You call. You text. You message. You e-mail. You Marco Polo. You do whatever it takes to get ahold of me, because, right now, you need me.
And before you say anything else, you utter those overused but entirely sincere words: “I’m sorry.” You’ve done absolutely nothing wrong, yet you feel compelled to say them, as if you are some sort of nuisance or inconvenience, an interruption to my decently chaotic daily grind.
I’ll be the first to admit that there are times when you call that the baby’s screaming in one arm while my free hand is aiding a little boy with his aim, and I’ve learned my lesson the hard way: never turn your back on a toddler on his potty chair. So I hear the phone faintly ringing in the other room, attempting to draw me from the task at hand, but I just can’t quite make it in time.
You see, this whole motherhood thing – it’s unreal. It’s wild and beautiful and messy and all-consuming. And if you’re not already immersed in that reality, there just might come a day that you are, and maybe then you’ll understand the constant tug-of-war for a mama’s time and heart and attention. I’m still trying to figure out this balancing act, how to make it all work and flow while in the midst of the greatest calling on my life. Yet I may never get there; I may never know exactly how to make you feel more significant a piece of this puzzle that is my life.
But let me assure you, sweet friend, that you are anything but an inconvenience. Though you may have to wait a bit for my full, undivided attention, the kind of attention that you wholeheartedly deserve, please know that you’re not being ignored. Please know that you are, in fact, a priority, though it likely seems to you that I’ve positioned you on the back burner since welcoming these little ones.
I never, ever want you to feel that you’re asking more of me than you should in requesting my support, encouragement, prayers, guidance, advice, comfort, and love. That, my friend, is friendship. In a nutshell, when it all comes down to it, that’s what it means for me to be your friend. You may have chosen me, but I have also chosen you; that’s the beauty of the relationships that God places in our lives – we get a say in who we welcome into our hearts, and He is using you to help fill mine to the brim. So allow me to do the same for you.
Because there are going to be hard times. There will be times that you’re hurting, confused, heartbroken, unsure, angry, and struggling to make it through. So please hear me loud and clear: in those moments, you call. You text. You message. You e-mail. You Marco Polo. You do whatever it takes to get ahold of me, because, right now, you need me.
But, this time, don’t start with those two words. Don’t you dare tell me that you’re sorry for reaching out, for “interrupting” my hectic life. Instead, next time you call, exuberant screams and cries echoing in the background, simply say, “Hey Friend, I need you.” That’s it.
And, just to be clear, I won’t be able to fix it, and I won’t be able to make everything better. I wish I could liberate you from the pain and uncertainty, precious friend, but I can’t. What I will do, though, is exactly what I’ve been called to do as someone who loves you: I’ll listen to you, cry with you, pray for you, and point you to the One who makes all things new.
So call me. And, don’t forget: never apologize for needing me. That’s what friends are for.