A Circle of Friends
Before going to Baylor, I often heard -- and grew weary of hearing it -- that I would make friends for life in college. Hearing the words as a freshman rankled me because I had perfectly good friends back home. As a sophomore in fall 1978, however, I discovered people who helped me define myself during those formative years. I didn't expect that some of these folks still would be among my dearest friends 25 years later. This circle of friendships has grown to include the relationships that sustain my spirit more than any others outside my family. I might never have crossed paths with this wonderful collection of good souls had I chosen to sleep late on a particular Sunday morning. I had decided to drop by Sunday School at Seventh & James Baptist Church because I'd heard that a certain teacher there had started dating my Western Civ professor. I suspect there are worse reasons to attend church -- I know there are better ones -- but for me, checking out this fledgling romance was reason enough. I also was drawn by the prospect of a free meal after church.
Despite my reasons, when I walked into that gathering that day, I met people who were to become lifelong friends. After being introduced to the teacher I'd come to inspect, I politely settled in for a traditional Sunday School lesson. I immediately was struck, however, by the questioning she encouraged and the way she used poetry and art to illuminate the Scriptures. Her openness and depth of knowledge and experience set the tone for discussions that we students carried back to our dorms and apartments and into our week. The people I met at church eventually connected me to others in an extended network of kindred spirits.
A few months later, after the Sunday School teacher had married the history professor, I still was attending church -- even when lunch wasn't served. Friendships continued to be nurtured in an atmosphere of honest seeking and an appreciation of the beauty of language. These bonds were strengthened further the following summer when some of that group traveled with the newly wed Jim and Betsy Vardaman as part of the Baylor in London Program. There is something about crossing the rough Irish Sea on a midnight ferry or standing together in Poets' Corner in Westminster Abbey that has the power to transform a bunch of students into fellow travelers with one heart (though still with many minds). Some of the friendships that took root in English parks, around Scottish castles and among London pigeons were to grow into the friendships that I value the most to this day.
During those days at Baylor, despite what I had been told as a freshman, I didn't realize that this kind of friendship is fairly unusual. After college, I found that many of my new friendships depended heavily on where I worked or the ages of my children or what committee I joined. Conversation at a basketball game or a PTA meeting does not often lend itself to discussing a Robert Graves poem, an Ellen Goodman column or whether God plays dice. As the years passed, I kept up with my old friends directly and indirectly. By checking in with three or four people occasionally, this group of a dozen or more folks has managed to stay connected. Through the years, we've also had reunions, both planned and spontaneous. We've met in Chicago, Tulsa, Okla., New York and Houston, but the real gathering place still is Waco.
About 10 years ago at one of our Waco reunions, we decided to start a round-robin letter to help us stay in touch. Eventually we changed to a group letter once or twice a year, a successful plan that still keeps us connected. We set a deadline to send a letter to one person, who then distributes copies among us. When I find the manila envelope fat with letters in my mailbox, I brew a cup of ginger peach tea and settle into a comfortable chair. A packet of these letters is like a tea party, a bouquet of bluebonnets and a heavy dose of vitamins all sealed and stamped and sent to me. First I gobble up the letters, and later I savor them. I can hear my friends' voices as they tell about teaching high school students in Spain, strolling along the Seine toward Notre Dame or helping homeless people in Dallas. I laugh to read about preschoolers with schedules busier than mine or coworkers who are like yipping Chihuahuas. Mixed in with these stories are musings on doubt and faith or news of the loss of a loved one. The bitter and the sweet come mixed together, but they all give me a glimpse into what is important in the lives of my friends.
These friends enrich my life far more than I could have imagined on that Sunday morning at Seventh & James so many years ago. We all have traveled so far. We've built lives in Australia, India, Hong Kong, Spain, Canada and all over the United States. Several of us have followed the path of teaching or writing that we dreamed of as undergraduates, while others have followed roads we couldn't have imagined years ago. Many of us have earned advanced degrees. We have worked as writers, editors and poets; homeschoolers, teachers and professors; lawyers, ministers and stay-at-home moms; computer technicians, small-business owners and community volunteers.
Our friendships have grown and changed as we have. They continue to nourish my soul. I thought I was going to church that Sunday so long ago for a quick hello and a potluck, but instead I found a sustaining conversation and an ongoing, movable feast.
Stambaugh, BA '81, is a children's librarian in Tulsa, Okla.