BreakPoint Blog
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The Virtue of Friendship By: Kim Moreland|Published: August 10, 2011 1:53 PM Rating: 5.00 Cultures the world over, like the ancient Greeks and Romans and the medieval Brits, have taken friendship seriously. C. S. Lewis says that some philosophers classified friendship as a virtue. Yet today, our culture places less emphasis on the importance of friendship than, say, developing business contacts, or some other casual buddy. A true friendship is like a garden; it grows over time. I'm a very lucky person because I have a number of deep friendships, people who share some of the same interests that I have. And with the advent of the Internet and this relatively newfangled thing called a blog, I have made friends with people I otherwise would have never gotten the opportunity to meet. People who are quite different from me, but share similar interests. I treasure my friends here for their wit, wisdom and kindness. I've learned a lot through their responses. This kind of friendship isn't really newfangled at all. Many people who've gone before us developed friendship through correspondence, like Flannery O'Connor's friendship with Hazel Elizabeth "Betty" Hester. While Flannery and Hester eventually met a time or two, most of their friendship and intellectual discussion was conducted by letter. Like Flannery and "Betty," sometimes the corresponding friends do get to meet. After knowing him via BreakPoint Blog for around six years, last Sunday, Gina, Anne, and I got a chance to meet LeeQuod. We talked about a wide range of topics, about shared interests; we got to know each other better. In contemplating the delight of meeting Lee, I thought further about what the importance of the BreakPoint Blog: This is where we get to meet people, developing friendships with people who will support, admonish, advise, and entertain us as we work through our faith with fear and trembling. |
Comments:
But as an Oregonian born and raised, I should point out that the only part of me that is a "Southern transplant" is my figurative heart (I still have within me my original ticker). Two factors have led to this transformation: first, the poetry and friendship of a true Southern gentleman, Rolley Haggard; second, extensive time spent in various Southern states, causing me to be immersed in a culture where addressing each other as "ma'am" and "sir" is customary. (Yes, I know this is often reflexive and not heartfelt. Even with that, it strikes me as much more polite, and expressive of a Christian worldview, than its absence.)
I often wonder how our relations would be different, both with unbelievers and also amongst ourselves, if we took seriously the "respect" part of 1 Pet. 3:15.
But the thought of your nickname going viral in your environs brings a large smile to *my* face.
Ellen, I’m surprised; really I am. The truth -- what Paul Harvey would call, ‘the rest of the story’ -- is all too pedestrian.
You see, that girlfriend across the street was from Arizona. Yuma, Arizona, to be precise. And as it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that that fellow was looking not only for his puppy but also for puppy love, what he said as you were walking away was not “Thank you, Milady” -- for right at that moment the attractive girlfriend obviously appeared on her front porch. No, what he exclaimed was, “Thank Yuma, Lady!”
Yesterday I was walking to school to meet my children and escort them home. A big truck was parked across the bike & walking path. As I passed it, a man apologized for its being there. I made a joke that he would soon have children and bicycles plastered to the back of it. Continuing to apologize, he explained that he was looking for his lost puppy. I got it's name and description and was extricating myself from information about his previous dog and a girlfriend who lived across the street while walking backwards. As I said, "I'll keep an eye out for your dog," I turned to continue on my way. He then called out,
"Thank you, Milady!"
Huh? My mind raced through thoughts of 30 years of marriage, Southern gentleman, and transplant to the Pacific Northwest. I quickly determined that I had not been speaking to you, Milord Lee. Coincidence? Serendipity? A return to chivalry? It certainly brought a little smile to my face. And thoughts of my friends here at BreakPoint.
But I do believe one of the essentials of unique flavor was to avoid cleaning the still...
On the Oregon Coast, outside Newport if I recall, was a "dinosaur park" with concrete statues nestled in the "rainforest" to make them look natural. (Ben would be horrified at the misinformation, but as an elementary school aged child, I thought it was the coolest thing ever.) At one point on the trail through "prehistory" was a depression where the sign claimed local moonshiners hid their work from "Revenuers". What's more, my father recalled that as a small child he had a best friend (Semper topicus!) whose widowed mother survived the Great Depression by quietly selling "bathtub gin" - in Spokane. So we Pacific Northwesters have no basis to claim a particular superiority over our Southern brethren in the area of illicit alcohol production. Or consumption. And I'm sure you could regale us with tales of the early days of Portland/Stumptown and Seattle, each with cases of drunks who were shanghaied, etc.
http://www.nationalreview.com/corner/274794/first-and-second-amendments-meet-jack-fowler
And Jason, a family that were my aunt's neighbors used to take turns amongst themselves getting arrested for moonshining. Going to jail was quite a treat for the parent or child whose turn it was, as it provided climate-controlled housing and three full meals per day - all at taxpayer expense. I believe they at leat once repaid my aunt and uncle's kindnesses with a moonshine gift, also; I believe it was re-gifted, and the second recipient had only mild health problems as a result.
Gina, dear friend, I saw your recent posting on NRO's Corner. I'm still praying for you, per Rolley's note.
And Ellen, I wasn't doubting your skills, but mine. Quite a long time since I was in Boy Scouts. But I was mostly imagining provincial Eastern newscasters trying to locate Idaho on a map, much less any of its cities, much less spell and pronounce them correctly. (E.g., "It's mos-COH, not mos-COW, numbskull!" And besides, the Russians say "musk-VAH".)
OTOH, until I started to travel extensively, I had only a vague idea of geography east of the Rockies. So ignorance is a double-edged sword.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saint_Helena
And, Lee, you think LNMOP-GPS along with her dearly beloved would let you get lost in the woods? *Especially* when accompanied by Miss Jane??? Humph.
(and your "hazing" simply feels like my growing up home with 2 brothers & 2 sisters; our only-child mom never understood our sibling humor)
As to geocaching, I'm not sure ( :-) ), I can see the headlines in the East Coast newspapers which are somewhat geographically challenged since they consider your locale to be a flyover state: "Portland Man Lost In Woods Near Ketchup, Idaho". (When my wife first moved to Portland her Tennessee classmates expressed horror, telling her that "Mount Saint Helena" could erupt at any time, and would most assuredly destroy the entire Pacific Northwest. For many on this side of the country I say "Start at Seattle and drive south for 3.5 hours" to mentally locate Portland for them, and they kinda get it. Sorta. For Boise I suppose I'd start with a cowboy boot...)
I actually did work in Lewiston briefly a few years ago, flying in to Spokane and then driving down by way of Moscow (where I went to college for a year at U of I). It was only mildly nostalgic, but the countryside is still quite beautiful.
If you start to get unsolicited packages of gourmet coffee in the mail, sort of like the way Jacob insured a good outcome for his later-in-life meeting with Esau :-) , then you'll know I'm on my way. (I know, Gina and Kim, I'm supposed to be done with the hazing. I'll make it a goal to forebear - someday.)
My cup overflowed.