Reckless (and Beautiful)

We were standing in her kitchen, like we do on many Sunday afternoons.

"Do you know how it feels to be friends with you, Hannah Keeler?" Susan asked, apropos of nothing as far as I could tell.

"...no?" I said, having no idea where this was going.  Wonderful?  Awful? Like you acquired another little sister, like it or not?

 "Reckless," she said, pulling me into a hug.  "Being friends with you feels reckless."

(photo by Sylvain Guiheneuc)


Over the subsequent weeks, as I've thought about her words, that one word, reckless, I've decided that it is a fitting word for how friendships feel from my perspective right now, too.

It feels reckless to invite new people into the Tautology Club, with all of our craziness.  To say, "Here are my surrogate siblings.  Welcome in."

It feels reckless to babysit more kids for the first time, to learn to love them too.  To snuggle up on the couch with Jacob and Merry, reading (again) the tale of Saint George and the Dragon.

It feels reckless, the way I keep saying yes to things knowing that I won't be able to in a few months.  To hanging out, and not being distracted by all of the other things I could be doing.  To going to another Boyhood Bravery concert, even when it's late and cold and I could listen to their music on spotify.  To working on latte art.  To waking up in time to throw dinner for friends in the crockpot.  To late night conversations, because we're in the same time zone, at least.

It feels reckless to keep learning to love.

But it doesn't feel bad.

On the contrary, it feels deeply, profoundly hopeful.  It feels like putting into action my belief that I am not in control of everything and do not need to be.  I don't need to be the one in all of my friends' lives forever.  God can and will provide other friends for them.  It feels like me taking seriously what I claim to believe, that God is in control of all things and that nothing done in faithfulness will be wasted.  It feels like actually living out the truth that now is not all I have, that I do not need to clutch these good moments too tight.  I can live them wholeheartedly, right in the tension of knowing that we are finite, created beings and knowing that we were born not to die.

 This life is a beautiful recklessness anchored in a sure hope.

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