Honestly, Sandie

The older I get, the more I realize how wrong I was about a lot of things. One of those things was Sunstone.

When we first met, I thought I was the one leading. I had more experience, more responsibility, more kids, more leadership roles, more volunteer hours, and more confidence than was probably medically necessary. I was doing exactly what I had been taught to do. Raise up leaders. Duplicate yourself. Hand off responsibility. Invest in the next generation. Somewhere in my head, I thought the project was Sunstone.

Looking back, that’s hilarious.

Because while I was busy trying to teach Sunstone how to lead, she was quietly teaching me things I wouldn’t fully understand for another decade. She was teaching me how to ask better questions. How to trust myself. How to sit with uncertainty without needing to force an answer. How to hold space for complicated things without rushing to fix them. She was teaching me that questioning something isn’t the same thing as betraying it. At the time, I didn’t know I needed those lessons. Turns out they would become some of the most important lessons of my life.

When Sunstone left church before I did, I thought she was wrong. Not because I didn’t trust her. I trusted her completely. I just trusted the system more. I was still building it. Defending it. Serving it. Believing in it. She tried to explain what she was seeing and I wasn’t ready to hear it. Looking back now, I can see how much grace she gave me. She didn’t argue. She didn’t pressure. She didn’t try to drag me to her side. She simply kept being my friend while I figured it out in my own time.

Years later, when I found myself standing in the exact same place she had stood, she didn’t make me earn my way back into the conversation. There was no scorecard. No victory lap. No “I told you so.” She just showed up exactly the way she always had. With curiosity. With kindness. With coffee. With questions. With a couch. With time.

That’s probably the thing I love most about Sunstone. She always has time.

Time to listen.

Time to think.

Time to dream.

Time to process.

Time to chase some completely ridiculous idea down a rabbit trail and see where it leads.

Time to sit with somebody she loves while they’re trying to untangle their own life.

There was a night when a human being was missing and people were desperately searching. Sunstone loaded her kids into the car and went looking. No hesitation. No discussion about whether it was inconvenient. No calculation about what she might get in return. She simply showed up. That’s who she is. The same woman who will drop a birthday gift at your front door. The same woman who makes sure there’s food you can eat. The same woman who somehow notices what people need before they ask for it.

One of the things I admire most about her is that she believes things about me that I still struggle to believe myself. She believes I can write books. She believes I can build something meaningful. She believes my words matter. She makes room for wild dreams and crazy ideas and all the impossible little “what ifs” that most people would politely smile at before changing the subject.

She is also the best mother I have ever seen.

Not the loudest.

Not the most performative.

Not the one posting inspirational parenting quotes on Facebook every five minutes.

Just steady. Patient. Kind. Creative. Present. The kind of mother who makes you want to be better simply because you’ve watched her do it so well for so long.

The gemstone is Sunstone and the song is Dancing in the Moonlight, which feels completely backwards. One belongs in the daylight and one belongs in the dark. One shines and one reflects. One sounds bright and one sounds soft. Put them together and somehow it works.

Kind of like us.

Because when I think about this friendship, I don’t think about church. I don’t think about MOPS. I don’t think about leadership, podcasts, coffee shops, or even the endless philosophical conversations.

I think about a feeling.

The feeling of being allowed to be lost and okay at the same time.

The feeling of being challenged without being judged.

The feeling of being known without being managed.

The feeling of walking into a room carrying the weight of the world and leaving a little lighter than when you arrived.

In a world where so many people add weight to your shoulders, Sunstone has spent years helping carry it.

And that’s a beautiful thing.

Who is the friend that believed in you before you believed in yourself?