Hey friend,

It’s been a few months since I’ve popped into your inbox. Honestly, I haven’t had much to say. And like I told a friend the other day, “In a world where everyone has something to say, it’s better to not say anything until you have thoughts that are actually flowing from God.”

So I’ve been quiet.

But today, a few thoughts have started to surface, and I’ve felt like maybe they’re not just for me.

We’re Too Young for This

One of the strangest things about getting older is realizing that your circle gets smaller, not because of drama, or because you stop loving people, but because life has a way of showing you who really matters, and sometimes loss has a way of revealing it.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about friendship and how different it feels when you lose someone in your 40s.

We’re too young for this. It seems like cancer and death shouldn't belong in this season of life. Yet then again, cancer doesn’t follow our rules. It doesn’t care how old you are, how young you are, or how much more time you thought you had.

In truth, cancer belongs nowhere.

For five years, I watched a friend, who somewhere along the way became family, battle stage four cancer. He fought until his body simply couldn’t fight anymore. My family was given the privilege to walk this long road with him and his family.

This past week, I sat two rows behind his wife, my best friend, at his funeral.

I sat watching her worship God while comforting her children, one hand raised toward heaven and the other wrapped around her son.

There are no words for that kind of pain.

Grief Has a Way of Clearing the Clutter

When you walk with someone you love through the unthinkable, the things that once seemed so important have a way of falling away, while the things that matter rise quietly to the surface.

The text you almost didn’t send. Send it.

The dinner you’ve been trying to schedule for six months. Schedule it.

The friend you’ve been meaning to call. Call her.

The trip you’ve been talking about taking. Maybe you can make it work? Take the trip.

Make the memories, because we really don’t know how much time we have.

I know that sounds cliché, but after six years of grief being a constant companion, I’ve learned that sometimes the things we call clichés are simply truths we haven’t lived long enough to understand.

Life is short, and all that really matters is your people.

Your Circle Gets Smaller

Loss has also made my inner circle smaller, and I’m learning to be okay with that.

Not everyone needs to be in the inner circle. I’ve learned some friendships are for a season. Some people walk beside us for a mile, while others stay for decades, and we can love them all without expecting every friendship to carry the same weight.

Only certain ones show up when life falls apart. They’re the ones who sit in the hard, who don’t need you to clean up yourself or the house before they come over, because they know the messy parts of your story and love you anyway. They’re the ones you can laugh with until your stomach hurts and cry with when there are no words.

Those friendships become sacred.

After experiencing enough loss, I’ve realized you don’t have to spend your life trying to hold on to every relationship; you begin to cherish the ones that feel like home, even if there are only a few.

Friendship Looks Different Now

Maybe that’s part of getting older, too.

Our lives are fuller. Our kids need us. Our marriages need us. Our parents are aging. Some of us are walking through cancer, divorce, addiction, grief, empty nests, aging parents, or dreams that didn’t turn out the way we thought they would.

We don’t always have time for long phone calls or spontaneous girls’ nights anymore.

Sometimes friendship is a five-minute voice memo, a “thinking about you” text, or coffee squeezed into a crazy week.

But when the crap hits the fan, they’re there. They’re the friend who sits beside you in the hospital room. They’re the one you call when things didn’t go as planned. They are the ones who come and sit by you when no one can stand to sit in your pain. They listen to the same hard stories over and over again, because they care. They check in. They say, “I’m here. You don’t have to do this alone.”

And somehow, those friendships become the ones you treasure most.

I Want to Live Awake

Maybe that’s why losing a friend in your 40s changes you. It reminds you that these aren’t just people we happen to know. These are the people we are doing life with.

And life is happening now. Not someday when things slow down. Not when the kids are older. Not when we finally have more time.

Now.

So I want to be better at cherishing my people.

I want to put my phone down when I’m with them and take the picture no one else wants to take because someday someone will be grateful we did.

I want to make the plans and plan the trips. I want to forgive more quickly, because some friendships are worth fighting for. I’m not waiting to say “I love you” because I’m afraid it sounds too sentimental.

I want to say it.

I want to stop assuming there will always be another Christmas, another birthday, another football game, another dinner around the table….because there may not be.

Grief has taught me: God hasn’t promised us tomorrow, but He has given us today.

And today, I have people I love, people worth showing up for, people worth making room for, people worth cherishing.

So maybe your circle is getting smaller, too.

Maybe that’s not something to mourn. Maybe it’s something to notice, to nurture, to be grateful for.

Because a smaller circle doesn’t mean less love; it means deeper love.

And after losing people we never thought we’d have to lose, maybe that’s one of the gifts we can carry forward:

Life is happening now, and I don’t want to miss it.

Love,

I'd loved to hear from you! I've missed this space.