others might not and who accepts and treasures those things about you; someone who finds you important enough to schedule into her calendar with some regularity. I'm not suggesting good friends have to get together all the time; I think you can see each other infrequently and still be quite close if

you both want to make that effort, you both value nurturing the friendship.

AND – this is important, at least to me: Your conversation is mutually engaging. Some friends have made me feel my only function in our friendship is to be their sounding board because they monopolize the conversations. I want to say, “Hey, what about me? Aren't I in this friendship too?” But usually I'm too non-confrontational to do that. And that's a whole other topic!

Betsey, I could get on a roll on this friendship topic. I think we need to write a book!

Betsey: You are so right about the mutuality. I’ve known people who, when you’re talking with them, you share something about your life and they IMMEDIATELY turn it around and launch into a recital of what they’re up to. All about them. That bothers me a lot. And yes, I think we should write a book.

What are your biggest friendship challenges?

For the Love of Dog

Jane: Our dogs Daisy and Boomer have been driving me nuts lately -- especially Daisy, our 20-month-old yellow Labrador retriever. Because it's been so hot and buggy outside, I've avoided the dog park where Boomer and Daisy run off excess energy. Without that outing, they get a little restless . . . and mischievous. Yesterday I watched as Daisy -- my white tornado -- cut a swath of destruction
in our backyard, digging a new dirt hole by our fence, chewing up a patio chair cushion and an umbrella cover, chomping on stray sticks and mulch, chasing flies, trampling ornamental grasses, and devouring a huge, green, juicy catepillar.

Betsey: Bon appétit! When I think of your dogs, words like “bumptious” and “galumphing” come to mind -- big, spirited creatures who get all over everything and just love you to pieces. I still remember Daisy knocking a glass off the table with her wagging tail! Dogs just mean so well . . .

Jane: It's funny you mention this, because recently Daisy knocked over a tall glass of Diet Coke, spilling its contents all over our leather sofa and hardwood floor. Yet in the frenzy of wiping up the mess on the floor and the couch and the coffee table, she melted me with those brown eyes . . .

My irritation with these guys never lasts long because I know how short a dog's life truly is. We've lost two dogs to old age and sickness: Bo, our first dog ever, and Buddy, our previous Labrador retriever.

I'll never forget how painful those losses were . . . straight out of Marley & Me.

When Bo died on our kitchen floor, I was so grief-stricken my heart went wacky and I had to wear a Holter monitor for 48 hours!

I revisited that grief a few weeks ago when I learned dear friends in Jacksonville lost their yellow Lab, Shey, to a quick-spreading cancer. Then when we returned from our vacation, we discovered neighbors had to put down their sweet Brittany spaniel, Abby. These people are dog people like we are, so I know their hearts are breaking. Shey and Abby were splendid dogs. Beloved dogs. Just as Daisy and Boomer are.

What is it about these wonderful creatures that wraps itself so tightly around our hearts?

Betsey: Oh, Jane. That’s so sad about Bo and Buddy and Abby and Shey -- but, as you say, dogs’ lives are brief compared to ours, and that is the sharp poignancy embedded in the matchless joy we know with our best friends.

As you know, our little Cairn terrier Lucy is fourteen years young and losing her is something that haunts me. The other day she was sleeping on our bed and was just so quiet and

I looked at her and said aloud, “I have LOVED spending life with you.”

Of course, not long after she got up and started barking at the vacuum cleaner -- so, Lord willing, she will be with us for a good long time yet. In the meantime we’re contemplating taking her on a cross-country vacation. Road trip!

Jane: Oh, Lucy Lou! I love little Lucy -- she's so spunky.

Betsey: No kidding. Amanda and her dog Gracie, who’s black and white and looks like a stuffed toy, stopped by recently. Not, mind you, in the house. I walked Gracie (who was wearing a new pink outfit!) around our front yard a bit and all of a sudden I heard ferocious barking from indoors. Lucy was on HER chair, looking out the front window and sternly ordering, “Get off my lawn!” The funny thing is, she was so energized the rest of the evening, like her Scots blood was stirred by combat. We call her “Little Braveheart.”

