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Funny that my first post should be titled Comfort when it’s not comfortable at all

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I’ve been avoiding writing something on this site. Why? I’m not sure, mostly because I was overwhelmed with figuring out how to post (lame I know considering how easy it is). But my friend Lisa-Jo Baker hosts a part every Friday she calls Five Minute Friday where she throws out a word and you write on it, no editing, for five minutes and then publish your post. Lots of my favorite writer friends are doing it, so though they’re not jumping off a bridge, I am following them off this cliff. Here is my first Five Minute Friday post, and really my first post on my site EVER. The word of the week: Comfort.

Comfort.

It’s mashed potatoes. And stuffing. And chocolate pudding. It’s called comfort food because when you put it in your mouth, the texture, the flavor reminds you of home. Of sitting in, cozying in by a warm fire and filling your tummy while you fill your heart with people who love you.

And that’s what we all really want, not comfort food, but comfort friends.

The ones who fill us, our souls and sometimes our stomachs. The ones who know our history, our firsts, and we don’t have to fill them in with those details. They already know. And they know our hearts. Our dreams. The ones we’ve often forgotten about. They remind us of them. Even when we can’t see them. They remind us that they’re there. That there’s more to us than the immediate. The demanding. The wearing down.

These comfort friends receive phone calls at all hours. When a baby is born. Or a parent is sick. Or a heart is broken. There’s no filtering. No editing. We call when we need to. And they pick up. They listen. And know the right things to say. They hear when we need agreement and just as quickly they hear when we need someone to be angry with us. Oh how there is nothing like a good lasagna and a good friend. Who will change with us, allow us to grow, but will not waiver in her love. She is rich. And delicious. And we must savor every morsel of her. Every last bit.

End.

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