Campfires of the Soul

Why is it that sometimes a place, a time, an event, will hang out in your mind? It might have even been just a small thing, but you'd like to go back there, to make it stand still for just a little while. Such was my daughter's 28th birthday, just a few weeks ago. My friend Stacie helped it happen. 

Stacie and I have an old history. We met long ago, at church. She and her husband were beautiful people with four adorable children (at the time). They were stunning, but they fortunately were also real, old souls. Sometimes beauty brings snobbery with it. I can put up with crusty, grumpy, ugly, but I can't abide somebody putting on airs. We became fast friends-- Jon with his funny stories, Stacie with her wild child heart. Our daughter, Elizabeth, found instant friends with their two girls who were smart and hilarious.  Our boys helped Jon over a summer or two with a huge addition to their old farmhouse. They added a couple more babies to their lives and one of our sons took up with one of their girls. We thought they'd get married, but God and time proved that they weren't made for each other. The awkwardness of the breakup took years to adjust to. Maybe you never really get over those things, but the love of Christ runs deeper than you know. The fabric of our lives is knitted deep and can't be broken.

We girls (friends and family) were going to go to downtown Atlanta and hang out, but Stacie had another of her great ideas. Instead, I rented a campsite at Lake Allatoona, a great big one right on the water. The girls met us there and we strung up lights and covertly changed into our bathing suits in our cars. I gingerly picked through the boulders to slip into the deliciously cool water. As gravity shed off of me and the clean lake enveloped any embarrassing flesh, I breathed deeply for the first time in weeks. There we were, our old friends who had been through much together, a virtual flotilla of estrogen and complicated womanhood. We laughed and talked until our fingers got pruney and the sun started down, chilling the water. We made a fire, cooked hotdogs and made s'mores, then sat around and roasted Liz. She made it through, peppered with questions and made to tell us of her dreams and aspirations. When the fire got low, we cleaned up and went home, satisfied and thankful. It wasn't even my birthday, but I feel renewed for another year.