Of Heart and Soul.
Who are my people?
The ones who know me.
This question tugs at my heart, especially in this season of being so far away from people who are dear to me. I’m a recent university graduate, and many of my friends have moved away, while I remain in my university town.
Acquaintances come and go like a revolving door, and I feel an air of extensive effort attached to every new encounter. Maybe it’s the season, maybe it’s this stage in life, but I crave the comfort of being around people who know me. Like I don’t have to expense the introduction of the awkward small talk, but I can dive right into the real deal. Those people—the ones who already know me—are the closest thing (next to God, of course) that we ever have to unconditional love, grace upon grace, and intentionality here on earth, beyond every busy Saturday afternoon and long drive away.
It’s not just about people who go out of their way, though—it's about the ones who you can have those conversations with. You preface every raw and honest sentence with, “If I’m being honest,” but when you take a minute to think about it, you’re always honest, and so are they.
In one way or another, we all have these deep relationships, but I find myself hesitant to call them “best friends.” Maybe that makes me feel like I’m in seventh grade still, but these people are more than the best, if that’s even possible. They are unrivaled—a cut above the rest for each person’s own specific reasons. They’re the people who I know I can be incredibly vulnerable with, and nothing will change.
A few weeks ago, I was riding the skytrain (in Vancouver that’s the equivalent of an above-ground subway), listening to a sermon on a podcast that taught about “heart-and-soul people.” The speaker encouraged the listener to read 1 Samuel 14:7.
Take a second and go read it. If you have a Bible nearby, crack that Word open, and give it a read. I promise you, it’s worth it.
If you don’t have a Bible close or just flat-out refuse to read the passage, here’s a short play-by-play (you knew this was coming, didn’t you?): Jonathan is the son of the king, and one night wakes up his armor-bearer to go with him to a nearby enemy outpost. That armor-bearer wakes up, and, as fast as someone who’s about to miss their plane and driving to the airport, he’s ready to go and support whatever mission Jonathan wants to undertake. Talk about commitment!
Hold up for a second—your friend wakes you up in the middle of the night, just asking that you’ll go with him? And you go? What would it take for you to throw down everything you have and take up arms with your friends, regardless of the task?
Reading this passage, I felt like I finally had words to assign to these specific people I’m talking about, those who know me so well. People that it wouldn’t take a lot to give something up to because I’m with them, heart and soul. People who know me so intimately there isn’t anything else to know. They know my testimony, the parts of my life where I’ve fallen because I’m human. They know my triumphs and have walked beside me through major successes and what’s felt like the end of the world. It’s like telling someone your biggest and darkest secret, your most intimate thoughts and the things that scare you to death and having them turn around and say, “I love you anyways.”
Who are your heart-and-soul people?
Maybe you can count them on one hand or maybe there’s a dozen of them. I don’t think it matters, if their intent is to try to know you the way God created you to be. In the great intimacy of a Father who knows His children, they yearn to know every part of you because they understand that you were designed by an Artist with every minute detail intentionally planned.
So here’s to thinking about our heart-and-soul people, the ones we’ll take up arms with, and those who look to us and say, “I’m with you, no matter what the cost.”
words by Katie Maryschuk and photo by Sara Beth Pritchard