Friday, 14 May 2010 19:15
We lived in a small apartment in a small apartment complex not-so-affectionately nicknamed "The Plywood Palace." My husband was a full-time student. I, a full-time mom. We attempted to supplement our non-income in any way we could. Between being broke and having a 10-month-old baby, our social life was non-existent and most of our neighbors were older, younger, or seldom-seen.
Then they moved in.
We had no ambitions of making friends in our building. But I saw him carrying boxes and children's toys down our hall and into the apartment just across from ours. Something prompted me to ask him, "Are you believers?" And he said, "Yes."
The next night I tromped across the hall, baby in arms, to greet her. I was met with a big warm smile, two small sons, sparse furniture, and full hearts. We talked and shared and made plans for the next morning.
It came. Cup of coffee in hand, still wearing pajamas, our lives collided.
The funny thing about most good friendships is that they are seldom planned. Often, when we are looking hard for just the right "best friend" material, we find it impossible to find a soul mate. Then, when we are most desperate and least expecting it, a friend falls into our path.
In my case, Kate was a godsend. I was struggling with my identity -– from class president at my Christian college to unplanned teenage wife and mother. I was still young, yet had crossed the threshold of adulthood and was trying to understand who God had created me to be. A few years older than me, Kate could relate. Though our stories were far from identical, we had both overcome, doubted, learned, questioned, and were finding our way.
From the beginning of our friendship there was a certain level of "comfortable" that emerged. Our homes were often littered with toys, the result of young children and kid-centered households. Dirty dishes were still in the sink when Kate walked in my door and that was OK. We talked about periods, prenatal care, postpartum depression, and premonitions. We could ask questions and together find answers in scripture. We joined hands and prayed over our families, our homes, and our children in the wake of a devastating suicide down our hall.
Because we lived across the hall in the Plywood Palace, there was a certain openness that just happened. We heard each other's angry words at our husbands, and we were quick to run across the hall to comfort, counsel, or confront. I never felt that Kate was intruding, but I was always thankful for her sincerity and honesty when she observed me at my best and held my hand at my worst.
Authentic friendship is hard to come by. Often God grants it to us when we least expect it. And I don't think we have many great friendships in our lifetime. Though Kate and I both moved out of the apartment building within a year and now over a thousand miles separate us, she remains my closest friend. She is a faithful prayer partner, a sounding board for my frustrations and dreams, and the best friend I could ever ask for. Because our close proximity forced us to be honest and open 5 years ago, we can remain authentic and real now.
