“Dear Diary, no one understands me.”
If you just caught on to my blog you need to read the last one to get caught up. We’re exploring who understands us in our adulthood when we wanted so many to understand us in our childhood.
My oldest friend (in terms of how long we’ve known each other) is the second person who knows me the best. We have known each other for thirty-eight years—since the day I was born. Her parents live next to mine (still) and we were childhood pals. Her Dad was in my Dad’s wedding and she was in mine. It’s a friendship that runs deep. How can she NOT know who I am? She has seen me laugh, cry, pitch a fit (more than once in our childhood), sulk, stomp about, sing, dance, be crazy… the list goes on and on. You can’t hide from someone who knows you for this long. Well, I guess you could, but her and I aren’t very good at it.
Her family feels like my family. When we were young we spent so much time at each other’s homes I’ve always said I’ve had two sets of parents. It was more prevalent when we were younger, but even now they feel like my parents and I care for their wellbeing too—not just hers.
Although she knows me very well she doesn’t have the same opinions. She does not have the same faith I do, which sometimes makes it difficult to communicate. Other times it’s easier to communicate. For example: Because I am a Christian it is hard to let out my anger, frustration or even contempt to the “outside” world. As Christians we are scrutinized for everything we do and say. Many people don’t think we should ever become angry or show anything except a sunny disposition. She knows my faith, how deeply it runs and can listen to my anger without judging me. She has known me for thirty-eight years… many of those years were before I was a Christian. She can see me for who I am—even when I’m angry and not showing the best “Christian” behavior. It might not be the best way to get her to be a Christian, but it does prove how trusting I am of her. To me, that’s showing God’s love too—trust.
Next time: the third and final person who understands me. Bet you can guess who it is.