I am lucky to find myself late in life with a few good friends with whom I can be completely transparent, completely myself. I am accepted by them not in spite of my weakness, but loved because the weakness is part of my whole; it makes me who I am, and I am seen by them through the eyes of unconditional grace.
They are the people who know the way in which I follow Jesus, who know I have bipolar, who understand why I do not attend a brick-and-mortar church, who do not judge or shame me when depression sets in or when hypomania gets the best of me.
My true friends are the ones who cry with me, identify with me, laugh with me and sit silently with me. They are the ones who lift me up, text with me, get me, and grok me, and when they don’t…
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