Joyce

I saw my friend Joyce again last weekend after many years. It was a total surprise. I went to a fundraiser for a woman we worked with who is now very ill with cancer, and I was so glad to see so many people I never dreamed would be there...but especially this person.

Joyce worked in the kitchen when I was a waitress. I met her 20 years ago, when I was 17. She fed me literally and she fed my spirit. I sat on a milk crate while she rolled out dough and she spoke to a young girl who was so angry and so confused in so many ways. For the whole time I was at the restaurant, she made me feel special and gave me love and truth.

She is one of the most hard-working, humble, honest and beautiful people I've ever known. This has been a season of reunion...for some reason I'm being called to look at so many places and people all at once who have touched my life and it's an overwhelming blessing. She was so happy to see me, it felt really good to feel that genuine mutual gratitude, and I'm amazed to say that it's not the only time it's happened lately. This one was a special surprise though.

If I never have anyone else pay attention to me or identify the person in me who needs an ear and a shoulder, seeing her again reminded me that I'd already been blessed beyond measure. So amazing how you can go back 20 years in 2 seconds and feel so much the same. Another theme of my life has been how friendship and relationship are in no way about color, ethnicity, cultural identity or age and this was one of the first relationships that taught me that.

It's so important sometimes - no matter how uncomfortable it is, and make no mistake, there has been no shortage of discomfort here - to go back to where you were to find out how you got where you are. I don't know what caused all of this to happen at the same time, but that's how the fall rolled out. That's my life now. Even though I'm not comfortable with where I am, even though I'm still too-often focused on the lack of some things that feel so essential to my soul and heart and mind instead of the ridiculous excess of some other great things, I'm still living every day. I'm showing up to see these old faces along with some of the news ones that sustain me. And I'm grateful that doing this put me back in the same room with Joyce even for a few hours.

Comments

[Grace]

I have my own Joyce--her name is Gioia--and had my own milk crate and my own 17 year old angst with which she helped. After reading this post, I'm going to try and get in touch with her. Thank you for this.