(IN)Courage

[Judy Harder]

Climbing the Stairs Like a Toddler
Mar 04, 2013 12:20 am | Jessica Turner




My almost two-year-old daughter Adeline LOVES to go up and down the stairs all by herself.

"I do it!" she screams. "No, Mommy!"

Oftentimes she will want to go down carrying several books and a baby doll, making the trek up nearly impossible – and at a snail's pace.

Sometimes I pick her up to make it go faster.

It's bath time and I'm in a rush.

It's breakfast time and we are running late.

I get impatient and I hurry her.

Oftentimes when I scoop up her 26-lbs of soft baby chub, she screams "NOOOOOO" all the way down the stairs.

And I feel bad that I have let my impatience take over.

I've come to realize that I must let her do it herself.

I must be patient.

She is learning every day. Mastering new skills. Exploring the world.

And when I pick her up, I am hindering that process.

It makes me think about our heavenly Father.

Oftentimes, I bet he watches us moving slowly with too much on our hands and thinks, "gosh, I wish I could pick her up and just take her up those stairs myself."

But He is a wiser parent than me.

He knows that its about the journey too, not just the destination.

And so He waits patiently, knowing that before long we will be running up the stairs.

Just like Adeline.

What lesson have your children taught you about our heavenly Father?

[Judy Harder]

Walking By Faith
Mar 05, 2013 12:10 am | Anna White


The waves of death crashed over me,
devil waters rushed over me.
Hell's ropes cinched me tight;
death traps barred every exit.

I used to lead worship at my church, and someone told me once that something happened when I sang. She told me that on some nights when she looked at me all she could see was my heart.



But me he caught-reached all the way
from sky to sea; he pulled me out of that ocean of hate.
He stood me up on a wide-open field;
I stood there saved-surprised to be loved!

Oh my heart, I don't know what to tell it. Since I've been doing this writing it feels like my skin and bone are peeled back and I'm open to the air. I wonder if I can live like this, where things are so bright and life is pressed up hard against my ribs. I'm in an ocean of grace, being pulled out into the deep where I can't keep my head above water and my toes in the sand at the same time.

I feel put back together,
and I'm watching my step.
God rewrote the text of my life
when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes.

Things are happening, there's a changing way down deep. Something new is coming, but what I cannot say. I can't see the path, but I keep putting my foot down and every time there's something solid underneath. Maybe that's what walking by faith really looks like, arms held out for balance, eyes off the ground, inching forward. Just putting a foot down over and over and over again until God-light hits the road.

Suddenly, God, your light floods my path,
God drives out the darkness.
What a God! His road
stretches straight and smooth.
Every God-direction is road-tested.
Everyone who runs toward him makes it.

Scriptures excerpted from 2 Samuel Chapter 22, The Message

By Anna White

[Judy Harder]

Why "I Might Get Hurt" Doesn't Have to Stop You
Mar 06, 2013 12:20 am | Holley Gerth


photo by Maja Gotti

The words she wrote burn my heart as I read them.

I pull my fingers back from the computer as if it's a hot stove.

"I'm not so sure about putting myself out there," I whisper, "Did you see what she just said to me? What if I get hurt?"

It seems my heart hears a whisper in response: "Oh, you mean like someone might crucify you?"

Big gulp.

Huh.

The Spirit makes excellent points. Like this one: The reality that we might get hurt doesn't give us a reason not to do something.

Jesus died with His arms wide open, His heart exposed so that we could live that that way.

And when we do get hurt {because we will} it is "by His wounds that we are healed" {Is. 53:5}

They are wounds of knowing how hard it is to choose love in an unkind world. Wounds that understand compassion can be scarce when we need it most. Wounds that teach vulnerability is great strength in disguise.

I pull my chair back up to the keyboard. I email a friend and ask her to pray that I will be brave.

Then I type some more.

Because it's the best way I know of to bear witness to this kind of Love.

Love that holds nothing back–and promises to hold me through it all.

– Holley Gerth, author of the new book You're Made for a God-sized Dream: Opening the Door to All God Has for You

[Judy Harder]

Giving The Gift Of Presence
Mar 07, 2013 12:10 am | LesleyMiller


We'd owned our little white 1948 bungalow exactly one year, closing just before Christmas 2010 when I was newly pregnant. This year was our first opportunity to hang Christmas lights, and even though I wanted them hung desperately, I knew better than to push the idea.

