"Make new friends and keep the old,
One is silver and the other gold."
She is a new friend that feels "old" in the best possible way. A treasure, precious; gold.
I tuck her in my pocket and carry her around with me throughout the day -- sometimes almost literally -- our words connecting our hearts via texts from iPhone to iPhone carried in pocket and purse.
I text to report on what my body is doing today -- maybe hips are limping, maybe a spine is stiffened, maybe hands are swollen. I tell her what my heart is feeling -- maybe stressed and maybe blessed. Often, as authentic life goes, a measure of each. I tell her what my girls are doing, what our day is holding.
She tells me things back.
One of my kids acts out in public and I go home, deflated. It never ceases to amaze me how my girls' behavior can thrill me or undo me.
I text her, my phone making a little whoosh as the message of "My day just went south" zips its way through mysterious channels of technology to ding into her phone.
I am returning Redbox DVDs, comfy in velour pants and ballet flats, comforted by the silence of no children on this errand; inspired by the fresh air and lighting of dusk when my phone alerts me of her reply.
I hold my breath as I read in my parked car. She is new after all. Will she judge my motherhood; my babes (grown in the protection of my body, in the space beneath my heart)? My babes I've spent nearly 24/7 with since their birth? Motherhood is of utmost importance to me -- the desire to put in the time, do the work, give it my best (which so often feels like not good enough).
She says the perfect things, her words a balm to a bruised Mama-soul.
Her message lightens my load as she volunteers to help carry it. I find comfort in her understanding and non-judgment.
She is new, but she is gold.
Thankful for a pocket friend tonight.
