Thursday Th(ink)s - April 30, 2026

It’s Thursday. The best day for a conversation.

Thursday sits there in the week like a woman

who no longer needs to audition for belonging.

She’s learned the rhythm of her days and the long cadence of her nights. She weeps, she laughs,

often in the same hour, unsteady, but still in step. And she knows she doesn’t dance alone; when

she reaches out her hand, her people are there.

Which brings me to friendship—real friendship—the kind that doesn’t merely attend the party

but stays to help do the dishes and sweep the floor afterward.

I’m helping a friend with a pretty big project right now. Not the glamorous sort. No ribbon-

cutting ceremony at the end. This is the kind of project that involves organizing, decision-

making, and doing the next necessary thing while life continues to unfold with all its usual lack

of permission.

Honestly, life can be remarkably tone-deaf.

For some of us, the dance we’re living has slowed into something we never would have chosen.

The music has changed key and become minor, unresolved, lingering longer than feels

charitable. There’s no clean ending to the phrase, no cue for when to turn or rest.

Truth be told, I’m not at the center of this dance. Another friend and I move just off to the side,

staying close as she finds her way through steps she never rehearsed. We don’t know the

choreography. Only she feels the full weight of the music. She must move through it herself.

We stay near—hands slightly raised, ready to catch, careful not to lead where we’ve never been

invited, quiet where words would only trip her. And sometimes we simply weep, because even

from the edges we can feel how costly this dance has become.

We watch.

We wait.

We listen for something, anything, that sounds like a key change to a major chord.

And in the middle of it all, I’ve noticed something.

There’s a dance to friendship.

I’ve been watching our little trio move together, and I’m impressed. Not because we’re

particularly graceful—let’s not get carried away—but because we’ve learned how to adjust to

one another.

You move here. I’ll slide there.

You take the lead for a moment. I’ll step back.

You’re tired? Then I’ll carry more weight today.

We all move forward… slowly, but together.

It’s choreography without a choreographer. No one called rehearsal. No one handed out a script.

And yet somehow, we are not stepping on each other’s toes—well, not often.

Friendship, I’m convinced, is one of those “things of the Spirit.” It happens before you can

pinpoint the when, the how, or the why. One day you look up and realize—there they are.

Your people. Not perfect. Not always easy. But present.

And presence, at this stage of life, feels like a bucket of thankful.

I’ve always been a bit of a collector of kindred souls. A dancer, if you will. I’ve loved a full

dance card. But aging has done what aging does best—it has clarified.

I’m pickier now.

Let’s just call it wisdom and move on.

I’m no longer interested in dances where I’m constantly tripping, apologizing, or trying to prove

I belong on the floor. That kind of choreography is exhausting, and frankly, this Thursday gal

doesn’t have the stamina for it.

But here’s the curious flip side: I’m also more willing than ever to learn new steps.

If a friend needs me to follow their lead through a hard season, I will.

If the music changes and I don’t recognize the tune, I’ll still stay on the floor.

If the rhythm slows to something more like a lament than a waltz, I won’t leave.

Because this is what I’m learning: the dance isn’t about performance. It’s about presence.

And then there’s Jesus. Ah, there’s always Jesus.

He could have done it all alone, you know. If anyone had the credentials for a solo act, it was

him. But he didn’t choose that.

He gathered a team.

A rather unimpressive one, at first glance. Fishermen. A tax collector. A zealot. Men who

misunderstood him regularly, argued about status, and fell asleep at critical moments. Not

exactly the dream team by human standards.

And yet he called them. Walked with them. Ate with them. Taught them. Loved them.

Danced with them.

He lived his earthly life in community.

The Son of God chose companionship.

Yes, he did. Ah, that Jesus.

If Jesus gathered a small circle to walk with him through life and death, what makes us think we

are meant to go it alone?

We are not built for solo performances. We are created to be part of a conga line. Stepping on

each other’s toes, laughing it off, staying in sync.

We will need someone to help us “dance to the end of time” as Leonard Cohen sings. Someone

who knows our name, our story, our peculiar way of putting our socks on.

Someone who will sit at the edge of the bed, or stand quietly in the doorway, or hold our hand

when words have left the building.

I know who my few are.

And this week, without any grand ceremony, I’ve realized something. My girlfriends and I are

cementing pacts.

Not the dramatic, blood-oath sort. We might have done that when we were ten. But now, in our

Thursday years, we need the steady agreement of souls who have walked enough miles together

to know:

I’ll help you through the valley.

Will you walk with me when it’s my turn?

And I know their answer.

Yes.

Not because we are strong, but because grace is. Not because we will always get the steps right,

but because we’re committed to staying on the floor together.

Grateful. I’m grateful for friends who will help me when I do the solo dance of sorrow, whether

it’s because my dear one has died, or I am dying. When my floor tilts.

Big Brains: “'Why did you do all this for me?' he asked. 'I don't deserve it. I've never done anything for you.' 'You have been my friend,' replied Charlotte. 'That in itself is a tremendous thing.'”

― E.B. White, Charlotte’s Web

Old Souls: “Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art.... It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things which give value to survival.”

-C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves

The Ancient of Days: "Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their toil.

For if they fall, one will lift up his fellow. But woe to him who is alone

when he falls and has not another to lift him up!" Ecclesiastes 4:9-10

Norma Jean:
We don’t need perfect dancers—just faithful ones 
who stay when the music slows.

Thursday Chat: Who’s in your small circle—the ones who you know will be there when the floor tilts?