For six weeks prior we'd been waiting for staging results. It was Hodgkin's Lymphoma, we knew that, but no one could figure out how far it spread.  The merriness of the season had been replaced with the cold chill of uncertainty and grief.  So when Jonathan asked a friend to help him hang the lights—his spine too sore from a bone marrow biopsy to do it himself—I knew just how much he was craving normalcy too.



Chemotherapy started on a Friday, one week before Christmas. We hunkered down, him determined to roll with the waves of nausea, me determined to roll with his changing needs.

By Sunday night the worst of all possible scenarios happened—I, the caregiver, came down with a stomach flu. With Jonathan facing high risk of infection, he was banned to the futon while I alternated between our bedroom and the bathroom. At 2:00am, just after throwing up again, I heard Anna's cries. She wanted to nurse. I sat at the edge of my bed sobbing. I didn't think I had anything left in my own body to offer her or anyone.

In a state of complete surrender, I posted a short prayer to a site set-up to keep family and friends updated on Jonathan's cancer battle. "I am sick, Jonathan is sick, we covet your prayers," it said.

Perhaps you've had moments like this—moments when you're so weak there are no words for Christ, only tears. I needed other people pleading on my behalf. What I didn't expect was the physical help that arrived too. 

At 10:00am the next morning a gentle knock at the door awakened me from a couch nap. It was Shirley, our neighbor who'd lived on the street for over 50 years. She held a Tupperware of soup and homemade banana bread. "I read that you're sick," she said. "Take this, and call me if you need more."

It didn't stop there.

Tammy called to offer help babysitting, and Kara dropped off Cajun stew on our doorstep, and Anna stopped by with medicine, and Sharon cried with me when I showed up unannounced at her house.

These small acts might seem like nothing miraculous, but what made them so was their timing. If you're like me, this past holiday season was non-stop busy. I'm baking bread, licking envelopes, crafting cards, delivering gifts, and doing all the other crazy things we women convince ourselves "need" to get done. But, despite it being just days before Christmas, my friends placed me above their checklists. They chose to be like Mary, who sat at our Lord's feet instead of fretting about the lights not being hung on the house, or the sugar cookies not being ready.

I will probably still write a to-do list next Christmas and in the busy times to come, but before getting presents I plan to be present.  Because my friends taught me last Christmas that the best gift is a willingness to show up for people even when they don't ask, in ways they may not even know they need.

We live in a broken world. And sometimes, a certain season is especially painful for families. Who in your life needs less of your presents and more of your presence?

By: Lesley Miller

[Judy Harder]

Pop! Goes the Bum Knee
Mar 08, 2013 12:20 am | Tsh Oxenreider




As of this writing, I can't bend my left leg. It's in a lovely black-and-gray foam brace that starts at my upper thigh and ends mid-calf, and it's accessorized with a charming pair of slate gray crutches. It's what everyone will be wearing this spring.

Actually, what happened was my family and I went skiing for the day (we're within a few hours' drive to five ski resorts), and I thought it'd be fun to somersault down a black slope with my husband watching. I've been skiing for 25 years, but I prefer the nice, intermediate blue slopes, and yet the only way down the top of the mountain was a short black run.

About twenty feet down, my ski caught a clump of snow, and down I went. And mid-spin, my foot went one way while my knee when another. Pop. Good times.

So now I'm here, sitting in an armchair in my living room while my foot rests extended on the ottoman. In front of me on the coffee table is a heap of papers, library books, water bottles, and a plastic box of baby wipes.



On the floor to the left of me lay a random pile of little boys' dirty clothes, a collapsed purple scooter, and a box of wooden train tracks outpoured. Oh, and three matchbox cars. And a pacifier.

To my right, on the dresser, sits an ever-increasing pile of school papers to sort through. I also spy an overdue library book, mocking me with dime-sized daily charges. Oh look, there's a toy lizard I can't reach. And a blue bowl of half-eaten crackers.

"GOD, the Lord, is my strength; he makes my feet like the deer's; he makes me tread on my high places." -Habakkuk 3:19

I'm learning to burrow deep in to the God of my blessings, because my husband is amazing and doing the work of two parents while I sit and watch. I can read bedtime stories, fold the laundry, and review the week's spelling words. I can thankfully work, because writing requires a laptop and a chair, and I have access to both. And I still have half a lap for my two-year-old to shimmy up and snuggle in my arms, because he wants his mama despite that pesky leg brace.



