I Can See Your Scars… or …When Friendship Becomes Real

I met a friend the other day for lunch. We had been friends for years but because of our lives, didn’t get to see each other often.  We had planned this a while ago though and I was excited to see her.  She was different from most of my friends and that was one reason why my seeing her was a special treat. When she spent time with you, she gave you her undivided attention.  When you were with her, the rest of the world seemed to fade away.  When she looked at you, it felt as if she saw your soul, when she listened it was with her whole self, when she spoke she took her time and though she spoke hesitantly and softly, when she spoke she said much with few words. She was thoughtful, kind, insightful and full of love.

My only complaint was she wanted you to share with her but she was not so quick to share herself. When asked questions about herself or her life, she would ponder long before answering and she didn't say much.  I often got the feeling she felt that she could not share because there was so much more to her than I realized and that I could not handle her answers.

On the day we met for lunch, we had a breakthrough in our friendship. We had finished eating, I had, as usual, told her all about me and my life. But for a change, it was not a long, drawn out conversation. I was in a good place in my life and was grateful for my blessings. I was also learning to listen in the spaces in between conversations and see in the midst of shadows.  I had asked her about her and her life and though she shared, I, for a change, knew there was more. But I also knew she would tell me when she was ready. I sensed that she was feeling out whether she could talk to me. I did not push.

We finished our meal and were lingering over coffee when it happened. It was peaceful as we sipped our drinks and I enjoyed the silence that enveloped us. I looked up at her to comment on the beauty of the afternoon spent with her when I noticed it. Although her head was down, I could see inside her. She appeared as a porcelain doll with scars on her hands and face and arms. I was taken aback at first. I closed my eyes and shook my head. I opened my eyes and looked again. The image had begun to blur but I could still see the vestiges of the scars on her body.

I stared at her in amazement. Maybe that is why she could not talk, could not share, she had been emotionally scarred and was seeking someone who did not need her to help them but who could listen to and help her. I looked at her intently and as I watched, her soul blossomed for me. I looked intently and again I saw her scars.

 When she finally looked up at me I saw traces of the scars on her face. I could not help myself. Slowly I asked, “are those scars I see on your soul?”

“Yes they are,” she sighed.

“From where did you get them?” I queried, saddened that she had been unable to share this with me before.

“From a battle I waged.” She answered this in a louder voice, a voice tinged with satisfaction and a tiny hint of pleasure.

Fascinated I asked, “With whom did you battle?” Imagine my surprise and understanding when she slowly said…

“…with myself.”

thank you to the FB page that posted a bit of this. it resonated with me and i turned it into my own. again ... thank you