I am missing two of my dearest friends this morning. As I sit here, hot peppermint tea on the side table, feet propped up, listening to the gentle song of windchimes and watching the sun rise over the horizon on my back porch, I am wishing I was sharing this moment with them. The funny thing is that the vast majority of our twenty-plus years of friendship has been spent NOT sharing moments like this.
We lived in the same place for about 7 years before I moved away, putting the entirety of the Gulf of Mexico between us. During that time together, all 3 of us added children to our families and the bonds that connected us grew unbreakable. In more recent years, all 3 of us have relocated, creating even more geographical distance. Yet, we continue to grow more deeply connected, more determined to support one another, and more sure of our love for one another. Our kids all see each other as extended siblings, having grown up together somehow across the miles. We know how rare and precious this gift of friendship is in our lives.
As I read so much of what finds its way into my social media accounts, as I see the personal tragedies unfold on news outlets, as I watch local police blotters and hear the latest court dockets, it saddens me. Despite the ease of electronic communication, so many today seem to lack the kind of connection that I have described. The standard seems to be wariness, doubt, and distrust between people.
How did we get so fortunate, then? What cemented us together? Could it be replicated in the lives of others who are lonely and desperate for people to walk through life with?
There’s not a fool-proof formula, but there are definitely some principles and practices that have formed the foundation of our friendship. They may be worth a try if you are looking to become one of those “friends that stick closer than a brother.”
First, I’ll tell you that not one of us is an extrovert. We’re all friendly. We love people. But, y’all, they exhaust us. Given that temperament, it is especially interesting that we found one another. We’re not even immediate peers; our ages span a decade. Each one of us had to decide at some point to make ourselves uncomfortable. We looked at one another, saw somebody that could probably use a friend, and offered ourselves. Cautiously, each of us accepted the offer. In the early stages, it was awkward silence sometimes as we figured out how much of ourselves we were willing to share and how to broach certain subjects. Bit by bit, we embraced the discomfort and learned together to listen without judgement and speak without fear.
On the foundation of that willingness to be uncomfortably vulnerable, we added “Parlor Prayertime.” This practice, more than any other, is what I believe made our friendship a permanent, life-long one. At the time, we all attended the same church which had a small parlor room for intimate gatherings. My husband was a pastoral staff member and held keys (we lived on-property in a parsonage, too, so access was easy). We were all moms with little kids & little time to ourselves. But we made time to meet in this neutral place – no kids demanding attention, no housework distracting our focus, no job demands spiraling through our brains – just the three of us in a pretty room with one purpose: to pray for one another. That room saw our tears. Heard our frustrations. Was the safe place where we wrestled with our inadequacies. Rang with our shared laughter and rejoicing. When you bring your friendships to the Father in prayer, when you link arms and do battle in spiritual realms for your sisters (or brothers!), you learn to love them with a love that does not fail.
You may find, at times, that you deeply disagree on things that matter. You may have different interests, different life circumstances, and different family dynamics. It won’t matter. You’ll navigate it. You’ll have found ways to respect even in your differences. You’ll gain an understanding of what it is to “speak the truth in love.” You’ll find ways to support and encourage that don’t diminish or belittle. You’ll have learned, in the vulnerability and openness before God, to see your friends as the Father does. And you’ll learn the value of forgiveness.
Are you lonely? Do you attend church but lack friends there because you suspect that if you offered yourself, you’d just meet judgement and dismissal? Maybe you’re convinced that they’d only be interested in using you transactionally to fill a need of their own, not truly want you as a relational friend. May I encourage you to ask the Father to highlight someone to your heart? Ask Him to give you the boldness to approach them and offer a conversation; let Him hold your discomfort and potentially make something lasting and beautiful of it. I promise you: you’re not the only one who needs that kind of connection.