Jane: What a hoot! We have all kinds of pet names for our pets, too. Daisy is “Baby” or “Doodle” or “Dickens” (because she can be a dickens). And sometimes -- I'm embarrassed to admit -- we've even called her our daughter Emily's name by mistake. (Emily insists that's only when Daisy's naughty. I take the Fifth). Our older boy Boomer is “Boom-Boom” or “Booms.” And Rich, of course, is “Mr. Rich,” and the dogs respond with such excitement when I tell them “Mr. Rich is home!”

Betsey: Yesterday Fritz called Lucy “Stuart.” Sometimes I call Amanda “Lucy.” Lucy is also “Lucy-Goosey.” We’ve also experimented with seeing if she answers to “Duke” or “Poopsie,” because of the similar sound. Of course she isn’t fooled, because Lucy is uncommonly gifted. I sometimes imagine, when she’s staring at me with those big, soulful eyes, that all of a sudden she’ll say something.

Jane: Isn't it cool when you see your children inherit your passion for animals? I know if circumstances permitted it, Sarah and Emily would own dogs, too. But because Sarah and her husband, Mike, are missionaries who travel overseas, right now it doesn't make sense. And Em's landlord doesn't allow dogs (so she got a cat instead!).

Betsey: It would be awful if your kid didn’t love animals. Truly, I would have a problem with that. Thankfully Amanda absolutely loves animals, dogs especially. She dreams of having a whole herd of them on a big rural property. Stuart, too, is a dog person -- fortunately for him, because what he didn’t know is that

loving dogs is one of our hidden family tests to be let into the “circle of trust,” to quote Meet the Parents.

Jane: Ha! I love it! You know, Em once dated a really nice guy who was allergic to dogs. Whenever he was going to visit, I'd furiously attempt to eliminate all traces of the "fur situation" -- no easy task! They're no longer dating . . . and as much as I liked him, I always wondered how a non-dog son-in-law would fit in.

The truth is, dogs are messy, mischievous, and expensive. They tie you down. They interrupt your sleep. They get gassy when guests are over. And let's face it, poop happens! Pee and vomit, too. In fact, last night Rich and I were awakened to the unmistakable sounds of Boomer gagging. A mad dash ensued to get him downstairs and out the back door so he'd barf on grass instead of carpet. We lost that race, by the way. And then there's what I call The Muddy Season -- spring. Muddy footprints don't even begin to describe its horrors!

Yet I feel such a powerful, protective love for these canine best friends. They're not our kids, but they're definitely our family. And I hope -- silly as it may sound to some -- that one day in heaven Rich and I will see Bo and Buddy and Boomer and Daisy eagerly awaiting us with tails wagging, expecting belly rubs, cuddles, and a game or two of Fetch-it. How could it be heaven without them?

I wonder if the depth of feeling we experience for our dogs is an echo of Eden . . .

an inkling of how that stewarding relationship between mankind and animals was meant to be.

Life without a dog or two beside me on the journey? No thanks. I'll take the poop, the pee, the vomit, the incessant shedding, and the less-than-perfect house in exchange for their unconditional love and companionship, for antics that make me laugh and affection that melts my heart.

Oops -- looks like they're putting me to the test . . . Daisy's chewing on an area rug, and Boomer has to be let out. Gotta run!

If you had -- or have -- a dog you love, share your dog story with us!

Tiny Terrors

Betsey: Last Sunday after church and -- I admit it -- blueberry pancakes, we took our dog for a long (for her) walk. The air was cool and damp, the trees were tossing in the wind. It felt bracing and energizing, like that proverbial hint of fall and a wonderful change from what we’ve been enduring, a grim plod of muggy 90-degree days with screaming cicadas and flotillas of devouring mosquitoes that basically ruin summer. Last night we were at Amanda and Stu’s and tried to eat out on their deck and were chased indoors, and so the terrorists have won. As I mentioned to you, I think I have mosquito allergies so I’m covered with welts and scabs where I’ve scratched. Delightful.

Then at night, when the AC is on, our bedroom gets really stuffy and I toss and turn and itch and kick off covers and even the dog says, “Forget this!” and escapes downstairs. So we try to turn off the air from time to time to bring that good fresh air in -- but it’s just been so warm. And I think it’s affecting my mood and outlook more than I realize.

"I'm covered with welts and scabs where I've scratched. Delightful."

