Best friends—forever?

 Judy was my best friend in the second grade. It was mischief that first brought us together and a certain level of silliness. We stuck together at recess, sometimes chased boys, not wanting to catch them, just scare them a little. We told each other secrets—“cross my heart and hope to die.” In the third grade we became blood sisters. This was a semi-gruesome ritual where we each poked our arms with a needle, drawing a bead of blood; we then rubbed the spots together, thus mingling our blood and supposedly binding us for life.

Having a best friend was very important in Ramona Elementary School. Even the popular kids, those with lots of friends, had one special best friend. Moving up to middle school (called Junior High back then) it became more complicated. We squabbled a lot and switched best friends almost as much as we changed clothes. Jealousies, note passing in class, and all manner of adolescent pettiness make me blush (and smile) as I remember.

Elaine was my best friend in high school. I had other friends, but she was special. We were special to each other. It wasn’t mischief that drew us together, but our shared faith in God and our ideals. My concept of friendship was deepening. The secrets we shared were real—our fears, the stuff that made us happy, our dreams for the future.

We both lived out in the country, two miles from school and we walked those two miles every day. We picked out one meadow where we imagined that one day we’d both live in mansions, married to handsome husbands, and raising beautiful children, still side-by-side. Other days we imagined what our life would be like if we both went to Africa as missionaries. Always together, of course.

In my university years I was blessed with many close friendships. We didn’t bother anymore with the best-friend concept. I learned I could cultivate close relationships with several people and share those friendships, without jealousy or pettiness. I’ve kept in touch with some of those friends. In fact, I married one of them.

In our life together, both at home and abroad, Hal and I have been blessed with life-long friendships that are as close as family (without any blood-sister rituals). With some people, even though we’ve been separated by distance and time, if it happens that we get together it’s almost as though no time has passed; we pick right up where we left off.

With others I’m sad at having lost contact, in spite of how close we once were.

These days young people refer to their “bff” (best friends forever). I smile at the idealism and naivete of that term. I hope I’m not becoming cynical, but forever is a really long time.

I’ve been thinking about what makes some deep friendships endure over time and what causes some to gradually fade with time and distance. What makes for permanent life-long relationships? Why do some get lost along the way?

I’m not sure what makes the difference, but I’m realizing that both types are gifts from God.

I rejoice in the ongoing long-time friendships, loyalties that grow richer and sweeter with the passage of time. These are inexpressible treasures--people who knew us when, who know us now, and who will be there tomorrow (as long as we both shall live). People who accept the changes and grow with us and we with them. I thank God for these friendships.

But I can also cherish past friendships that are “lost” because, really, nothing that nourished us and made us better people is lost. There are friends God gives us briefly--for a week, a month, a year, a decade--and we're part of another life. We love another person and we're God's channel of grace (and they are God's channel to us) for a season. And when that time ends, we go our separate ways. These friendships are valuable too, temporarily permanent gifts of grace. We don't devalue them for their brevity, but accept God's gifts and his timing as they come. And as they go.

Now in the season of growing older, I find that friendships are as important to me as they ever were. I’m not referring to having an active social life and lots of casual relationships. Those have their place, but I still long for genuine friendships, for people I can laugh or cry with, share secrets with, even just be with in silence.

Here in the retirement center, I’ve found some delightful companions. Some of them are becoming close friends. It’s more risky now because we’re all growing older. Some of my new “best friends” have died, and the hole they leave behind hurts. Everything seems temporary because we can’t know when death will step in and interrupt a friendship. Yet maybe that’s why it’s more important to cherish and nurture what we have now. We need each other. We need genuine friendship. We need to learn to be “temporarily permanent.” It’s worth the risk.

And, if we walk hand-in-hand with the giver of all friendship, future reunions will be “actually permanent.” And very long-lasting.