the toast
If we pay close attention, there are opportunities to be part of someone’s brave story, and to invite others into ours. Yesterday, I responded to the nudge to text my friend for a last-minute lunch date. It wasn’t even lunch, really. It was a matcha smoothie and some intentional time to catch up around the lunch hour. Instead of a restaurant, she invited me to her house, and when I arrived, there was an undertow of excitement about her. She had just received an unexpected opportunity to do something brave … the kind of brave that requires a pep talk and a strategy. It was something that she had been working up to for years. I saw the light in her eyes, the nervousness in her jawline with each quick sip she took of that smoothie. I imagined her wishing there was something stronger than matcha sliding down her throat, but what I also saw was something else that’s not tangible. It was the invisibility of courage in her uplifted chin, the hint of determination in her gaze. There was an energy about her that was simply contagious. It was beautiful to witness. Before I left, I reassured her, “You can do this.” Then I encouraged her to open her plantation blinds that were withholding the light that needed to shine in her front room. She looked at me curiously, and we set about opening them. I am unsure of exactly why I suggested this. It’s just something else I felt nudged to do. I offered a big hug and a look of encouragement as I walked out her door. She nodded in a way that acknowledged my confidence in her, but also relayed how nervous she was. I drove away, ignited by her spark. Maybe there are things on my Brave Things To Do List that I can conquer too I imagined.
I drove away from our time together, encouraged the whole way home. When I pulled into the drive, I noticed a box on my front porch guarded by our yellow lab, his off-white coat contrasted with the deep red of the front door. I knew it wasn’t food because he hadn’t torn into it, littering the front yard with little pieces of cardboard as is usually the case. All the Christmas gifts had already been opened, so I assumed this was a mistaken delivery. Perhaps, one of my daughters had sent it to my address instead of theirs. I gave Jackson a good-boy pat on the head and took it inside.
It was addressed to me. Curious, I cut through the Amazon packing tape and pulled out a four-slice white toaster. It was the kind you don’t mind displaying on the counter, a designer style model. It had to be from my middle daughter. She had been complaining for years about not having a toaster in the house. Before I texted her, I checked my email and found a message from Amazon stating my friend, Erin, had sent me a gift.
The message read, “No more burnt toast in 2024!”
Erin had stayed with me a couple of months prior and I told her that for some reason I refused to buy a toaster, resorting to my grandmother’s broil-in-the-oven method, and admitting that I usually burn the toast. My kids had grown used to me brushing off the overdone edges with a butter knife. For some reason, I was too stubborn to make the purchase. There are many appliances and misplaced items that didn’t survive the move from Georgia back to Kentucky in 2019. Some of them I replaced. Others, I just lived with the memory. The toaster was one of them. So, I’ve spent the last four years scraping burnt toast. I guess Erin felt that 2024 should be different for me. I took a picture of it and sent her a thank you text. I knew it made her smile knowing she surprised me with an intentional gift. This gal has experienced her own set of braves, one after the other this last year, and I’ve learned a lot watching her face them with grace and perseverance. I think she enjoyed being the giver of encouragement instead of the receiver.
Another friend, Lourdes, was coming over for dinner so I grabbed a broom and tidied the kitchen, pulling out things to fix from the fridge. Lou had recently lost her boyfriend to a tragic accident just a few months ago. She had managed through the holidays, but I figured she needed a night to debrief and let someone else take care of her. So, I threw together a meal of risotto, shitake mushrooms, Brussel sprouts, asparagus, and country ham to simmer together in a big shallow pot on the stove. She arrived with a bottle of champagne in one hand and a gift in the other. Lou celebrates the small things in style, even in her mourning. There is no drowning of sorrows. There is only celebrating life, even when the life of someone she expected to spend her next chapter with has painfully ended too soon. She chooses to raise her glass up in his honor and celebrate the beauty of his contribution to this world. There are welled up tears as we clink glasses, hers full of loss, mine full of empathy and admiration for her. We sit by the fire and dip slices of Granny Smith apples and buttery ciabatta rolls into gooey baked brie smothered with pecans, honey, and chili fig sauce. The bubbly champagne tickles our throats in perfect contrast to the salty cheese.
