We all have different friends who hook into our lives in different ways at different times: the friend you can hang out with, the friend who expands your vision and capabilities, the friend you take shopping, the friend you lean on in crisis, the friend who joins you to take in the world's beauty, the friend who helps you process life, the friend whose shoulder is there to cry on. In the 11 years I've known Jen, I think she may be a friend who has, remarkably, at some point or another, been each of those friends for me.
We clicked initially, back in the day, as "the few, the proud" working professional gals in our ward. When Jen conceived Walker (and I conceived Eleanor), I already had two children, and I remember our first deep conversations pivoted on the prospects and pitfalls of trying to "have it all." Our friendship put on a full bud in those days.
I will never forget the day Jen dropped by with a powder pink infant's bubble playsuit with peter pan collar in the weeks before Eleanor was due. The sweet femininity of the gift jolted me; I had forgotten, with all the stress and worry of expecting a baby with congenital defects, that after all, I was having a little girl (after two boys), and could look forward to all the loveliness a little girl in the family would offer. How perceptive was the timing and nature of that gift.
I can relate to Jen's brother Jonathan when he moans that he is poorer financially for having known Jen. It's Jen's fault that I'm ill-contented with bread from anywhere but Iggy's, produce from anywhere but Russo's. Jen showed me the way to Freddie Farkels and lent me my first Ina Garten cookbook. Is it any wonder some of our laughs have been based on our shared cross of living with champagne tastes on a beer budget. She knows I will emphatically ratify her decision to blow the bank on two really good chairs in no-mistakes-allowed upholstery in a house otherwise outfitted in kid-friendly IKEA, because we both know that a thing expensive is a joy forever. Sometimes, a girl can put on a brave face with just a few pieces of bona-fide Ethan Allen in the house.
Jen's wisdom beyond her years is well-documented. When I was on the rack about whether or not to have a 4th child, Jen, effortlessly, galvanized the issue for me one day. "If you have a 4th, will you feel done?" I said yes. "There's your answer." Gemma, our 4th, will be 5 in April.
Jen's been good counsel in times of crisis. Many tender conversations had in her Watertown apt living room and on the floor in her Belmont playroom, babies crawling over us, have righted my boat and sent me with fresh bravery on my way. She's helped me keep long-term perspective while I've weathered the ups and downs of a husband's career in academia; she's calmed me through the nuanced stress of purchasing real estate from ward members; she's helped me be sturdy and stoic through social wounds.
Jen expands my thinking. She's constantly foisting books on me. I drug around her copy of The Aristocrats (500 pages in tiny print on the minutae of 18th century domesticity) from Utah to Cape Cod one summer until when I finally finished it, it was so shabby I couldn't give it back to her and had to order her a new one. As she predicted, I loved it. Ditto, "Monarch of the Glen," the Whitney Museum, "Raising Geeks", and a dozen other recommendations she's passed on over the years, which I have taken and found to be rare finds.
I'm only just recently discovering Jen's extraordinary talent as a Gospel Doctrine teacher. I keep a tiny notebook in my scriptures of the very best, most profound and moving ideas I hear in church. The book has begun to burst from Jen quotes. Our family home evenings lessons have begun to be miniature versions of the Gospel Doctrine class Jen taught the previous week, with a game and a few visuals thrown in. My kids think I thought up "pure gold fears no fire." If they only knew--it's a Jen-ism (which she actually credits to her mother, but still). I could quip a dozen more gems just like it.
This last week, Jen talked a bit about "native gifts" in Sunday School. As I listened to her with my usual weekly feelings of amazement, I thought that this woman at the front of the room exemplifies native gifts. She nurtures them and shares them generously with all. I love her very much, and look forward to many more years of a burnishing friendship. Happy Birthday, sweetJen.
