A miniature ceramic bird perched on a nest of raffia sits on a small end table in my sunroom. It has a small card attached that reads: A friend is someone who sings the melody of your life even when you can’t remember the tune. Given to me by my 70something friend Sibyl, it always reminds me to slow down and celebrate the small things: a steaming mug of fragrant coffee, the way the tangy juice from a Palisade peach fills your mouth, and the fact that I have a friend in Indiana who is always on my side.
My life is richer because of Sybil. She is a woman who has lived life well and full and always invites me in to do the same. Laughter comes easily to her, and I rarely catch her without a spicy glint in her eye. We’ve never lived in the same state, and sometimes our conversations are few and far between, but time and distance disappears with the question she always asks: “Sherry, how are you doing?”
My friend Lyndsey is a young mom of four boys, her life a whirlwind of chaotic days full of laundry, soccer balls, sticky hands, and smelly boy shoes. The amount she accomplishes in a day makes my head swim. She runs a business out of her home, blogs regularly, and tries to stay on top of a stubborn dog whose life goal is to chew on anything that doesn’t move. She’s driven by her dreams, lives life on two wheels, and always has a new idea. Lyndsey inspires and stirs excitement in my soul.1