Special. The good kind.

There are those things in life that get better with time. Like classic jewels, fine wine, comfy yoga pants, and friends. Recently two of my dear friends got in touch to say they were thinking of me. It was unexpected and wonderful. And then an acquaintance and I spent some time hanging out and saw a glimpse of ourselves in each other. That kind of recognition of a common soul, or a kindred spirit as Anne Shirley would say, innately recognizes the special. You go along feeling good, confident, enough. And then someone comes along and tells you you're special.

It's not a message the world will offer. You can be good enough. You can work hard enough. You can on occasion be accepted. But never does the world admit you are uniquely splendid.

But the thing is, you are. We all are. And no, that is not a contradiction any more than it would be to claim that each Van Gogh is special. We are masterpieces. And like all art, tastes differ. Not everyone in the world will love every piece. I, for one, don't really get modern art or cubism. But I love me some da Vinci and Thomas Kincaid.

So it is with people. Many will interact and appreciate. Some will actually say it out loud. And a few will recognize the great worth in the details and connect. These relationships are the glimpses of an eternity of being truly known. These interactions are a taste of what our Father intended. They are like prisms in a black wall through which the light of day can be seen, and they paint the world with color that is true.

I'm so thankful for these people who are rich prisms in my life, and who have reminded me what it means to be me. I'm so thankful for friendship and for the One who created it. I'm so grateful that I will die friends with these people (hopefully long from now) and yet we'll still hang out in Heaven at the heavenly equivalent of Starbucks.