I missed the blogging memo about posting the things your grateful for on Thanksgiving.

Actually I spent most of my holiday weekend away from the computer (I know, shocking isn’t it, to find out that one can survive a weekend without the laptop appendage). By choice, no less. So its not surprising I was in the dark about this. I guess it should have been a given, considering the holiday and all, but, well, I’m not the brightest bulb on the tree, ya know?

As I dropped in on all my favorite blogs today, I found that many had posted on or around Thanksgiving, mainly about things they’re thankful for,  or about the holiday in general.

Sometimes I forget to think about the blessings in my life. I get so caught up in all the things I think are going wrong in my life, all the things I don’t have and all I’m missing. In those times I’d do well to "count my blessings" as they say. But I usually don’t think to. And I get very upset at people who tell me I "should" do so.

This was especially difficult to do in the weeks and months after mom and dad died. It seemed to me that I had lost everything ever important in life, that I had nothing left either in life or in me of value or worth. Counting my blessings then was very, very tough.

Somehow I always managed to count at least two: Jesus in my life, holding me together; and friends in my life, who just held me. Wendy was one of those friends. She was one who stuck by my side like she’d been glued there.

I remember crying to her and Kim McManus over my fears that I was hopelessly forever alone, that I would never marry or have any kind of family of my own. Wendy told me that would never be true; I would never be alone. She would always be there and jokingly said I could always be a bag lady with her. Be a bag lady with me, she cheerily invited.

At the time I didn’t find this idea either funny or the least bit comforting.

Seriously. I already feared that I would end up a homeless bag lady within a few years, if not sooner. So her declaration didn’t sooth me so much as it confirmed my worst fears.

Through the last two years, however, that declaration that I indeed would have a least one friend no matter what befell me in life has brought me much comfort. I find the future is easier to face when I remember that, if/when it all goes south, Wendy and I will be bag ladies together. I will not be alone.

Today I extended the offer to join Wendy and I in our bag lady-ness to my friend, Niza, who had a rough day over the weekend. It occurred to me after I posted my comment that she might misunderstand, as I did once, what a blessing this offer really is. No truer mark of a friend can be found than that of a friend who invites you to share her cardboard house with her and openly declares her friendship till the end of time, no matter how messy life gets.

I am indeed blessed.

Not because I have much — even though I do, by the world’s standards. Not because I am someone of importance — even though I am to God, and, thanks be to God!, my friends and family. I am blessed because I am loved. And love has been spoken over me even if I end up a bag lady, toothless and dirty, scrounging for food on the streets of downtown Nashville. Wendy will love me even then. Wendy will be my friend even then.

God shines His love on us through the people He brings into our lives. Wendy shines His light brighter than anyone I’ve known. I hope, perhaps, I can pass on some of that light and shine it into another’s. Perhaps we can all one day form the Bag Lady Brigade, walking the streets of America, toothless and dirty, stomachs growling and empty but hearts overflowing with joy because we are Jesus to each other in our darkest moments of life. And, knowing Wendy, she’ll organize us into the finest women’s worship band you’ve ever heard!