A Love Letter to My Readers

Dear Friend,
 
I'm sitting at my desk on a rainy, dark, May morning, listening to the String Quartet Tribute to Van Morrison, and I am thinking about failure.
 
Not the kind of failure that comes from doing a job badly, or from trying my best to do something and just being unable to do it.
 
I am talking about failure by omission... a very personal sort of failure.
 
I have failed to do something that I have promised myself, more than once, to do more often.  I have failed to tell you that I love you.
 
Yes, you. 
 
You know who you are, don't you?
 
You don't?  Well, you are...
 
...the person that reads my blog, even though I often fail to come by and read yours.  You are the person that reads my blog and is good enough to email me about what you read because you are shy about posting comments.  You are the person who shares troubles with someone that they consider a friend, despite the fact that we have never had a face-to-face meeting.
 
You are the person who has asked for my prayers, or who has prayed for me.  You are the person who has made me laugh, and you are the old friend from high school that I haven't seen since 1981.  
 
You are Canadian.  You are British.  You are Colombian.  You are Australian.  You are a New Zealander.  You are Americans.
 
You are the person who, for some unknown reason thinks that I am really awesome or cool, and have actually told me so.  You are the person who for no real need or reason, came out to me about your sexuality and discussed some of the complications that your sexuality has caused in your family, work, or church. 
 
You are the person who told me about your battle with alcohol; or talked to me about tattoos; or about the deepening of your (or my own) faith.  You are the person who cared enough to share your own faith with me.
 
You are the person who told me about your relationship issues, and didn't laugh out loud when I tried to give advice, as if I know enough about anything to give advice to anyone.  You are the person who let me read their unpublished stories, and who read and enjoyed mine.
 
You are the person who sent me books (if that ain't love, I don't know what is), or gave me the gift of your friendship, or shared a private fear with me.  You are the person that I have had drinks with, shared a meal with, had my picture taken with, discussed racism with, and campaigned with.
 
You are the person that traded recipes with me, or cooked something that I blogged about, or told me how much you liked my posts about food.  You are the person who trusted me enough to allow me to guest-post at your blog... and then were crazy enough to let me do it again (holla!!).
 
You are the person who calls me her blog mentor... even though you didn't need any mentoring, since your blog is about a thousand percent cooler than mine (well, everyone's blog is cooler than mine).
 
For all of these reasons, and for the gift of your time and friendship, I love you... and if I were able to tell you this to your face, you'd get a big, Gunfighter-sized, bear hug (and people, I can really hug. Just ask around).  I hope that doesn't make you uncomfortable (because if it does, I can't take it back)
 
GF