"I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living." -Psalm 27:13

The messes aren't going away any time soon, and it'll take time for my knee to heal. But God is still good. The sun still shines through my window. I'm surrounded by blessings.

Sure, I wish my knee were healed, and that I don't have to deal with health insurance and surgery and physical therapy. But God is still good. He's still good. I have every reason to rejoice.

How are you learning to rejoice in your current less-than-perfect circumstance?

By Tsh, Simple Mom

[Judy Harder]

When You're Expected to "Pull it Together"
Mar 09, 2013 12:00 am | Angela Nazworth




I have been pregnant three times. I have given birth twice.

Fragmented memories remain of the day I lost my first baby–the child whose heart thumped in my womb for only eight short weeks. I remember the horror I felt when I discovered the first scarlet spots alerting me that my baby was gone. I remember the weight of my husband's hand resting heavy on my shoulder when my doctor confirmed our fears and tried to comfort us with statistics. I remember the coldness that swept through my chest when the nurse assisting with the examination gave me a stern warning as I shakily made my way toward the exit.

"Now I know you've heard some unsettling news, but you need to pull it together," she cautioned as I brushed tears off my cheeks and neck. "You're young. You'll get pregnant again in no time. There are women in that waiting room who are pregnant now and they don't need to be upset. So just get a hold of your emotions before you go out there."

Then, with a pat on my back, she scurried away ... leaving me embarrassed by my grief.

My legs trembled as if I was walking a tight rope without a safety net. Through blurred vision, I forced a stoic expression, entwined my trembling fingers with those belonging to my husband, and walked out of the building. With each step, one thought bounced around my mind.

Pull it together. I need to pull it together. Pull it together.

I've heard those words numerous times throughout my life in various situations. Sometimes they were spoken by well-meaning individuals. Other times, I whispered the phrase to myself.

A graveside vigil. Pull it together.

Job loss. Pull it together.

A loved one's betrayal. Pull it together.

Saying goodbye to dear friends. Pull it together.

Overwhelmed by an infant's colicky cries or a toddler's 40-minute tantrum. Pull it together.

I'm sure that everyone who reads this post can add to the list above.

Truth be told, I think the expectation of "pulling it together" during times of emotional agony is often misguided. Hannah, the mother of the prophet Samuel is a beautiful example from scripture of a woman who mourned honestly before the Lord. Hannah didn't "pull it together." You can read her story in the first chapter of 1 Samuel, but here is an excerpt from 1 Samuel 1:10-16:

"In her deep anguish Hannah prayed to the Lord, weeping bitterly. And she made a vow, saying, 'Lord Almighty, if you will only look on your servant's misery and remember me, and not forget your servant but give her a son, then I will give him to the Lord for all the days of his life, and no razor will ever be used on his head.' As she kept on praying to the Lord, Eli observed her mouth. Hannah was praying in her heart, and her lips were moving but her voice was not heard. Eli thought she was drunk and said to her, 'How long are you going to stay drunk? Put away your wine.' 'Not so, my lord,' Hannah replied, 'I am a woman who is deeply troubled. I have not been drinking wine or beer; I was pouring out my soul to the Lord. Do not take your servant for a wicked woman; I have been praying here out of my great anguish and grief.'"

At that wall, Hannah unraveled the twisted knots of her grieving heart before God and it was messy. Passersby probably shook their heads. Eli mistook her agony for drunkenness. Hannah's core was shaken. Her heart was broken. Her hope was nearly threadbare. She wasn't able to "pull it together,"... not one her own ... but she knew where to turn as her emotions were shred to bits.

The fiery pain of a personal loss is immeasurable. And each person's threshold for heartache is different. There are times when we cannot pull it together.

God doesn't command us to pull it together.

In the moments when torment throbs deep, God doesn't bark "stiffen that upper lip, girl." He instead whispers "come to me dear one, come to me." He invites us to crumple into the comforting arms of Christ ... to pray ... to scream ... to beg with abandon ... to heal.

"For He has not despised or detested the torment of the afflicted. He did not hide His face from him, but listened when he cried to Him for help." Psalm 22:

[Judy Harder]

I Want To Run Away
Mar 12, 2013 01:20 am | Lysa


You want to know one of the worst feelings in the world to me? Feeling stuck.

Stuck in a situation where I can't see things getting better. I look at the next 5 minutes, 5 hours, 5 days and all I see are the same hard patterns being repeated over and over and over.

