DIFFERENT TRAJECTORIES

I saw my friend Paul today. We met like ships in the... car park. I was heading back to my car with a trolley-load of shopping; he was taking an item in a cardboard box in as a product return.

I miss him. It's not that we're not friends any more - I think we always will be. It's more that over the course of the last few years, life has pulled us in different directions. His trajectory, though bright and brilliant, sad and hopeful, is not mine.

"Where's your ride?" he asked in his cool, smart way.

"I er, I don't know," I said, vaguely gesturing to where I thought I'd left it, "Over there somewhere." I happened to glance at my trolley, laden as it was with packets of biscuits and snacks hiding the vegetables. He smiled. Perfect smile, keen sparkling eyes.

We did a lot. There are countless young adults out there who were only kids when we met them. We helped them, taught them about how to follow Jesus, how to be the best they could be. We played football with them, we loved them, and we took all the insults and the flak from them, sometimes with crushed souls and broken windows.

One girl, I remember so well, was struggling with life in a broken home. She's now a leader in a big church in Canada. Others (not all) went on to have families, ministries, worlds of their own to make a difference in. They're bus drivers and personal trainers and credit controllers and stylists and nurses and bosses, and mothers, and fathers these days. I hope they're good ones.

I gave all of my twenties to that effort, and my reflection knows it.

"I was going to call you the other day, find out how you are," he said warmly. I told him the same, which is true, but it wasn't supposed to be a comment on the fact that he didn't, nor an indicator that I'd thought about it either. It would be nice to chat - though how I can tell him how I feel about everything right now, I don't know. I can't even begin to explain my reaction to this ugly world, even to myself. Trajectories are tough to connect, with each broadening degree.

Paul made his way to the shop. I made my way to my 'ride'. Turns out he'd parked his sleek, shiny BMW next to my little jalopy without realising. Different trajectories. I miss my friend. I'll call him soon.