December 2, 2017

My friend and I were thrown together a lot in those early years.

Both young and married, hanging out in small groups of friends.

Christmas parties.

Both expecting.

Both having babies, just a few weeks apart.

Christmas parties with babies bundled in carriers.

Today, my little girl is running around a stage. She’s in a Christmas play-- cast as a thief at this moment, grabbing things, being sassy, and generally causing a nuisance. All with a cockney accent.

Her biggest problems are getting stage makeup and stuff out of her hair, and having to dry and flat-iron her long waves, all at the last moment. And that gunk from wardrobe tape, that gets on your skin but is a bear to scrub away.

My friend’s little boy runs around, too—just on a much, much bigger stage.

I suspect he’s pretty tall now. No doubt, he probably already has passed my daughter by a half a head or so.

He is, of course, far more mature than our little girl is. After all, he’s a few weeks older than she. You could say he has been around the block. Graduated, as it were.

He knows things.

He’s already grabbed Jesus’ hand and taken a walk and figured out everything that he always wanted to know. 

There’s a lot he probably needed to understand. But he’s had time, maybe 9 years or so to figure it all out.

And he never cries any more.

His mom and I aren’t thrown together too much these days.

Both young (more or less!) and married.

Hanging out in small groups—in different states.

But as we move toward Christmas, we’re

Both remembering.