From fourth grade to Beaver's Bend

My earliest memory of Janet is on a basketball court. We were both in elementary school, but attended different campuses. (South, West, Bel Air's the best!) We ended up playing Little Dribblers together. She was tall like me. But, unlike me, she was good at the game. She already knew about bouncing the ball. Janet's dad was our coach. I don't remember much about that time, except her dad was nice, and Janet dominated the court.

I probably wouldn't remember that short season at all were it not for the fact that a year or two later, in fourth grade, Janet would re-enter my life in a significant way. During the in-between time, her family had moved away, her nice dad had died, and she had moved back to Athens. Our teacher told us Janet would be joining our class. We should be nice to her.

It was never any trouble being nice to Janet. I remember saying hello to her when she returned. She tells me I reminded her then of Tigger. I think she's referring to Tigger's hyperactive bounciness. It wasn't until our freshman year in high school that Janet became "JT" to me, a kindred spirit. A sister.

The same fourth-grade year that Janet joined our merry gang (we were a so-called gifted class and wasted no time dubbing ourselves the "The Nerd Herd"), I also got to know Joye. Joye was one of those girls. You know the type: Pretty. Kind. Sparkling smile. Blond. Did I mention kind? Yeah, that's the part that really gets you. You can't even dislike her for all the other stuff, like being pretty and blond and sparkly.

Oh, and she was also really smart. I mean really. She was reading Dostoevsky and Tolstoy in junior high. And didn't even tell anyone. Who, who reads Dostoevsky without telling people? Seriously, if I ever get to the end of "Crime and Punishment," I'm sending out embossed announcements.

So around about high school, I figured out Joye was a keeper. A life friend. A sister.

At different times, Joye and Janet and I roomed together in college. We got married, had kids. Traveled. Got jobs. Had more kids. Quit jobs. And the whole time I've tried to hang on to both of them. It hasn't always been easy. We've lived in different states, and I'm not a good phone caller or frequent flyer. Somehow, though, we managed to keep the connection. There's nothing -- nothing -- in the world like girlfriends. I figured that one out even as a naive teen. I know myself well enough to be aware I don't collect good friends easily. It takes years. Decades even. And the older I get, the slower I am. So when it happens, I don't let go.

An amazing thing happened, too. The men we picked to marry? Well, they like each other. A lot. And our kids like each other too. So a few summers ago, Joye and Matt and Roy and I got to talking and decided we'd get together for a long weekend in a cabin near Beaver's Bend, Oklahoma. It was fun. I mean staying-up-late, stupid-laughing fun. So we did it again. More fun! And this year, since Janet and Wade decided it was time to return to this part of the country, they were able to join us.

So two weekends ago, there we were: in a huge cabin, overlooking beautiful land: Roy & Toni & Madeline & Connor; Matt & Joye & Emily & Claire & Garrett (and Emily's friend Gabby); and Wade & Janet & Austin & Jackson & Anna Grace.



Sounds like a bit of a madhouse, doesn't it? It was. A really loud, busy, incredibly delightful madhouse. And when we finally got all the kids to bed at night, we stayed up talking and playing games and drinking wine and eating well and laughing and laughing and laughing. I'm positive that type of thing pleases God. It's no accident so many of the Jesus narratives take place while he's at a festival or a dinner guest at someone's house. We're wired for fellowship. It feeds our souls.

Our last full day, we rented a pontoon boat and motored out into the crystalline water under a perfectly blue sky. Eventually, we killed the motor and floated to an undulating almost-stop. The desire to jump in was so great I didn't bother fighting it. I swam back and pulled in Austin. Then almost everyone else, acting in a singular motion, flung themselves up and out. Screaming, splashing, laughing.

That time was pure joy. The children were thrilled and we adult-types no less so. It was beautiful, and we held onto it until finally, a few hours later, rain pushed us to shore.

I think about how different things could be, if one of us -- Joye or Janet or I -- had let go of the other. I think about what we could have missed. But we didn't. We held on. And we make life beautiful for each other.

-30-

JT's in the center; Joye's on the right. She's not blond anymore, but she's still sparkly.