I try to give myself a little pep rally of sorts and tap into that Pollyanna girl that's inside me somewhere. The part of me that knows the glass is half-full and chooses to see the bright side. But Pollyanna isn't there.

Life suddenly feels like it will forever be this way.


And this dark funk eclipses me.

This happened to me when my two oldest daughters were babies. Hope was not quite 16 months old when I gave birth to Ashley. I was thankful for these two amazing gifts. I knew they were blessings. I loved them very much.

But there was this other side of motherhood no one talked to me about beforehand. It never came up at my baby shower or a doctor's appointment or in conversations with the mommies that had gone before me.

In the midst of all the pink happiness, the dark funk came. This desperate feeling that life would forever be an endless string of sleepless nights. Leaky diapers. Needy cries.

Forever.

One night in between feedings I went to the drug store to get some baby Tylenol. I pulled into a parking space right in front of the restaurant beside the drug store and stared inside. There were normal people in there. Laughing. Eating. Having fun conversations. They had on cute outfits and fixed hair-dos.

I looked at my reflection in the rear view mirror.

I cried.

This is my life. Forever.

Suddenly I had this crazy desire to run away. Far away.

And then guilt slammed into my already fragile heart and I convinced myself God was going to punish me for feeling this way and take one of my babies. Teach me a lesson. Smite me for being so stinkin' selfish.

I cried until I could hardly breathe.

I thought about this the other day when I started feeling stuck in a different situation.

A situation that felt so big and made me so sad. I felt myself on that edge of the dark funk thinking this is the way it's going to be forever.

But then I remembered that night crying in my car. I realized those days of diapers and no sleep weren't forever. It was a season. A season that came and went. And this would play out that way too.

It's the rhythm of life. The ebb and flow of struggles and victories.

I closed my eyes and whispered, "Are you here God? Hold me. Breathe courage into my weak will. Help me."

And in that moment I realized all that God ever wants from me is to want Him. Love Him. Acknowledge Him.

In the midst of struggles. In the midst of my victories. "God, I love you. I don't love this situation. But I love you. Therefore, I have everything I need to keep putting one foot in front of the other and walk through until I get to the other side of this."

One step at a time. With the full assurance God is okay with me even when I'm not okay with me.

"If you carefully observe all these commands I am giving you to follow – to love the Lord your God, to walk in all His ways and to hold fast to Him – then the Lord will drive out all these nations before you, and you will dispossess nations larger and stronger than you." (Deuteronomy 11:22-23)

I love how the Scriptures say, "hold fast" to the Lord. The dark funk makes me want to hold slow. Make God the last thing I try when I'm stumbling and falling. But if I close my eyes and simply whisper, "God..." at the utterance of His name He "dispossess" things trying to possess me.

Then I can see this is a season. This isn't how it's going to be forever. Though my circumstances may not change today, my outlook surely can. And if my mind can rise above, my heart gets unstuck.

By Lysa TerKeurst

Looking for a book that will encourage you when you're in a dark place? Check out Lysa's new book Unglued. Click here to purchase your copy!



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Powerful Words
Mar 12, 2013 01:10 am | Lexie Thomas




Words.

They move us, excite us, inspire us, and explain us. Lots of times they build us up, growing and nurturing the soul. Plenty of times, though, they are much more sinister. They destroy and tear down and utterly crush us.

I've been thinking a bit lately on the power of words, their power to heal and their power to hurt. Being on the receiving end of painful words, words that cut to the quick, that pierce your heart and ache deep, you know that soon it will pass....but right now?

Right now you can't even breathe for the pain.

"Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear." Ephesians 4:29

It's been on a 3X5 in my kitchen staring me in the face for about a year now.

Because you see, I myself struggle with words. With using them as weapons to pierce and to hurt. Waging war with another through subtle and not so subtle utterances.

Recently I told my husband that I got a taste of my own medicine being on the receiving end. And do you know what happened? I realized that those of us who use words as weapons have been wounded by them the most deeply. We utilize their destructive power because we have been destroyed by them. And like hurt people we lash out in the way we think will hurt the most.

With words.

Experience has shown us that they work, that they wield power and that using them may bring preservation, if only temporarily.

Whoever said that sticks and stones break bones but words really don't harm us?

Words can bring the most harm and can cut the most deeply and last the longest. Yet oddly, as much as it pains being on the receiving end, I keep the vicious cycle alive by wounding in the same form.


