know this.

i spent the weekend with a few of my oldest and dearest friends in the whole world.  we sequestered ourselves in alyssa's beautiful house, occasionally venturing out into the real world, but for the most part we just sat together and talked.

there is something inherently gorgeous about the small talk that occurs among lifelong friends.  the second-nature of the joking, the ability to finish each others' sentences without feeling trod upon, the endless laughing. . . this is the framework for something that is so decidedly pure i can't tarnish it with too many words.

i will say this: i may not be the most spiritual person, nor the one with the most connection to my inner light.  i may not be the funniest or the most fulfilled or the happiest or the most daring.  

actually, i may be the most daring.

no matter who we are together or who we become when we instantly find ourselves holding each others' hearts in close proximity--breathing the same clean-rain air, hearing the same cicadas hum--no matter what it looks like to the outside world: to me, this time spent with these women is holy.  the time spent with them is a reminder of all that is good and powerful in this world, and why we are simply here on this planet.

holiness in the form of red-wine induced, mint chocolate mousse-inspired conversations that weave in and out of time zones, past and present, morning and evening.  laughing until we cry, holding our stomachs in solidarity.  we were in the church of old friends, and i was falling in love again with four women whom i have adored since i was a teenager.  

they remember me, they see me for who i am.  and in them i see nothing but grace, beauty and blessedness.  

today, there is only pure gratitude.