I once had a musician friend who said she thought creative people actually preferred “bad” weather. I think there’s something to that. Maybe not bad weather per se, but I realize when it gets cold, I get happy. What about you? Do you find yourself being affected by the weather?

Jane: First of all, I know what you mean about the mosquitoes. We took our two dogs to the off-leash dog park Saturday morning, and although I was slathered in Skin-So-Soft, we ended up trudging through these vast swarms of skeeters, slapping ourselves silly in a futile attempt to keep them from feasting on every known body part! You can tell it's really bad when Rich, who usually isn't bothered by mosquitoes (I can't figure this out, because they just love me) cries uncle. We finally turned tail and left in defeat. Days later I'm still discovering angry welts from that trek . . . on my butt, the backs of my arms, my thighs. All the juicy spots!

Now to answer your question, yes, I'm affected by the weather -- or more accurately, by the sunshine. Every long gray winter, I struggle with S.A.D. (seasonal affective disorder) and I'm always tempted to buy one of those “happy lights” they sell at Costco.

But I can't say I prefer bad weather; I prefer variety. Too many bright days in a row, and I yearn for the moodiness of a cloudy, rainy day (nothing like the rhythm of rain to read by). Too many dreary days in a row, and I just about go batty craving some sun.

"Days later I'm still discovering angry welts from that trek . . . on all the juicy spots!"

Oh, and I can do without high humidity. It turns me into a sweaty, crabby mess.

Betsey: You’re right about variety. I think that’s more it than “bad” weather. And I’m glad I’m not the only one who gets bitten on, well, “shaded” spots. And I still remember an old cartoon that ran in one of the first issues of Partnership magazine, the former CTI publication for ministry wives. It showed a couple watching as their kid fled marauding mosquitoes, and the dad said, “Uh-oh. Get ready for the question, ‘Why did God invent mosquitoes?’"

Jane: I asked that question myself when we were at the dog park -- loudly, and often.

Betsey: So not to “theologize” everything, but is there such a thing as “bad” creation? Philip Yancey wrote something on this years ago. As I recall, he was talking about the dangerous giardia parasite lurking in the waters of crystalline Colorado streams and he explored the idea of “fallen creation” -- things in nature that destroy and hurt and have no visible benefit. I wonder if this summer’s tiny terrorists would fall into that category. I know they are eaten by, among other creatures, bats and dragonflies (which I’m seeing more of) . . . but there are just so MANY of them. (Annie Dillard has an interesting reflection on nature’s “mindless fecundity” in Pilgrim at Tinker Creek.)

"What about the idea of 'fallen creation' -- things in nature that destroy and hurt and have no visible benefit?"

Or you think about truly miserable weather, like the 100-degree-plus heat they’ve seen in the Great Plains this summer. Or disasters. Or anything else in creation that doesn’t seem to have an upside. How to account for some of this?

Jane: Betsey, although my recent trip to Alaska renewed my awe for creation's design, as far as these ferocious mosquitoes go . . . sometimes nature seems so random, even nasty!

Betsey: Well, I’ll ponder this while safely sequestered indoors, dreaming of blustery October skies, beef stew and a world where a woman has the right to bare arms without fear of airborne enemies using your skin as a landing strip. Slap!

What You Said About House Envy

Our blog post If I Lived in That House . . . generated some great discussion among betsey:jane followers on dealing with house envy and avoiding making our home an idol. The discussion also reminded me of a blog I [Jane] wrote last year about my parents' house fire and the insights I gleaned about earthly "stuff" (Ashes, Ashes).

But here's what you've said about this whole the-grass-is-greener-in-someone-else's-designer-kitchen thing. And those new to the conversation, please join in!

Wendy Paine Miller said...
About this house envy stuff. Yes, been there. Just yesterday I was dealing with the grass is greener syndrome with my neighbor across the street (wonderful woman). Her grass isn't the only thing in good shape. She has a lovely garden of flowers and my thumb just isn't green.

So, each time I go over for a chat I learn the name of a flower and I soak it in as she teaches me. Who knows whether I'll actually be able to get the things to grow come time to plant, but I'll sure know the names of lots of flowers.