But God had something different in mind didn't He?

Something like cutting out those hurtful words and stopping the cycle of destruction in its path. Replacing those words with words that do the opposite. Words that bring life, build up, and encourage. Why?

To pour out grace.

To give grace to those who hear. Grace, in the form of words seasoned with salt (Colossians 4:6).

Doesn't it always come down to just that?

Giving grace in response to the grace we've been given? Grace that was costly to Christ and totally undeserved but free to us beckons us to pour out free grace that will cost us (our pride? the last word?) and probably isn't deserved either. Extending the grace we've been given, not the wrath that we deserve.

Yes, it does come down to grace. Because words can bring harm, but we can choose to pour grace all over instead, speaking words that build up and bring life.

Ceasing the cycle, and receiving anew our own free grace that cannot keep from being given again and again and again.



By Lexie Thomas

[Judy Harder]

Because There's Nothing Wimpy About Being An Encourager
Mar 13, 2013 01:20 am | Kristen Strong




I've heard it whispered and seen it written in more than one place:

Some encouragers are soft cliché whipper-outers with faith deep as a kiddie pool. Sure, they're nice and all, but they lack thoughtful opinions, creative ideas, and savvy smarts. Their words aren't all that courageous or brave.

I can't deny this has been a fear of mine {says the girl whose blog is named Chasing Blue Skies }. But when push comes to shove, I always revisit the same word to describe this line of thinking:

Hogwash.

Yes ma'am.

As an encourager, there is nothing namby-pamby about you because:

You are fierce. You know there's no mistaking gentle words and a gentle approach for a heart that beats with fiery passion to see others – and help others see themselves – the way God does. You may prefer quiet, intimate places to express certain thoughts, but there's no denying your talent for building others up lights hearts afire like firecrackers in the night sky.

You are brave. You're a word warrior whose sword never gets comfortable in its sheath. You wield it fast and ferociously, fighting lies with Truth.

You are generous. You tip the scales by giving more than you receive. You are quick to celebrate the accomplishments of friends. You aren't afraid to sit silently - to actively resolve to be quietly involved - and let others have the spotlight.

You are savvy. You know when to sit in the silence and when to speak up. Neither silence nor expressing words scare you, and you are skilled in deciphering which situation calls for what course of action.

You are undaunted. You stand as a lighthouse on the shore, giving others comfort and light on clear nights when the stars shine bright and stormy nights when the waters crash against the rocks.

You are gifted. The way you love people through words and beyond makes any grocery store card aisle look anemic.

You are zealous. In a world that freely flings insults, you sling love like there's no tomorrow.

You are courageous. You take the courageous path that shuns cynicism and lingers in grace and Hope.

You are healing. You treat wounds by speaking life into souls and strength into hearts.

You are creative. You brilliantly tailor words so that the listener hears the message in a way that best encourages her.

You are bold. You are a cheerleader who uses her megaphone to celebrate the everyday miracles of unsung heroes.

You are confident. You don't pretend this world doesn't hold sharp edges, but you know that you know that you know there are Hope-filled answers found in the fullness of Christ.

"God is still in the process of dispensing gifts, and He uses ordinary individuals like us to develop those gifts in other people."  ~Howard Hendricks

Everyone on earth has a talent for something, but encouragers not only posses their own talents but have keen eyes for the talents of others, too.

They are helpers, not hinder-ers.

They are world changers.

And there's nothing wimpy about that.

{Want to encourage an encourager in your life?  Click here to download the above free printable or visit Chasing Blue Skies for other color options.}

Kristen Strong, Chasing Blue Skies

[Judy Harder]

Perfected
Mar 14, 2013 01:10 am | Kate Motaung




Last year, my three kids and I flew from Cape Town, South Africa to Michigan to visit my mom, who was in the final stages of metastatic breast cancer.

Upon our arrival, I was shocked to see the drastic deterioration in my mom's physical state.  She didn't even rise from the couch to greet me, but instead waited for me to bend down to hug her.

When she did stand up, she relied heavily on her walker and even then, her arms were visibly shaking as she shuffled along precariously.  Her breathing was labored even with the constant assistance of oxygen tubes, and her feet and hands were completely numb from countless weeks of chemo.

Once we got settled in at the house after our long flights, we called my husband on Skype to tell him that we had arrived safely.  He saw Mom on the web cam and asked, "How are you?"

