Miss Communication

Let's just say that my dad's best time is not the morning. It takes him forever to be alert. This morning he is concentrating on his sermon for a neighboring church whose preacher went into the hospital last night.
When I walked downstairs to get my coffee I could see his profile in the other room at the computer. "Good morning, Dad."
With my cup in hand I started up the stairs. My mom yelled from the bathroom, "Good morning!" and I yelled back. Which prompted my dad to say "Good morning, baby" in a way that meant - Hey, how come you didn't say good morning to me?
I just giggled and said, "I already said good morning to you!" "Oh, sorry!" And we both laughed.
Sometimes I look to a friendship and wonder why they haven't said the things I want them to say: I like you. I appreciate you. I need you. I love you. But maybe they've already said it:
A stapler in jello on my desk. A practical joke that makes me laugh for years. A book that I read again and again. A long drive. A cake made only of frosting. A hot muffin. A long talk. A random phone call. An adventure. An honest word. A good song played again. A belly laugh with tears. A day of just tagging along.
I tend to put love in a box. This Is What Love Looks Like. This Is What Love Sounds Like.
Thomas Merton wrote:
I suppose I regret most my lack of love, my selfishness and glibness... with friends who, after all, did love me, I think, for a time. My great fault was my inability really to believe it, and my efforts to get complete assurance...
When I am looking for something specific, I might miss the truth. When I'm looking for a big billboard that affirms our friendship, I might miss the 782 other things that someone does to show me your love. And then I might not really believe it.


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