A comfortable chair.  A cool drink.   

Time, space, quiet—all reserved for conversation. 

And, of course, friends.  The ones who ask questions my heart longs to answer.

“How is your week?”

Comparing crazy springtime schedules.  

Laughter at the barely-surviving.

Celebrating the sometimes-thriving.  

 “How is your family?”

A glimpse of maturity in a ten-year-old’s talk.

A glimmer of God-hunger in an almost-middle-schooler.

A son’s frustration after an at-bat gone south.

A daughter’s question that would tug at any mother’s heart.

A spouse in a season of mostly-happy exhaustion, pouring out his very 
life for others.  For us.

Moments to rejoice over, to be sad about, to gather strength for. 

“How are you?”

Words, fast at first, then slowing, mixed with pauses for deep, keeping-composure breaths.

Long pause. 

“How can I pray?”

Heart-mending miracle of another’s words articulating what can’t quite be said.

These are the questions.  These are the responses.

This is where hands can stop and heart can speak. 

A place to be known.  A place to be heard.  

Renewed and readied to re-enter the day with a little more strength, an easier smile.

This is the gift that comes from together.

[p.s. A confession to 5-minute-Friday friends:  I simply couldn't stop when the timer buzzed.  So, to be accurate, this is really a 15-minute Friday post.]


  1. This was a great description of togetherness! You are a beautiful writer!

  2. This is beautiful. I think the key you identify to togetherness is space and intentionality. Those are two things I tend to let slip, but this is a great reminder to keep them as a priority. Thank you.


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