Although she was visibly struggling to move, she answered, "Well, I've had a few rough days, but now that Kate and the kids are here, I'm perfect."

I looked at her, slack-jawed by her choice of adjective, and thought to myself, "This woman in her current condition is about as far from perfect as a person can get."

But it did make me think about our relationship with Christ and our current condition as we wait for him to arrive.  Like Mom, we are weak, unstable and riddled with pain. But as soon as Christ comes, we will be perfect.

In fact, because of Christ's sacrifice on the cross, we are already viewed as perfect, though we still grow in sanctification every day.

Hebrews 10:14 says,  "For by one sacrifice he has made perfect forever those who are being made holy."  Isn't that amazing?

Perfect forever.

For my mom, even with cancer cells consuming her entire being, she understood what it meant to be made perfect.  She knew and loved the One who had made her perfect, and she rejoiced in him daily.

Not only did she rejoice in her Savior, the author and perfecter of her faith, but she also strived to give testimony to others of His grace in her life as well, even in the midst of tremendous suffering.  After all, this is one of our mandates as the people of God, right?

As Colossians 1:28 states, "We proclaim him, admonishing and teaching everyone with all wisdom, so that we may present everyone perfect in Christ."

As we slog through the mountains and valleys of life, I'd venture to guess that not many of us would use the term "perfect" in response to the simple question, "How are you?"

Yet because of Christ,

we are seen as perfect in his eyes,

we are being made perfect,

and we will be perfect forever in eternity with Him when He chooses to call us home.



What does your 'perfect' look like?



By Kate Motaung, heading home

[Judy Harder]

Because Friendship Is A Gift
Mar 15, 2013 01:20 am | Deidra




"Touch is love made manifest, a way to connect not only human to human and skin to skin, but also with...that eternal, all-encompassing energy that unites us, that infuses us with life, that reminds us that we are indeed all one and that the world is a hospitable place to be... Touching one another is what we humans do. Touch is what we need from one another and touch is what we have to give. It's what keeps us hopeful and what keeps us going, what keeps our hearts opening and softening and trusting."  — Katrina Kenison, Magical Journey

I knew I'd regret it the moment it happened. Or, to be more precise, the moment it didn't happen.

Last year, during Lent, I sat on a pew near the back of the sanctuary in a church in town. The back doors were open and the sun cast long shadows along the floor. A soft breeze danced just inside the doorway and I remembered that these weekly Lenten services had begun in the colder, darker days of winter. Michelle had welcomed me and we'd been riding together each week to sing the songs, eat the bread, drink the wine, pray the prayers, and listen to the messages in the days of preparation leading up to Easter.

On this night, our friend Lyla joined us and I sat in the pew with Michelle on my right and Lyla on my left. Together, the three of us sang the songs, ate the bread, drank the wine, prayed the prayers, and listened to the message about just how much God loves us. I wanted to reach out and grab my friends' hands, but I didn't. I had an inner dialogue going on, with one voice arguing that I'd freak them out if I reached out and touched them in the middle of the church service, and another voice telling me I'd regret it if I didn't. Fear of freaking out my friends won out, and I kept my hands in my lap.

Later, in the parking lot, I told them, "I almost reached out and grabbed your hands, but I didn't want to freak you out."

"You should have," they both told me. "It would have been fine."

Last month, my husband and I visited Europe. We walked down street after street, in city after city, and saw pairs of women walking arm-in-arm or hand-in-hand everywhere I looked. They walked closely and leaned in toward one another and it was clear their friendships were treasures. I was smitten and I said to my husband, "I'm going to do that when we get home. I'm going to walk arm-in-arm with my girlfriends."

Friendship is a gift. I have learned that the hard way. Finding someone who will talk you back from the edge, encourage you to follow your dream, stay up talking until 3 AM, eat ice cream with you — straight from the container, hear your darkest confessions without flinching, and keep showing up anyway? A gift. No, a treasure.

If you've got one good friend, you've got a treasure, that's for sure. If you've got more than one good friend, you have what I've heard called an embarrassment of riches. I want my friends to know how much I love them. I want them to know they have saved my sanity on more than one occasion. I want them to know that sometimes my heart overflows with gratitude and love for them. So I'm turning a deaf ear to the voice that tells me I might just freak out my friends if I let them know how much they mean to me. A friend loves at all times. It's as simple as that.

Who are the friends in your life who mean the world to you? How do you let them know how special they are?