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Relationships are a fragile ecosystem that require careful tending and attention. A balance must be monitored and maintained for this garden to flourish.
I kill ALL green things (Watch out, Kermit). I am easily distracted, careless, lazy, neglectful, and often selfish. Relationships require work. Ugh.
Deb is among the heartiest of my harvest of hobnobbers. She is easy-going, patient, flexible, and understanding. So, naturally, I walk all over her. I make plans and promises that I fail to follow up on. I disappear, for months, without word. I am a weed...the stinging nettle in Deb's nursery...yet she continues to baby me along.
She. Is. Always. There. For. Me.
We typically get together over the course of the summer for a little walk or two.
This summer, though, I decided to spice things up. So what if we were both plagued with crippling feet problems? Who cares that the only sport that I might possibly hope to qualify in was competitive eating? Why should we care if we are years behind a nation-wide trend?
"Deb, do you want to play Pickleball on Thursday?"
No. She wasn't thrilled by any stretch of the imagination. But she would do it for me.
Deb was a natural. We listened attentively as our friend Sabrina explained the rules, nuances, and very complicated scoring system of the game. Distracted, I disappeared down a rabbit hole, wondering why the area closest to the net was called the kitchen. A deep-dive later revealed that the term was borrowed from shuffleboard and denotes a non-lobbying area to prevent someone from whacking the ball too hard at an opponent. I eventually zoned Sabrina out (to my detriment later) and just focused on one thing: Getting the darn ball over the net.
Deb zipped all over the court, tilting her paddle to send the ball spinning back while I stood, squinting, in a sweaty puddle, swatting clumsily at empty air. A seasoned coach, Sabrina quickly recognized that I worked more effectively with the benefit of a running narrative. Rather than shouting "Idiot," Sabrina would bellow "Bounce!" to remind me of one of the rules of which I clearly didn't digest.
I was thrilled with the arrival of Sabrina's daughter, a former student. I forced her to be my partner. "My love language is undeserved praise," I told her helpfully. When we had to change partners later (at Mogan's request, I'm sure), I flipped the switch a bit. "I still have access to your school records, Morgan," I threatened as she served a rocket to land expertly in the far back corner, forcing me to flop over backwards, "It's not too late to give you a failing grade in 4th grade social studies! I will ruin you!"
Our taste for Pickleball soured some so Deb and I tried another sport: Breakfast.
Much more to our taste and ability level.
And we could talk without fearing failing heart palpitations.
We caught up. I talked for two hours straight. I finally took a breath so Deb could share. "The chair recognizes the woman in the booth from a ways up the road."
I learned that my quiet, kind, reserved friend would be leading a small women's group in the Fall, supporting God's sweet sparrows whose souls were swept up in life's storms. In other words, everyone should attend. Deb described the professional training that she'd undergone and the personal introspection she'd experienced that led her to this amazing calling. "What inspired this undertaking?" I asked, stunned by her bravery and service to others. Deb smiled. "It might have been that time I stopped in unexpectedly to visit you," she shared. I stared at her, flabbergasted. "Was I your rock-bottom?" I gasped, horrified.
The waitress paused at our table with a coffee pot. "Can I fill your cup?" she asked.
Yes.
Perhaps you can get your cup filled by attending a small group. Or maybe joining us at church on Sunday.
(Or you can even risk getting the snot beat out of you on Thursdays playing Pickleball with Deb and me.)
Psalms 23:5
You fill my cup until it overflows.
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