An Open Letter to my Best Friend
- Bailey
- Jun 10, 2015
- 3 min read
Dear best friend,
oh my soul, sister. Even as I write these words, my heart can’t hold its own against the flood behind my eyes. Words won’t ever be sufficient for a letter like this because perfect syntax doesn’t exist this side of glory. For the same reason we can’t adequately describe the universe, I could never adequately describe what you mean to me–what love Jesus has displayed in and through you.
We near the end now. I’m sick to write that. On Sunday we sang Blessed Be Your Name, and you didn’t know, but I lost it, sister. Every blessing He pours out I’ll turn back to praise. Standing next to you, I buckled under the weight of that. To give me a friendship more perfect than I could ever think to ask for is a blessing I turn to praise daily.
We near the end now. Two months from now there will be one thousand three-hundred and fifty-one miles between us. Not that this will hinder our friendship, but just that we won’t live seven minutes apart. We won’t sit around the fire pit on your birthday. We won’t watch Mr. and Mrs. Smith late at night. We won’t trade journals to write messages for the future. It won’t be each other’s shoulders we cry on.
We near the end now and I can’t begin to understand what it will be like. Best friend, I can trust God with this, He’s writing this story, but my heart is breaking. Cracking, shattering like glass at that word, “goodbye”. Right now–well until writing this letter– thinking about this was just a brief, cool numbness through my veins. But today, today as we replaced those old, tarnished rings, the feeling grew white-hot and intolerable. Streaming down my face, the sadness, the loss, the ache of goodbye won’t stop.
We near the end now and that makes me think of the beginning.
Greatest friend of mine, when was the beginning? At that fifth grade Bible study party, or at in the beginning? I think it was that infinite time ago when God decided to add a little adventure, a little dialogue, a lot of laughter and tears to this saga called time. Either way, it was the start of something epic, of something radical and rare.
Red curls bounced next to brown for the next eight years. Side by side we walked, hiked, climbed, hurdled, ran together. From school to church to Guatemala to lakes to trees, to mountains, we stood together, audacious, fearless, courageous. Dearest companion, you have been my strong side through it all.
We are young, but when asked my favorite moment or memory or photograph or place or person, I respond always with that picture. That one we both agree is epic and extraordinary and us, it pops into my mind every time. Because how many other best friends have climbed seven thousand feet, stepped off a cliff and onto branches over the most breath-taking valley of creation together?
How many other best friends danced in the rain, in the black of night, barefoot and carefree, spinning under a shower of grace? How many other best friends in that same third world talked real talk, spoke painful truth, thought same thoughts and communicated without words?
Not many because this is rare.
Look back on this reel of real life, friend. Back before even glasses and braces and hair cuts, to little kid pig tails and recess. Look back to before life got hard, and it got so hard so fast. We were there, sister. We were there and we grabbed hands and trudged through eight years of life together.
So let’s keep on trudging. Together.
The race has only begun, it doesn’t end here for us because God’s great plan is greater still. Wonders we could never imagine the magnificence of are up His sleeve. He’s got us in His palm, holding us both as we venture out with boldness and confidence.
He’s given us this friendship not because we need it, but because of His grace in kindness. Best friend, He’s crazy about us both, together and apart. That in itself is enough to be satisfied forever.
But He gives more grace.
More and more and more. He’s given us eight years of more grace and it has been wild. He gave us vacations, sleepovers, mission trips, camps, camaraderie. Friend, Jesus doesn’t miss a thing. He won’t miss the next four years. He’ll be right there in and through us both and in Him we have everything–all we need.
He is all we will ever need.
My best friend, this season ends so the next can begin. Let’s not rob ourselves of the wonder of the bitter and the sweet. I will miss you more than anything, but, sister, He doesn’t miss a thing.
Always,
