Refuge Farms (www.refugefarms.org)

I had lunch with an old friend this week. And I can just hear him questioning, “Now, is the friendship old or are you referring to me as old?” That lunch has made me ponder the value of friends and the value of history with those friends.

This particular friend of mine goes way back in my life. We first met when I was young and bold and on the cusp of an upcoming career in Retail and Food Service Technology. My consulting firm was building a good name for itself and I was well traveled, well informed, well dressed, and always well groomed.

Gary was a sales rep of that technology and so our relationship began in controversy. I, the customer, wanted. And he, the sales rep, was to give.. End of story!

Out of that contest grew a friendship. Gary and I discussed politics, religion, family, business, the future, and life. Nothing was off limits in our discussions and at times our words were painful to hear or to say. But honesty, I like to think, was one of our strongest characteristics.

My business strengths of organization, determination, and assertiveness flowed over in to my personal life. In fact, there really wasn’t much of a divider at that time. My business was my life and my life was my business. I had a purpose and that was to make a good name out there! I was driven, to put it mildly!

Gary was more relaxed and more willing to take his time with some tasks. It drove me nuts! And many times, as we talked, Gary would tell me that he just couldn’t relate…he was trying, but he just couldn’t relate. You see Gary grew up in a big family and his Mother was still active and a part of his life. And Gary had never spent a night in a hospital. And Gary had been healthy his entire life. All of these differences between us, but still the commonality of our friendship.

Years passed. I purchased two horses and a dog. I watched my sister cross and felt helpless in not being able to fix “it”. Gary supported my grief although our friendship was relatively new at the time. But it was the start of that history stuff. A friend who still visits when you aren’t in charge. You aren’t in control. In fact, you are barely hanging on to any control at all! And the friend still listens and hugs you. And still comes back to be a friend again. History.

Years passed and I purchased an old house in rural Wisconsin. The house warming party was full of new friends and sure enough, the old friend appeared. I proudly showed him the holes in the foundation. The windows with gaps for snow and wind and rain. The collapsing barn. And the old woodwork and the beautiful floors. Gary listened. History.

Years passed. And my own health took a few bumps along the way. Once again, this friend was there to listen as I updated my will. Listen as I talked about the treatments. Listen as I tried to find humor in the muddy stuff I was wading through at the time. More history.

Years passed and I found the world of horses in competition. Gary listened. A little while later and I was furiously striking out at anyone and everyone! The anger of what I had witnessed in a world where horses were instruments and “motivated” by drugs, and whips, and electricity was seeping out of every single pore of me! Gary listened. I struggled with the changes in my life but knew what I must do. I rescued Ruby and Jerry. It helped to treat my new wounds. Gary listened. More history.

Years passed and we lost track of each other. Gary continued his life and passions as I developed new passions and found purpose in the kill pens of Wisconsin. My life became less and less related to Retail and Food Service Technology and Gary’s life continued on its path as he developed new passions in local politics and service organizations. History without anyone listening.

Years passed and I continued to pursue the healing of the rejected and tossed away. Gary’s life continued on as he pursued the civic responsibilities that interested him. But there was the occasional email received. And the note once in a while when something in life reminded either of us of our friendship and all that we had witnessed in our lives together.

A mutual friend called and I made the time and traveled a bit to attend a visitation for Gary’s eldest son. It had been quite some time since we had seen each other but I knew the pain of his loss. I knew the need to talk and at the same time the need to be silent. I knew where he was and a friend does what they can to support their friend at such a time. This time I listened. More history.

Then out of the blue, a telephone call. “Want to have lunch?”

I was a tad nervous as I walked in to the restaurant last week. I am now equally as driven as when a consultant but not quite so well groomed or well traveled or well dressed anymore. There was no need to worry, however, because before I was fully seated, I was totally at ease. The history was back. Brief updates on our lives since we had talked last.

And this time, we both listened.

Finally. Our friendship is at a place where we mutually benefit from the passage of time. We both have the knowledge that the other one truly understands. Or at least tries to understand. The other one knows where we’re coming from…our priorities... our wounds... our joys... our scars... our dreams... You see, we have history together.

True friends build history. It takes time. And endurance. And patience and the willingness to continue to return. Even when your friend seems to have failed you or let you down or not tried hard enough. Because after the years have passed, the friend is still there. Ready to listen. To care for you. To cry with you. To laugh at you! And to continue to build history with you.

It is a good thing, this friendship with history. I treasure it. And as I see my new friends around me today, I realize I’m building history every day with each of them, too. We are supporting each other in our mutual passion of healing. And all the while, creating history.

Any relationship, good or bad, will build history. Maybe what I’m really seeing for the first time, is the time it takes to build good history in any relationship with any living creature. Maybe what I’m coming to realize is that the only thing that matters at the end of this journey I call my life is the history that I’ve built along the way.

Such a timely lesson, isn’t it? To remind us to treasure our friends and family when the world, at large, is pressuring us to Buy! Buy! Buy! To hold our dear ones close and look them in the eyes when we say, “I love you.” To take care of ourselves as a gift to others.

So take the time to connect with someone you have history with. Call. Write. Email. Have lunch. The gift of time is precious and treasured. And it matters. They say that the best gift is from the heart…an old saying, but never more true. Amen.

Enjoy the journey of each and every day in The Spirit of The Season,
Sandy and The Herd