“The RoseBouquet”

Our childhood friendships often set a tone for the rest of our lives. In thinking about feeling friendless, I recalled some instances when I felt that way.

My earliest years were spent in the small prairie village of Chortitz, (where Mom was born when her parents still had a small straw thatched house). Pretty well everyone in the village was related to me in one way or another. The farm next to ours on the west belonged to my grandparents, and the one after that to our cousins. The parents were both my Mom’s cousins and their children, the older twin boys and the girl, Johanna, just a year older than me, were my second cousins.

I thought highly of these relatives, and was always honoured when Johanna would ask me to come over to play under their big spreading tree in the front yard, or even inside where she had a room of her own. Mom would not let me go unless invited, but I felt rather proud of the times I got to spend with this cousin.

On the east side of us where a great uncle and aunt on the farm my Mom’s grandparents used to own. Further down a hill and in the coulee, on the other side of the road was another great aunt and uncle, and if you followed the road to the intersection and turned south a ways, there was yet another great uncle and aunt’s farm. In the woods on that farm was a cabin. When their son and daughter-in-law with their children came home on furlough from a missions term up north, they would live in that cabin for a while. They had a daughter named Lois, who was near my age. She and Johanna were both second cousins of mine, but first cousins to each other.

I made a very upsetting discovery though. When the three of us played together, the other two whispered and giggled a lot and started pulling tricks on me. Mostly to leave me out or to give me a very negative role in our games. I don’t recall the exact details of one crucial afternoon, but I remember that we were playing some kind of post office under the big tree, and that the cousins would hide and I had to find them to continue our play time.

Finally I felt so hurt and wounded that I just turned down the gravel driveway and walked past my grandparents’ home (my most favourite place in the village) and went home to cry. I thought I’d never get to play with either of them again. I felt totally friendless.

So I was rather surprised to find that whenever I was with either cousin alone, we got along fine. But if all three of us were together, I was unwanted and snubbed. Later, when we moved to town, I found Lois was often at her other grandmother’s place next door to us and she liked to come play “house” in our attic. We had wonderful play times together.

This may seem a negative memory, but lately I’ve come to realize that we tend to snub our friends when we want to impress another friend that we grade of higher value. I admit to my shame that I’ve done this myself. And yet - strangely enough, I believe those early experiences have taught me to look out for the potential friend on the sidelines, and to try to draw them in.

During my years as a Pioneer Girls and an AWANA leader, I always worked hard at making the misfits feel included and loved. Somehow I’ve never quite lost the feel of being friendless. I remembered enough to empathize well.

However, it is not my main feeling. I have learned to know the very BEST Friend, who never snubs us for someone else, and who always has time to wrap His arms around us and hear all our hurts and pain. If we ask His advice, He teaches us to be a better friend to others, and He helps us forgive and let go of painful memories.