I used to be afraid of all those hanging spaces in conversations. You know, those places between the quiet when everything stops in space and you’re left there hanging like it’s supposed to be natural. To me, it seemed anything but natural.

I have this friend who’s as beautiful as the world itself; long dark hair wrapping round her feminine frame with soft brown eyes and a smile warmer than the heat of a summer sun. When she laughs, it’s more a giggle with wrinkled nose and her always manicured fingers sink between her knees while her shoulders run up near her ears, and I’m certain, just certain there is a well of sparkles sunk down inside her soul just awaiting the giggles to let them fly. Or maybe that’s just Jesus. And maybe having Jesus in your heart looks like sparkles of the soul.

I, on the other hand, didn’t want to hear the silence. And so any typical conversation would continue though it were of little value, little worth, and way too many words. Then this friend came in, this friend with the beautiful soul who would eventually be the one who taught me through action alone just how beautiful the quiet times would be. She loves the quiet times looming in and weaving through conversation like it were comfort rather than conformity of the good conversationalist. Like it were authentic and genuine and without requirements to be anything outside of what we really are.

See I wonder if I’ve been growing too comfortable of the marketing sort of friendship which requires so much chatter you feel as though you’ve proven yourself rather than the gentle beauty of the quiet friendship. The one that requires little more than me and you, and that quiet air looming ’round us like space we’d all really needed.