. The Dessert Years .

There are times in my life when nothing soothes me like a nap. Naps were particularly soothing when I was in the midst of chemotherapy. That was several years ago, but it marked an important promise I made to myself: To include comfort as part of my daily routine.

Which lead to some other promises …

Comfort was not something that came naturally for me. I was challenged to grant myself permission to “be” — instead of doing, doing, doing.

But there was something deeply comforting about wrapping up in a beautiful antique quilt my great grandmother hand-quilted. It has a soft, well-worn, flannel backing and is comprised of strips of varied and colorful, satiny material. She passed it on to my maternal grandmother, who passed it on to me. ♥

The comfort of that quilt on the days of weaknesses and fatigue proved to provide much more than temporary warmth. It was more of a cocoon … Because from it I would emerge changed. And … I would fly.

Each day, I would run my index finger over the countless hand-stitches of that quilt; I would wonder about the days of my great grandmother’s quilting bees. I would remember her stories about the regular get-togethers of the women in her informal “guild.” I would wonder about the details of those friendships and their weekly, personal — face-to-face — contact.

Despite the friendships (and opportunities for friendships) I had had in my life up to that time, I had very little experience with the comfort of  friends. Not because I lacked caring friends; but because friendships deepen over time and take root through the seasons of Life; seasons that serve to change us. And because one must be willing to risk and to be honest to truly, truly experience the comfort — the gift — of friends.

I mentioned the quilt (and the memories of my grandmother’s quilting guild) to my resourceful librarian friend — who promptly began clicking keywords on the library search computer. She said, “You simply must read this new series!” It was the Elm Creek Quilts novels, written by Jennifer Chiaverini. Reading about the friendships (and the quilts and the quilting!) detailed in that series inspired me to move out of isolation and to develop my friendships — and to seek new friendships.

That is where I started …

I joined a support group comprised of women affected by ovarian cancer. Interestingly enough, sharing cancer is a sure way to discover true friendships! You begin to hear a clock ticking away the moments of your life. This click, click, clicking cuts through small-talk like a hot knife cuts butter!

And that is where I met my beloved friend, Barbara. ♥

Barbara was everyone’s friend, but she was my bestest friend.

She taught me more about friendships that I ever knew. I learned to risk and to be honest; to know when to let go — and when to hold on and do so, tightly! She didn’t share any “secret formula” with me — there aren’t any! She did help me discover something within me that has forever changed me: Courage to be a friend and to connect authentically with others.

During the weeks she and I pieced together a quilt to celebrate (and memorialize) women who danced with ovarian cancer (Barbara’s idea) — she encouraged me to resume my own quilting. I did. And I joined a local quilt guild and developed dear, dear friendships with precious women who are genuine, experienced — and oh-so much fun! (I live in a rural area, and this seemed to make these friendships all the more authentic — similar — to those my great grandmother spoke of.)

Which, I learned later, was part of Barbara’s plan. Because she knew I had finally released my fears about friendship, and that I had learned about the comfort of friends. She wanted me continue learning about — experiencing — friendship, and to write about it. I know this because she wrote letters to me … Even as I practiced the art of a 10-stitch-inch on the small project in the image above, by her bedside during the last days of her life (here).

One of the unexpected answers to my prayers for an eclectic, colorful patchwork of friends was accomplished — stitch-by-stitch — during a dance with ovarian cancer. The stitches mark the miles of a life-journey, where I finally connected in tangible ways with other women. And it included getting to know (and to love and comfort), Barbara, who moved to Heaven four years ago this week.

P.S. I had the privilege of guest-posting at Renae’s encouraging, Life Nurturing Education recently. Check our her site because … I have such comforting (and inspiring!) friends! ♥