Lou tells me about her plans to drive 9.5 hours to Michigan where her boyfriend’s house still holds memories and items she kept there on her last visit in the Upper Peninsula. It is her farewell tour to him, a chance to say goodbye in a place he loved instead of the sterile hospital room where he passed. It is this journey of closure that I imagine will be one of the bravest things she’s ever done. I ask her what will happen if things are not as she expects them to be there. She says that she will deal with whatever is ahead. She just wants to be with him, even if “him” is the scent on his flannel shirts still hanging in his closet. I imagine her snuggling into one as she says her goodbye, celebrating all the things she loved about him. It will be a pilgrimage for her. The bravest journey of her life.
In the middle of our dinner, my lunch date friend calls. “I need some encouragement before I walk in there,” she says between breaths. I tell her Lou is with me and she asks to put her on speaker phone. Lou and I remind her she’s not alone and we tag-team on a say-it-out-loud prayer to God, asking Him to give her strength as we are standing beside my kitchen island with glasses of champagne and plates full of creamy risotto. I’m grateful to be the recipient of that phone call and am confident in my friend’s quest to be brave.
We finish our meal and Lou holds up her bracelet that features a dangling stone on it. She tells me, “Hold it up to the light and look through it.” I raise her arm up to twinkling Christmas lights that still hang on the tree and squint, my stronger eye narrowing in on a tiny picture of her boyfriend. It is her forever image of him.
We talk for the next hour about how she is processing things and about the book we are both reading. It’s written by Emma Grey, an Australian author I met in Miami before Thanksgiving at a retreat I attended by Zibby Media. She had tragically lost her husband too and her novel, The Last Love Note, is inspired by events that occurred during her journey through grief. Lou and I had met up with Emma and had dinner with her a few weeks prior when she was on book tour in Kentucky. It’s a beautiful, witty read, but I know it’s been challenging for Lou as she’s fresh in her mourning period. “It’s so hard, but it’s SO good, “Lou tells me. I ask her to co-lead a discussion of it for my new book club and she agrees. I can’t think of anyone more equipped to vulnerably dissect this novel with a group of women than Lou. I anticipate a room of gals who have each read The Last Love Note together, beside a fire, clinking glasses of champagne together with others toasting us from afar via zoom.
Before Lou leaves, she hands me my gift. I unroll the heavy paper to see a beautiful mosaic of words that are designed like a giant stamped it with his thumb. “It’s God’s fingerprint,” says Lou. “You see, there’s a line from every chapter of the Bible, starting from Genesis all the way to Revelation,” she explains. There are portions of verses that meander the paper in gold foil print in curvy lines, wandering and structured at the same time. It is beautiful. “I saw it and thought you had to have it,” she beams, her eyes still holding back the tears she has chosen to save for her journey.
I tell her how much I love it and send her off with a Forest Hike candle, my signature scent for Stronger Girl. The tagline for that candle is “Journey among the tall pines toward the light of your true strengths.” Lou will be among some tall pines in the Upper Peninsula this weekend. Her true strengths are already shining through. I am in awe of her bravery, and I think about the three friends today who are examples of strength, faith and boldness. I’ve learned so much from them in just one day.
I clean the kitchen, then pull a comfy blanket around me by the fire and reach for Emma’s book. It opens to a page she signed for me in a bold black Sharpie that reads “Always look for the light.” I imagine I’ll learn more about what that means in the chapters ahead, but this day has already revealed how powerful light can be when we allow it to seep into our lives through people and circumstances. I think about the brave women in my life who offer gifts and words and examples of perseverance with so much light and beauty. Some of those friends are reading this now. You know who you are. And, for the ones I’ve yet to meet … let’s connect in this new year and invite each other into our stories. Let’s open the blinds, ignite the fire, grab a glass of something bubbly and offer tribute to each other …
“To the friends who inspire us!
And to no more burnt toast in 2024.”
The first pick of the Stronger Girl Coffee Book Club is The Last Love Note by Emma Grey. Grab your copy and join us in late February for a discussion co-led by myself and my friend, Lourdes, with a special guest appearance by author Emma Grey (via Zoom). Email strongergirlcoffee@gmail.com for more info and make sure you’re on our newsletter list to receive updates.