Honestly, Sandie

Gemstones 23/30

“Character matters. Honor matters. People matter.”

That text ended a friendship.

Not because we had a fight.

Not because we stopped loving each other.

Because I couldn’t move forward after witnessing something that changed the way I saw it.

Apache Tears came into my life because of her son.

He was one of those students you naturally kept an extra eye on. I wanted to know the people raising the kids I was investing in, so I asked for his mom’s phone number.

To this day she’s still saved in my contacts as ”(Son’s Name)’s Mom.”

I never changed it.

One phone number turned into years of friendship.

She understood the version of me that was always ready for the next adventure. If there was a mission trip, she was packing a suitcase. We’d come home with stories, then spend hours over coffee unpacking everything we had seen, everything we’d learned, and everything we thought God was doing. We shared hotel rooms, airports, bus rides, women’s conferences, and the kind of conversations that only happen after you’ve spent enough life together to stop pretending.

She was there during one of the most formative seasons of my faith.

That’s the friendship I remember first.

If you’ve been following this Gemstone Series, you already know I pick up rocks.

Not because they’re expensive.

Not because they’re rare.

I pick them up because I don’t want to forget where I found them.

Years later I can hold one in my hand and remember exactly where I was standing, who I was with, and what life looked like in that season.

I think friendships can be like that.

The year I left church, I sat in a courtroom beside a mutual friend during one of the hardest days of her life.

A character letter was read out loud.

Apache Tears had written it.

I remember sitting there thinking,

I don’t recognize the friend I know in these words.

I wanted to move past it.

I really did.

But there are things you can’t unknow once you’ve seen them.

When I finally reached out, I wrote,

“I am very saddened by your choices.”

“Character matters. Honor matters. People matter.”

Her messages kept coming.

“I miss you.”

“I love you.”

“I’m relentlessly pursuing you.”

I believed every one of those words.

What I couldn’t understand was why we could talk about missing each other, but never about the reason our friendship had fallen apart.

I kept waiting for one question.

“Help me understand.”

It never came.

That’s when I realized we defined friendship differently.

To me, friendship protects people.

Friendship tells the truth.

Friendship is willing to have the hard conversation instead of walking around it.

Apache Tears are small pieces of obsidian that have been worn smooth over time. According to Native American legend, they were formed from tears of grief.

That fits.

Not because I lost a friend.

Because I had to grieve one.

I still scroll past ”(Son’s Name)’s Mom.”

I still think about the woman who boarded airplanes with me, laughed until we cried, stayed up far too late talking about life, and believed the world was bigger than our little corner of it.

She’s still part of my story.

So is the courtroom.

So are the text messages.

I don’t get to keep only the chapters I like.

I carry all of them.

Maybe that’s why I’ve always picked up rocks.

Not because every stone is beautiful.

Not because every stone stays in my pocket forever.

Because every one reminds me I was there.

Every friendship leaves something behind.

This one left me with a conviction I’ll never let go of.

Character matters.

Honor matters.

People matter.

I still believe that.