Everybody loves a friend
We were in third grade when I totally betrayed my best friend. Troll dolls were the problem. Their ugly mugs and outrageous hair fascinated us. Most of us managed to beg a small dime store model from our parents. One of our friends, however, came to school with a six-inch, authentic troll sporting luxurious, silky hair that could actually be combed! We girls were each allowed to hold the troll for a few minutes. My turn came just before recess.
If I ever start to doubt the basic depravity of man, I simply remember what happened next.
I held the troll in one hand and a blue ballpoint pen in the other. Then some basic, evil, insane drive inside me brought the two together. I drew a thick blue line in the crevice between the trolls grinning lips. (Maybe it was just the writer in me thinking every blank space can be improved with ink.)
Anyway, I dropped the troll back on the owner’s desk and followed my classmates out the door. When the graffiti was discovered, our beloved Mrs. Lowry beseeched the culprit to confess. No one came forward, of course. And, then, when suspicion leaned toward me, I succumbed to my Judas moment. I whispered to some of the girls, “I think Judy had it last.”
Why did I do that? Judy had been my best friend practically since we emerged from the womb one month apart! See above sentence concerning the depravity of man.
As childhood tiffs will do, that one blew over. We went on to face much bigger trials of friendship in the decades that followed. Yet, the memory haunted me. Not daily. Or even annually. But every now and then I remembered that betrayal and felt sick in my soul. During one season when God was dealing with junk in my life (which happens often) I suddenly decided to confess.
I knew it was crazy. I figured no one else even remembered third grade. But, I wrote a couple of letters and confessed. And repented. And told my friends I felt like a wretch.
And then, the beauty of friendship and mercy kicked in. Judy forgave me. She basically said, “No problem. And thanks for telling me. I have wondered a few times why all my friends stopped speaking to me that week.” (Pierce. My. Heart!)
Today, Judy and I are both grandmothers. And writers. And still friends. She leads the Language Arts department of the school we attended. And she told me recently that she uses the troll story now and then. She says it helps students who think they have messed up so completely they can never recover. She tells them not to worry because there is still time to make amends. Even if it takes another thirty years.
Is it horrible if I laughed out loud at this post? Because I did.
However, I get the point. And I love that God still gives us a chance to make things right, no matter how much time has passed. That is mercy.
Yes, Eleanor. I can almost laugh at it myself now.
Kathy, the numerous times you have been an outstanding friend to me have far outweighed the teeny, tiny lapse of judgment of a nine-year-old girl. You are my “bestie” as my teens would say, or as your daughter’s favorite character, Anne, would say, “We are bosom friends.” I loved you then, I love you now, and I will love you forever.I have long ago forgiven that little girl; now forgive yourself, please!
Okay 🙂 I do.
Ah, lovely friendship. Lovely forgiveness. Lovely Judy.
I loved your post, as I too have been in one of those seasons — and have done some recent letter writing of my own! And I have to say, I greatly loved the comment of your dear friend Judy! You both share a great testimony of true (and rare), lasting friendship!
Thanks, Cheri. And thanks for your comments on my previous posts. Keep writing!
Okay, to be fair, those troll dolls are sort of irresistible. I can totally see how it might be tempting to graffiti one.
But friends who forgive–like Judy–are so inspiring. Nothing is classier than forgiving someone.
What a loving friendship you and Judy share. I love your story–and her comment. Beautiful!
Thanks so much for stopping by, Becky!
I think it’s funny how memories like this stick in our minds. I can remember dozens of mean, horrible, terrible things I’ve done and said that I’ve never forgotten them. And I can almost never remember when other people do or day them about me. I get over it and I move on. But when it comes to forgiving myself? That’s somehow harder.
But a friend who doesn’t remind you of all the mean, horrible, terrible things you’ve done? That’s a friend worth holding onto. Thanks for sharing!