Greet my Dear Friend

Greet my Dear Friend

(“Greet Ampliatus my dear friend in the service of the Lord.” Roman 16:8)

Sit with me, tell me of your travels, make me hear the scattered
play of the grandchildren outside the window. Visit me, though my
socks are scatter around my chair,
yesterday’s clothes lie on the floor nearby. I sleep on the couch
these days,
a concession to day’s pain and night’s shallow dreams that wake me
to feel day’s pain far too early in the morning.

Be a large friend to me; not tall, not broad, but someone whose presence
is unmistakeable. Male: let it be the depth of your thinking, the valley filled
with silence in which I can spill my aching opinions and hear the echo.

Female: let it be the spring aroma in the winter’s depth. The words that
play at my wit, sip the air if you see me twinge, and understand my tears.

Brother: do not rearrange my feelings for your own comfort. Recently
God dangled a happy offering like a carrot, and reeled it in: He and I
both know the insane pain the crawls through my skin. I would spend
a week at the job I had dreamed of and go home early within the next;
headache’s cannonball level me upon the battleground. If I am angry;
if my face is blank, do not draw your happy face upon it. Let it
find its place as God and I struggle one more time over His
curious mystery.

Sister: when you see my depression-dropping-like-angry-rain,
please do not restrain your comfort. My face is red, I’m slapping
myself instead of any face closer. And, I am far too afraid to raise a
hand to God! Use your voice, invented, I am sure, for the cure of
comfort. Speak with the intonation of lullabies and wedding vows;
quickly tell me you wish the pain was gone. And do not leave before
you tell me that I must sleep: “You must sleep”. And do not leave
until the covers are pulled neatly under my chin.

I need a friend. I’ve made dozens. But wind and roads have scattered us;
a tiny minority have left the team in anger. But mostly I’m a hermit now,
locked up by three gatekeepers: Fear, Depression and Pain.

They have done their job well; so if you are an angel and have
an earthquake in your pocket, the doors are locked, but you are welcome
to open them.