One's friends are that part of the human race with which one can be human. ~George Santayana
When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares. ~Henri Nouwen
Friends is such a sweet word, but often one that has to be worked for and thought of. Sometimes people have a hard time making friends. Some people don't make good friends. And then there are the times where no matter what, there are those who will touch your heart and engrave themselves into your lives.
During the summer I got into an argument with a friend of mine. To spare people's names I am going to call her Jane and the other participants in my story will be John, Joe, and Billy.
As a forethought, John and I had been friends for years. He has always had a special part in my heart. He has been the one who I would tease and he would tease back, he was sweet and helpful, I consider him almost as a little brother. And therefore, I get a little more than defensive over him.
Joe was my next door neighbor a few years ago. He can be loud and sometimes has no shame, but he is someone who is there to have fun, to cheer you up. He has always been a good friend, a good neighbor, and always has a place I can rest my head.
Billy and I have been friends since my first year of college. He is the type of person that you can talk to about anything, even when it seems trivial. He is someone who is nice to chill with and travel with. And he has a good heart and is compassionate. And he always offers his bed when I need a place to stay.
And all three of these guys have something recently in common...they are all gay.
Anyway, back to my story. Jane and I had plans to hang out and go to dinner. John had come to town that day too, so it ended up being Jane, Joe, and I eating dinner and then we picked up John. Now Joe had been his loud and shameless self, but we were all having a good time. We ended up going to a comedy show and hanging out before Jane had to leave. And then Joe left and I took John back to where he was staying. And it went well...or so I thought.
Not long after Jane left she started texting me and asking why I would hang out with "people like that". She said she just didn't understand why I would want to be friends with people who chose that lifestyle.
I tried to explain to her that these "people" as she called them, were good and caring human beings. And it hurt that I would be looked down on for associating with some of the most kind, caring, fun, and compassionate people I know.
I got mad. And for awhile it took some time to forgive Jane for the mean things she said about them. Ever since then I have been defensive when anybody says a rude remark about gay people because they don't understand how important each of those boys are to me. Sometimes I don't understand why they have this temptation in life and I wish I could talk it from them. And sure, sometimes I don't agree with the things they do or say, but in each one of them is something wonderful. And I KNOW that is true because I have been blessed to have each one of them in my life to teach me, to bless me, to help me.
There aren't many things that I become passionate about, but the swell of emotion I feel when I defend these friends convinces me that at that moment I know the truth. And the truth is that they are important people to me, that no matter their race, their gender, or their way of life they matter to me because of the people they are and the qualities they possess. And no one other than them can make me believe otherwise.
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11 years ago
