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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/726401-My-Friend
Rated: 13+ · Prose · Religious · #726401
I felt that I should write this.
         Why am I writing this? I keep asking myself that same question. Here's what I've come up with: I want to leave something behind - something that would serve as a monument, a reminder of a friend I once knew.

         I once had a friend who was always very unique, very creative. If she said something, you could rest assured that you'd never heard it said before. If she quoted something, you could be certain that you'd never heard it quoted before. When she cursed, she even cursed creatively (she'd say "bugger!" and things like that). She was not afraid to be herself in front of other people. I admire that.
         When we first met, she and I were brother and sister in Christ. I hope that we still are. I am 99% certain that salvation, once accepted, cannot be lost. I am 99% certain that no one, including oneself, can snatch someone from God's hand. I am 99% certain that when I get to Heaven, my friend will be there. It is the other 1% that bothers me, that sometimes keeps me up late at night praying... and regretting.
          My friend never seemed to let the "cool"-ness of an action determine whether or not she did it. She never let society's opinion interfere with her. I wish, oh how I wish, that I could say the same for me.
         I could tell that she was struggling with something. I never saw what it was, although I think I know at least part of it now. I wanted to reach out to her and try to help her somehow. But society frowned on that idea. "If she doesn't ask for help, it would be rude for you to offer it," society advised. "Mind your own business," society admonished. I listened, while my friend slowly faded away.
          One day, my friend's change was complete. "I no longer consider myself to be a Christian." I felt a knife stab through my chest when she said those words. I didn't know what to do. I kept quiet. I spoke. I prayed. I reasoned. I pleaded. I argued. Nothing seemed to help. Nothing seemed to change anything.
         My friend moved away. I miss her. I don't know where she went. I wanted to apologize, but didn't know how. My apology would only have offended her in her new state... and I had already done that far too often. So now, I stay up late at night sometimes and wonder when 1% became such a big number.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/726401-My-Friend