Kate Bryant said...
I think I've given up hope on a house I can just feel comfortable living in and having people visit. Seems like there are ALWAYS other priorities for our time and our money. Yet it really stinks to not like your own house. If I had my druthers we'd get rid of the house, move into a townhouse that needs NO work whatsoever, and just live. Invite people over. Have guests. I think I'm more utilitarian...I just want a house without "house issues"!!!!

Betsey & Jane said...
Boy, I think there's real wisdom in the idea of being unencumbered by these house issues. If we could practice hospitality without the worry of measuring up, just think how that could free us to use "stuff" for more Kingdom purposes. I'm not there yet . . . but crawling toward that.

Janine Petry said...
This is a hard discussion to enter into. I'm not quite sure how to do it, but I suppose it's because, I cannot relate--not in the same way.

For more than six years, our family has always lived in...someone else's house. As church staff, we were provided housing to live in. And transitioning away from that position in the past few months, God provided yet another home to live in at no cost, except sweat, to us. But we have never chosen, invested in (the way you discuss), or owned any of these. And this has truly changed my outlook on the things you're talking about.

I've had to wrestle with the question that comes before what you're asking: will we ever even OWN a home? Should we? Are we less if we never do? There are many, many people who will never make the decisions or ask the questions you are asking. For them, just having a place to live is enough. Just the daily bread; forget about the matching breadbox.

One day, while taking a walk with my (then) three kids, I was looking at the beautiful homes, and yes, wishing we had one. Thet urge is real--and I think put there for Heavenly purposes. But I admit, I was thinking "life would be better if we only..." And then it hit. What a lie. And how long have I believed it? It renders the rest of the "envy" discussion...irrelevant for me.

Jesus described himself as one who "has no place to rest his head" on this earth (Matt 8:20; Luke 9:58). I want to take that to heart and understand it. I want to long for ONE home, above. I want to say with Paul that "what is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord" (Phil 3:8).

I don't want my heart or my identity in any way based on a dwelling here; I don't want to measure myself in fabrics and hardwood floors, and I don't want to measure anyone else that way either. These will not last. And blind beggars and cripples and the forgotten homeless may know, far better than I ever will, the beauty of a dwelling unencumbered by earthly desires and filled completely by the all-surpassing Christ.

Betsey & Jane said...
Thanks for your insights. I think often of my daughter and son-in-law, missionaries who share a living space with another family. They are learning lessons I haven't been called (or perhaps better to say "chosen") to learn about an earthly residence. I think the desire for a home of one's own is natural, however, but as with anything in life can easily become an idol. So how do we keep our home from becoming an idol? That's the question!

Mawty said...
I think I go in to anyone's house and find something that inspires me. It might be a color or a backsplash or a cute rug or the way they put their pictures together on the wall. I'm not sure I have envy. I'd call it inspiration to do something in my home like that. I used to have envy, but I think cancer has changed that. I just feel good when people come over and say my house feels peaceful is all I want to hear. It doesn't have to be a beautiful home, the cleanest home, the richest home. Peace and harmony. God's spirit.

Ronna said...
About this Lifestyle-Lust-thingy you've been discussing, God and I had a "talk" about this just a couple days ago. I was worried that I was lusting over re-decorating. I was out on my deck, overlooking my pond, with my first cup of coffee of the morning.

God showed me the beauty of the sky, the grasses, even the "ambiance" of the wind blowing through the trees and the sound it makes. "See," he said like one of those Hot Flashes from Heaven, "I create beauty. And I redecorate ALL the time. Four times every year I change colors in my foliage, rearranging, replanting, repainting sky, earth, water." Genius! Who ELSE but God would implant into WOman the desire for beauty? I was instantly at peace with His perspective and reassured that he would keep me from turning HIS desires into a spiritual trainwreck.

Betsey & Jane said...
I love how God is the Master Designer and that our love of texture, color, and form harkens back to being made in his image!

Karen said...
House envy has been a huge issue in my life... striving for a home we could be proud of has been nothing short of idolatry. I've found God does not tolerate idols in the life of his children.

In September 2008, He dealt with my continually seeking after home improvement. In one short weekend, The Lord allowed half of my home to be destroyed by floodwaters. At the same time, I'd been referred to a specialist because of a suspicious lump in my breast. And to top it all off...my father-in-law was not recovering well from recent surgery.

