I have a friend who accepts me as I am. She’s comfortable and we can sit for hours together talking, or not talking, just being together. She knows me, inside and out, better than I know myself. When I say or do something stupid, I get a raised eyebrow and a squeeze of my hand. It’s enough.
My second friend makes me better than I am. I feel guilty when I try to explain to him why I didn’t make it to church last Sunday and why I didn’t finish the latest chapter of my book by Friday. When we walk across the parking lot and see the young mother struggling to get her groceries into her car while keeping her two year old from nose diving into the asphalt, he’s the one who stops to help while I wonder why I was blind. I’m not sure why he puts up with me, but I’m glad he does.
My third friend calls me to the darkness. Why not just do it? Spend the money, step off the edge and take the risk. No thanks. I’ll stand here at the edge and watch for a while. OK, maybe just one step over the line. Hey! No splashing please. OK, maybe one more step. No, I don’t think it’s fun, it’s terrifying. It will be more fun as a memory than as an experience, but thank you for pulling on me.
I’ll just go back home now. I have a friend waiting for me there.