Somewhere in the middle of me reverently kneeling and me banging on the steering wheel while snot hovers over my lap, there is a healthy friendship. At least, I’m pretty sure.
Friendship can be hard for me because I’m definitely an all-or-nothing kind of person. I want to go all in with you, usually within the first five seconds of knowing you. Especially if we click from the beginning and you reference The Office, Gilmore Girls, or Parks and Rec as if the characters are our family members. You’ve won my heart. Thus, we can proceed to discuss your childhood trauma, your deepest fears, and your favorite meal in about thirty minutes flat.
However, a lot of people I’ve met (dare I say, most people), don’t share my tenacity for building friendship in a single session in which we cry, laugh until our ribs ache, and possibly yell if warranted. So I’ve learned to be much more covert in my friendship building. Being sure that the other person doesn’t feel attacked, scared, or violated by the end of our casual conversation is priority number one.
I’ve gotten so much better with all of my friendships—well, almost all. To the point that I now have friends that I’ve never scared (at least to my knowledge).
But there’s still this one friend who gets the brunt of everything spewing inside of me. The yelling for change, the sobbing over defeat, and the hysterical laughter. Sometimes, all in one fell swoop of an interaction. This friend is closer than any other. And in my 25 years of knowing Him, He hasn’t been terrified of the crazy, not once.
I have often wondered if I’m doing it right. Realistically, I have heard more people talk about their reverent awe for God than I have heard about their sloppy conversations. These are the conversations in which I can’t muster up enough energy to try to quote the right Scriptures, say the prayer in the proper way, decide whether or not I’m supposed to ask or command, or make much sense at all. Somehow, He still gets me even if I’m not doing it “right.”
This friendship of ours has no points system. It’s mostly me taking and Him giving with quite a delayed “Thank You” or “You’re right” thrown at Him from my end too frequently. He doesn’t keep score, though; that’s just me. Even though He reminds me not to and that it’s okay (because I’m a weak, fragile, jacked up human—my words, not His). He’s a patient and kind God. He’s the God.
Almost daily, I realize how much I don’t deserve to be in this relationship. Suddenly, I’ll be on my knees in complete wonder of who He is. I’ll ponder how He made the stars, my lungs, or the tiny bird legs carrying a mama back to her little ones after a long hunt. I get teary (insert more snot here), I get confused, and I typically end up feeling like my brain could spontaneously combust if I continue to use it this way. Then I want to say that He’s more magical than Disney World but fear I could be stoned for even putting Him in that kind of comparison (occasionally, I get stuck in the Old Testament).
Almost daily, I also feel like He’s forgetting about me. I know that we know it’s not possible. He’s God. But remember, my brain came close to spontaneously combusting today, so it’s inevitable that I would have a hard time remembering the truth, too. So I cry out to Him in anguish about my problems that He’s obviously overlooked that week. He permits yelling, He permits snot, and He permits me to act like a fool. Then He just seems to hold me still until we can walk through whatever is currently ailing me together.
I’m a constant up and down, all or nothing, snot-flying, wheel-beating friend. And He’s a constant, stable, compassionate, constructive, love-at-all times kind of a friend. We, in some kind of incomprehensible way, make the very best of friends. I know I don’t deserve it, but He just never leaves this simple yet intense girl behind. So, for the sake of making sure I say it today, “Thank You” and “You’re oh-so always right, my Friend.”
Featured Image by Larm Rmah