You Gotta Get a Little Mud on the Tires

Just outside the Philadelphia city limits beats the heart of a country girl. I don’t know if she’s ever ridden a horse, and I am certain she’s never roped a steer, but if you want to go country line-dancing or grab a bucket of peanuts at the Texas Roadhouse, Heather is your girl. Back when there were few, if any, cross-over country acts, Heather was dragging me to the Pennsauken Mart (may it rest in peace) to get tickets to the country radio station’s anniversary concert.

My feelings about country music have changed over the years, but Heather has been a near-constant since our childhoods in Philadelphia (refer to yesterday’s photo). I don’t know anyone more circumspect with her Facebook friends. She wonders, “How many is too many? Should I accept this person? How do I hide this person’s updates? Will it hurt their feelings if I do?” For Heather, you see, it’s about quality, never quantity. She is a friend and teacher who invests deeply.

I have a nickname for her: Nana Heather. Like a doting Nana, she will send me clippings from TV Guide that she thinks I will enjoy (Yoga with Bob Harper? Yes, please!) and she is quick to send cards for any number of occasions. She is a passionate supporter of Philadelphia sports and, one of these days, so help me, we are going to a championship parade down Broad Street.

Heather has been caring for me in small things like texts, greeting cards and magazine clippings since I moved to North Carolina. For those closer to home, she is the friend who will travel great distances to meet you, who will sit with you while you’re on bed-rest. She is the teacher who will stay late to watch your game, or who will spend her weekend on IM or e-mail helping you study for an exam. She gives out of a deep love for her Heavenly Father, and I am thankful to be her friend—Facebook and otherwise.