Nothing like devastation to send one to her knees for a re-ordering of priorities!

Out of the ashes, or in this case, soggy mess, God brought beauty. Friends and neighbors rushed in faster than those floodwaters with encouragement, help, and prayers. My father-in-law improved. The scary lump disappeared. My house has been restored.

Most importantly, my home is no longer my idol. It is simply the dwelling place the Lord has given me for this life. A place that is not made precious by our possessions, but by those who inhabit our home and visit us here.

Betsey & Jane said...
I'm moved and encouraged by your story, Karen. And thankful for the happy endings, too!

If I Lived in That House . . .

Jane: I don't know if this has ever happened to you, Betsey, but it has to me. Sometimes when I visit a friend's home and she's just done something amazing (added a beautiful garden, updated a kitchen, or bought new furniture, for instance), I'll secretly think, I want to do that too! I start comparing her stuff to mine--even, I might add, if we recently retiled or repainted or redid something ourselves.

Betsey: Oh, totally. But maybe not as much as I used to, because I really love our house now. When we lived in a smaller place, I was always aware of a low-level tension, like a low-grade fever, because I was never completely comfortable in my environment. I really, really struggled to be content like a good Christian girl. Then we were able to finally move and guess what? It HAS made a difference in my mental outlook, like one less thing to feel bad about.

But now the issue is, simply because we do have a nice house--I want it to be even nicer. So where when we first moved I was just content to have a house with a family room and a true home office, more recently I’ve wanted to redo the kitchen (like you guys did . . . ) and am contemplating what to do with our simple little patio. I worry a little about the “never good enough” syndrome.

It’s that phenomenon of rising expectations, you know?

Jane: I do know. We have a home with plenty of room for the two of us (and our rascally Labradors) and a yard I love. While it's no McMansion with all the bells and whistles and grand square footage, our modest home is filled with happy memories and the joy of everyday living. I have nothing to complain about. Compared to the rest of the world, I live like a queen.

However, because we're embedded in such an affluent region, sometimes I find myself getting caught up in that “never good enough” syndrome. Or maybe it's the “do I measure up to my peers?” syndrome. Anyway, at my age, I should know better—I DO know better—yet in this one area, I still catch myself experiencing a bit of what best-selling author Meghan Daum writes about in Life Would Be Perfect If I Lived in That House: "There is no object of desire quite like a house. Few things in this world are capable of eliciting such urgent, even painful, yearning. Few sentiments are at once as honest and as absurd as the one that moves us to declare: 'Life would be perfect if I lived in that house.'"

Betsey: I think one way to channel all this envy and discontent is to learn from the improvements so-and-so has made, get ideas. Like I wouldn’t have thought of a backsplash like yours, but now I sort of want to copy it. And I like the skylight in your master bath. And I wish I had matching chairs like the ones you have in your . . . Sigh.


Jane: That's exactly what I do when someone else's house impresses me! For example, I fell in love with your hardwood floor—or, as I call it, The Floor of All Floors. When I see something beautiful that someone else has, my wheels really start turning. It's all part of this innate desire to create beauty within my home, which I actually believe is part of what it means to be made in God's image. However, the problem comes when those wheels spin wildly off-track, leading to the kind of excessive desire James 1:14 warns about: "Temptation comes from our own desires, which entice us and drag us away."

In the past, I had a serious wake-up call that helped me see this issue more clearly. Fourteen years ago, we underwent a life-threatening medical scare. I didn't know if my husband would survive it or if I'd be living in our home without him. Suddenly the house things I used to grumble about--walls that needed painting, furniture that was getting a little shabby—meant nothing, I mean absolutely nothing. With no beloved beside me, how important is a fancy house?

Thankfully Rich came through that crisis. And I thought I'd learned my lesson about house stuff. But it's funny how human nature works. You think you've passed the test, but then one day you discover--with some chagrin--that you need to keep on retaking the class . . .

Betsey: True. You never learn a lesson once and for all--guess that’s what keeps us dependent on a gracious, possibly amused, Lord. Oh, and as beautiful as The Floor of All Floors is, it’s a nuisance to keep clean. Anybody out there have tips for maintaining walnut?

Do you ever find yourself comparing your house with your friends' houses? What do you struggle with most when it comes to house envy?