Once upon a time in 2008, I was on routine at L’Arche*, feeling downcast. Most of the assistants on our house team were leaving that summer. Yet even as I dreaded saying goodbye, I saw a silver lining: I’d build stronger relationships with those who remained.

You can’t always get what you want …

I wanted to mark this place and time when I decided against despair. So I asked Theresa** and Cassandra** if they’d like to do Sidewalk Chalk.

Neither was remotely interested. (It’s one of the beautiful things about L’Arche: if someone isn’t interested, they’ll likely tell you.) But they were happy to go outside.

So I brought out chalk and thought about what to draw. I am not a visual artist; I can barely draw a stick figure. But I love words, so I decided to write.

One of the assistants who was leaving had introduced me to the writings of Frederick Buechner, so I wrote these words of Buechner’s on the pavement:

The grace of God means something like: Here is your life. You might never have been, but you are because the party wouldn’t have been complete without you.”

I added swirls and big letters. Strangers paused to read, smiling at me. When I was done, I stood, brushed my hands, and felt as though I’d crossed a threshold between my life as it was and my life as it would be.

I was going to have to say goodbye to people I thought I couldn’t live without, but I would carry on. I’d accepted my part in the great cosmic party.


But when I started writing this talk, I didn’t feel like celebrating. I’ve had some very exciting things happen with my writing and speaking in the last few months, but this past week I found out that I hadn’t been selected for a prestigious creative arts fellowship.

If I’d received the fellowship, I would have had a full year and $40,000 to devote to my next book. So I put a lot of love and effort into the application. But it wasn’t to be.

Even though I know that rejection is part of the writing game, it still hurt. I felt like more talented artists were on the dance floor, while I was a wallflower, unwelcome.

I’ve been there before, so I know how tempting it is to dive into more work and deny, deny, deny. It’s hard to have a hope, a dream, a sense that you have a shot, and then see it fade away.


What I didn’t tell you before was that my best friend also applied for this fellowship. We cheered each other on, read each other’s drafts, offered suggestions, and promised that we’d both celebrate if one of us received the award.

As it turns out, she didn’t receive it either. We exchanged bummed-out texts, and she helped me by admitting that she, too, was sad. And she wrote, What nice wallow-y thing will you do for yourself?

It was the perfect message, because it put me on the spot. This is what real friends do:  teach us how to be kind to ourselves.

So I had some chocolate and watched the Gilmore Girls. I acknowledged the loss before pushing myself to achieve again. And I wrote this talk, as an act of affirmation.

I have a choice. I can beat myself up and engage in negative self-talk. Or I can choose to believe that I’m part of a party, an honored guest, just like you. I can choose to believe in a God of grace and second (and third and fourth) chances.


And after the Boston Marathon bombings last month, people started posting the lines that follow the ones I wrote on the sidewalk:

Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don’t be afraid. I am with you. Nothing can ever separate us. It’s for you I created the universe. I love you.

There’s only one catch. Like any other gift, the gift of grace can be yours only if you’ll reach out and take it. Maybe being able to reach out and take it is a gift too.”

Today, I give thanks for people like you, those who help me to believe these words. Because I don’t think we can fully believe or understand them outside the context of relationship.

What’s going to help me get through the disappointment and rejections is the fact that I’m not alone in them. There’s a lot I don’t know, but I do know that real friendship is a gift.

Even if we lose, we don’t lose alone. And if we win, we win together. That’s the promise of true friendship, and it’s what God promises us from before we were born and long after we die.

To be with us always. To go as far as it takes, as long as it takes, to reach us.

To give us gifts beyond our wildest imaginings.

And to help our very hands open up to receive them at last.


What’s your experience of true friendship? Join the conversation in the comments!

*L’Arche (French for ‘The Ark’) is a faith-based non-profit that creates homes where people with and without intellectual disabilities share life together.

**Names have been changed.

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  1. Megan May 6, 2013 at 1:38 PM - Reply


  2. R May 6, 2013 at 2:08 PM - Reply

    There are other applications and other fellowships and most importantly other BOOKS that are your destiny. <3 I love you and am proud of all of your accomplishments.

    • Caroline McGraw May 6, 2013 at 4:44 PM - Reply

      Thank you my dear. <3 And right back at you - I love you and am so proud of who you are and what you do.

  3. Sarah Bayot May 6, 2013 at 7:21 PM - Reply

    I love this. I’m so glad you treated yourself, wallowed a bit, and that you’re pressing on. Keep it going sister. Keep writing and shining.

  4. Pierre Sanders May 6, 2013 at 7:55 PM - Reply


    • Caroline McGraw May 6, 2013 at 9:14 PM - Reply

      Thank you Pierre! And thanks for the inspiration on last week’s post too!

  5. Nikki Schwartz May 6, 2013 at 9:21 PM - Reply

    I love both quotes. And I love reading what you write. It’s vulnerable and honest and it strikes a chord in others. You’re my favorite.

    • Caroline McGraw May 6, 2013 at 9:38 PM - Reply

      Nikki, that’s so sweet! Thank you. I appreciate your friendship, and the way you care for those around you. 🙂

  6. Donna May 7, 2013 at 9:55 PM - Reply

    Thank you for the image of open hands, and an open heart! Words affirm and words encourage, so keep writing them, my dear! love u

    • Caroline McGraw May 7, 2013 at 11:29 PM - Reply

      Thank you, Mom … you’ve taught me so much about opening my hands. And yes, I promise I will keep writing. I love you too!

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