Lisa

Lisa

I could probably write a book entitled Lisa, but only about 100 people would probably be interested enough to buy it.

I might get some randos who stumble across it and think, Sure, why not? But it wouldn’t be a bestseller.

Although it should be.

This isn’t a famous Lisa. Not the Mona Lisa or Lisa Kudrow or anyone anyone has ever heard of, really.

But honestly, she is famous to me.

One of my first posts, rants, cathartic writings, whatever you want to call them, was about Lisa. About the way she mentored me and, probably without even realizing it, gave me confidence when I didn’t have much of my own.

I should have kept a diary or journal of sorts over the years. Just a running list of all our conversations and shared moments, because somehow every single one of them left a mark on me.

I feel like our relationship is rare and unique. Special. Bonded in a way that is hard to explain.

But the truth is, I bet a lot of people feel this way about Lisa.

And you know what?

They probably aren’t wrong.

That’s the thing about her.

Lisa leaves her mark, but it isn’t intentional, although her time with you absolutely is.

She isn’t trying to make sure you remember her. She isn’t waiting for her turn to talk. She isn’t trying to convince you that what she says is the end-all, be-all. She doesn’t need to be the smartest person in the room, or the most important, or the one everyone notices.

She just shows up.

She listens. Really listens.

She gives feedback. She advises. She loves. She laughs. She tells you the truth when you need to hear it, but somehow does it in a way that doesn’t make you feel small.

Every bit of that is intentional.

But leaving her mark isn’t.

And maybe that’s exactly why she does.

She isn’t self-serving. She serves the Lord, and I truly believe one of her God-given gifts is simply her irreplaceable spirit.

It’s the way she listens and understands. The way she can see something in you that maybe you haven’t quite figured out how to see in yourself yet. The way she gives advice without making your decisions for you. The way she makes you feel like, for however long you are sitting across from her, what is happening in your life actually matters.

You matter.

And every time I leave her, I feel filled up.

A little steadier. A little wiser. A little more confident. Sometimes convicted. Sometimes encouraged. Usually laughing. But always better than I was when I got there.

There are people who come into your life and teach you things on purpose. They give you lessons and advice and tell you exactly what they think you should know.

And then there are people who teach you simply by the way they live.

Lisa has done both.

I have watched the way she loves people. The way she loves her family. The way she works. The way she handles hard things. The way she laughs at herself. The way she gives without keeping score. The way her faith isn't something she needs to announce because it is woven into the way she treats people.

And somewhere along the way, without either of us sitting down and deciding this was what our relationship would be, she became one of the people whose voice I carry with me.

I can hear what she would say sometimes.

I can almost hear her laugh.

And every now and then I’ll find myself encouraging someone else, giving them confidence, listening a little longer, or saying something I know I learned from her.

Maybe that is the mark we are supposed to leave on people.

Not one that says, Remember me.

One that quietly becomes part of them.

So no, Lisa probably wouldn’t make the New York Times bestseller list.

Maybe 100 people would buy it.

But I have a feeling every one of those 100 people would have their own chapter to add.

And that probably tells you everything you need to know about Lisa.

My time with her is irreplaceable.