I get together with a group of women every other Friday. There are nine of us, most a year or two on either side of our fiftieth birthdays. Our kids are all teens or twenty-somethings, and we have all been married for approximately forever. Along with the usual talk about our families and jobs, we now also routinely find ourselves telling mammogram and colonoscopy stories. Let’s just say I know way more than I need to know about these women’s bowels!
We are decidedly middle aged, and we think we are hilarious. If we don’t run out of time telling stories and laughing, we end our time by praying. We have traveled a number of difficult roads together from kids with chronic illness or legal problems to aging parents with Alzheimer’s or cancer. We have stood with one another through our own health challenges and through the loss of too many of our parents. Talking, laughing, crying, and praying with these ladies feels like church to me, in all the best ways.
Several years ago, our little group got very busy with life and fell out of the habit of meeting regularly. We were lamenting about this sad state of affairs in a Facebook chat stream where we found ourselves “meeting” instead. One friend mentioned she missed our face-to-face time together and wasn’t willing to put it on a back burner anymore. We all agreed…
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