The Friendship Heart

By G. E. Shuman

Dear Readers;

One week in August my two teenage children headed off to Christian summer camp with kids from their and other youth groups throughout New England. The week went by in a flash for them. Of course it did. They were having fun! That same week dragged past like a team of house cats pulling a granite block, for me. (I’m not sure what I will do when they go off to college. I’ll probably adjust to it, but for now think the days will pass by slower, not faster. Maybe that will be a good thing, considering the likely number of days ahead of me compared to those behind.) Finally, at the appointed time on Saturday, the excessively over-tired, fresh air and campfire over-dosed bodies of our teens arrived home, practically falling into our kitchen through the back doorway. It was great to have them home. There’s nothing like the sounds and scents of hygiene-deprived teenage campers snoring on your living room couches on a Saturday afternoon.
Andrew never talks much about his experiences, whether good or bad. It seems to be his philosophy that the word “Okay” covers all situations, in answer to any inquiry, whether regarding a recent trip to Disney or to the dentist. That is just the way he is. That is just not the way Emily is. Emi is a very different person from her brother, with a much different story to tell. In fact, with many different stories to tell, about any experience at all. I would like to share one ‘camp’ story as it was told to me by Emily, and a picture resulting from it that truly touched me. Actually, I will probably only share the barest of facts to form a condensed version of the story. Teenage girls use the word ‘like’, like a million times a day, and, like, at least a hundred times in, like, any run-on conversation they may have, especially, like, if they, like, are having the conversation with, like, another teenage girl. (Try and tell me I’m, like, wrong.)
The picture is printed with this column, and, no, I’m not talking about the one of me. Take a look at the picture of the hands, and then read on. The story, in a shortened, ‘like-less’ form, goes something like this: Emily has a camp friend by the name of Abby. Abby and Emily have gone to the same summer camp for several years now, and see each other only at the camp. One day at camp this year, Emily was simply standing outside, forming a heart with her hands, as you may have seen someone do at some time. Just then Abby came up beside her with her camera. Emily then asked Abby to take a picture of her hands, in the ‘heart’ pose. Abby took the picture, but not before moving Emi’s left hand down, and replacing it with her own. I, eventually, saw a copy of the picture, and had a friend ask Abby to send the image to me, which she did.
That, my friends, is the end of the story, as far as good friends Emily and Abby are concerned. They thought little of the hastily captured image that I happen to view as nothing less than enormously, if accidentally, profound. Due to the two girls’ friendship, innocence, and even ignorance of old intolerances, any thoughts of past racism and prejudice never entered their minds when they took the picture. And, why should they have? Those are things of other eras, and not even in the memories of people of their generation. I do thank God for that.
To me, there is a simple lesson in that picture. It is a lesson that our great country and our world still have less of a grasp on than do the young hands of Emily and her friend Abby. It is the lesson that it takes two equal halves to make a whole, and two cooperating, loving hands to make a heart.
You know… there just may be hope for us yet!

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