When I was younger, my friends were the people I talked to all the time. On the phone, in person, via hand-written letters or super-long emails. Sharing my most sacred thoughts and deepest secrets.
When I was younger, my friends and I had lots of time—time for making new friends, for staying in touch with so many dear, precious kindred spirits.
Now, I’m a mom—who has a hard time finding five quiet minutes in a day, let alone five minutes to catch up with an old friend.
Now, my friends are the ones who I can talk to every day for a week or naught but once every couple of months—and still feel like we’re picking up where we left off.
Now, my friends and I talk more about today, this moment—because neither of us have time to recount every detail of every day of the past month like we used to in pen pal days of old.
Now, my friends and I might only have a few areas where we have a lot in common, where we know each other’s thoughts on a subject—but it doesn’t matter any more whether we’re completely alike or very, very different.
My friends are the ones who understand if I don’t write back or don’t pick up the phone—they know my family is my first priority.
My friends are still the ones with whom I share my struggles and my worries—and I know that when they say they will pray, they will.
My friends are the ones who would drop everything for me if I really needed to talk and vice versa—but we know not to expect it of each other every day.
My friends are the ones who hear those sacred thoughts and deep secrets—long before they become blog posts and new little lives.
My friends are the ones whose messages or chats I copy and paste and print out—because they’ve spoken the truth to me, in words I needed to hear, needed to remember.
My friends are the ones who love me enough to point me to Jesus and let me have time for my family—because my friends are the ones who understand what friendship is like for mommies.