Two-hundred and eighty-eight steps from my front door, there hang 9 golden letters from a wrought iron fence.
My friends and I, we used to travel together. One car to the same airport, one flight to the same destination. Now we meet in a new city, neither of our own, and leave separately, back to the lives from which we came. But those 9 days in between. Those are the days.
The belief that anything is possible, and that your friends really are the best. Because, well, they are. And in this moment, you're reminded of why that's so very true. Eventually, we'll get the chance to do it all again. But in the meantime, my suitcase sits like a time capsule on the floor of my bedroom. Reminding me of the fun that was had. I'm not prepared to unpack just yet, I need the memories to reside here.
So, this one is for my friends. My beautiful, wonderful, inspiring - and may I say - downright hilarious - friends. We've laughed until there were tears in our eyes. We've cried until it was laughable.
But on the eighth day, we rested.
The city sounds were nearly silent. But we were not. Every waking second spent catching up and getting real. Experiencing life together as if we'd never been apart. I must have said it a hundred times, but only because I find it so true. The reunions make life sweet, and they remind us why we're here. They inspire us to keep dreaming, and in an odd way, they make us miss what's right in front of our faces.
Six best friends and one new one. My heart is full even when my pockets are not.
One last walk down King Street on my last morning in Charleston led me to a local couple sitting outside a retail store, playing and singing Dixieland Delight. He had the voice of Marcus Mumford, perhaps with even more power. I could hear him several blocks after I had passed. Fairly sure, they were my final sign that I was exactly where I needed to be right now. Thinking back on the week I've had, this vacation. Remembering the fun that was had on windy beaches and carriage rides, in karaoke clubs and rooftop bars. But most of all, it beckons me to recall the way I feel about these people. Each of them. And even the ones that aren't here.
The sound of each of their names. The thought of each of their faces. I can't help but smile. I feel silly grateful to have each one of you in my life. In a way I didn't even know was possible before I left Nashville.
Two-hundred and eighty-eight steps from my front door, there hang 9 golden letters from a wrought iron fence. They remind me of what I believe. And what I see in each one of my friends.
Put them all together and they spell:
GOD IS LOVE.