The Real Me

Moving has been a big part of my life. I moved five time growing up (sometimes far away...) and six times in 23 years of marriage (sometimes far away...). Some things about moving are exciting. I love a new house, new land to explore, new places to go. I suppose my choices were to embrace moving or hate it. I chose to go along with it and give moving a hug.

What I don't love is leaving friends. I'm dreadfully uncomfortable around people who don't know the real me. I try too hard. I say stupid things. I botch things up. I rush into friendships. I can look like a real idiot. It's rather painful.

The truth is, getting to know people takes a long time. Especially in a non-moving community. You know, where people grew up there, mom and dad live there, best friend since first grade still lives there. It sort of makes you feel like, well, an outsider.

I remember having a best friend next door when I was in third grade. Three years of everything together. She ate ketchup on her scrambled eggs. Her brother was in love with my sister. Her nostrils flared when she laughed. She hated her curly hair. You know these things about a best friend.

Then we moved. Again. My friend and I sat in her basement and cried buckets of tears. I've been saying goodbye to people ever since. I don't cry over it much anymore.

Yesterday I took an annual shopping trip with two old friends. They live in my last town (about three hours away by car) and we have been shopping together for eight years. Even though I moved away from them five years ago, we are still great friends.

Here's my favorite thing about being with them: they know the real me. At least a lot of me. I love that. I will go so far as to say I need that.

We went out to eat Friday night and stayed in a hotel room together. We ate and ate and laughed a lot. We shopped all day Saturday. We shopped and shopped and then sat on a bench with overpriced coffee and had our annual counseling session.

Then we said goodbye. It wasn't hard because I 've said goodbye to them so many times it has become unemotional. It's okay.

What I love most about meeting with them is the real me comes out. I am not afraid to share with them my hurts, my fears, my hopes, or even the things that would make others raise their judgey eyebrows. These friends know a lot about me. They still love me. Amazing.

And I know a lot about them. Some of the things would make judgey eyebrows go up, but not mine. I want to know the real them. I want to know the things that make them laugh and cry and the things that make them ashamed to be, well, human. The real them. I think I do. And every year I find out more. It's wonderful.

I think wanting to be known and loved is common to all people. Maybe I am keenly aware of it because I have had to get to know people over and over and over again each time I put my doll or my yearbook or my wedding dress or my dishes into another cardboard box.

I don't know if I'll move again. I sort of hope not and I sort of hope so. In my current town, I haven't yet made the sort of friendships that would nurture an annual shopping trip. And maybe that's okay. In fact, I know it's okay because unfamiliarity, discomfort, and loneliness have nudged me closer to a friend that stays with me no matter where I go.

He was there even when I didn't know it.

He has known every move before it was even an idea.

He watched me pack my tea sets and my sweaters.

He stayed close as I said goodbye to another friend. Another school. Another neighbor. Another house.

He moves with me. And best of all, Jesus knows the real me. The total me. The deepest parts of me that nobody knows. And he still loves me. Amazing.