Posse

Ecclesiastes 4:10-12
If one falls down, his friend can help him up. But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up !Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone?
Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.

I’m not built for friendship.
I am a terrible friend.
And yet I have wonderful friends, a specific group of which I consider my posse. Yup, I got me a bonafide posse.
I have family and folks I work with who are fantastic and stand by me. I have old friends I know would be there if I called. I have a fine Mr. and daboyz.
And I have a posse. This posse is a group of women who go to my church. I met all but one in just the last few years and I wonder what I ever did without them.
They are Tina, Tonya, Margie and Becky. And if you try to hurt me or even make me sad, they will kick your butt.
These broads (for they are certainly not ladies) actually love me despite my anti-social, snarky, cranky, intolerant and moody disposition. They understand that I am all of the aforementioned and in addition I hate phones so they only call me in extreme circumstances, say for instance, to tell me they love me or to arrange a cookie drop-off or meatball pick-up. They text me if contact is essential.
If I get in an argument with the Mr., they immediately agree with me that he is a terrible brute until I forgive him at which time they agree he’s the best guy ever.
They love my kids and pray for them and agree that they are wonderful and perfect and also pigs in need of a good beating.
They tell me when my hair is long that I look fantastic with long hair and when I whack it all off they tell me how gorgeous I am with short hair and when it’s in between because I don’t know what the heck I want they tell me I’m beautiful regardless of hair length.
Every time I teach they tell me it changed their lives. That or they tell me I was boring and unprepared and I need to get it together. Then they hug me and kiss me on the cheek and I try to be mad but I’m not.
Not too long ago, one of them offered to wear a wire on my behalf (thanks T~); the specific circumstances necessitating this are not important. It’s just nice to know it’s an option if a person is in need of a mole.
Like I said, I’m a terrible friend. I’m a loner who never gets lonely. I want to send birthday cards but rarely remember to. I don’t like company. I don’t want to have a girls night out or spend an evening painting each other’s toe nails (gross!). Women’s retreats give me the trots. I hate shopping with people. Neediness makes me want to poke people in the eye. I love deep but usually from a distance. I didn’t say it made sense, but there it is. Most people who get to know me as well as my posse knows me would realize I’m not an altogether nice person.
I love my posse. My posse loves me.
It’s nice to know there is a group of women willing to get into a brawl on your behalf, and certainly I’d throw a punch for any one of them. In fact, Tonya’s husband Jimmy is in my posse too. He’s kind of like the posse bouncer, he stands at the periphery but is ready to throw down if I need him.
It’s not spiritual or Christ-like but if I hate somebody, so do they. Not that I hate anybody, but if I did; they would. I’m sure of it.
Oh, don’t think these four women have me up on some pedestal. No, they tell me when I’m wrong, selfish, lazy or even if I’ve made a fashion error. True friends know you need the truth, and they want you to hear it from someone who loves you. I know people who have never told me anything but pretty stories and compliments. They are nice, but not posse material.
At the same time, these four share the parts of themselves that aren’t perfect as well. They are willing to do the ugly cry in front of me; to admit they fight with their kids or hate their butts or just feel too depressed to get out of bed. They honor me with their truth and make me brave enough to share my own.
This posse of mine is one of those beautiful groups of people who would gather around and carry me through life if I was too wounded or sick or worn out to carry myself. These women would clean my house, buy my groceries and spoon feed me if I needed them to.
For someone who’s not good at making friends, and doesn’t even realize she wants them, I’ve been given a beautiful gift.
My posse has made sure in a million ways on a thousand days that I know they love me. So I guess this is my attempt to make sure they know that I feel it; and I love them too.
Tina, Tonya, Margie & Becky...
My posse.