Day 8, January 8

I admit it: I wear an underwire bra. Age, gravity, and children have taken their toll.

My bra, a miracle of modern engineering and micro-fiber, has been known to set off the sensors as I go through airport security. (And, really, does a middle-aged Mormon grandmother with bad feet, arthritic hips, pasty white skin, and dyed blonde hair represent a threat--to anyone? But that's a story for another day.)

I am grateful for my bra, which provides much-needed support and keeps "the girls" in place. I can hear you thinking now: why is she nattering on about her bra? Aren't there more important subjects she could write about? Please bear with me as I meander to the point.

As mentioned in the prologue to this blog (December 31, 2010), the last five years have tested me in ways in which I never wanted to be tested. They have caused my resolve to falter, my strength to crumble, my heart to shatter.

I am not so arrogant ... or so foolish ... as to believe that it was any virture on my part that saw me through the rough times. What has gotten me through are what I like to call the "3 Fs": faith, family, and friends. I have been blessed with remarkable friends. Like my bra, they support me. (No, I am not being facetious here.)

My friends hold me and uphold me. They strengthen me. They sustain me. They succor me. Their humor lightens my heavy heart. Their compassion acts as balm of Gilead to my wounded soul. They rejoice when I rejoice; they weep when I weep. And, through it all, they are simply there. Always.

So, for today, I am grateful for underwire bras which support me ... and friends who do the same.