Gratefully, Wistfully Revisiting Friendships and Friends

I still remember the giant, talking papier mache raven we created in Eugene's garage in high school for a project on Edgar Allan Poe. And the "lunar landing" we filmed in another garage after draping all the usual garage detritus in white sheets, watching no doubt breathlessly as one of us -- in some kind of astronaut costume -- took one small step for mankind down the retractable attic stairs. I remember smuggling the fetal pig out of the biology classroom -- the better to study by for the dissection exam. And I remember marveling at the surviving snout suspended from Eugene's rearview mirror, continuing to grow hair. I remember the music we made, the tennis we played, the theology we debated, the school trips we took, the confidences we shared, the breakups we consoled, the successes we celebrated, and the futures we plotted. I remember the wedding tuxedos we donned for one another and the divorces a couple of us have lamented. And I remember the pain of saying goodbye when all of our high school days and summers were finally expended. David, Eugene, Sheryl, and me. Oh, there were others who drifted in and out. We each had our own peculiar networks and relations, fueled by church associations, special interests and, with Sheryl, gender. She was, after all, a girl, though we were too good of friends to notice. She'll never forgive us for that.

And suddenly it was over. After countless hours of life shared in the shallows as well as the deep, we went our four separate ways. Four different towns. Four different colleges. Four separate lives. It was a perfectly natural evolution. But I will never forget the ache of splintering those three from my soul.

We have been together since -- weddings, as I mentioned, and consoling their undoing. There have been reunions and occasional intersections. And while I can't speak for the other three who settled in relative proximity, it has seemed to me that since those halcyon years we have kept to our separate paths. I suppose it has happened with a certain inevitability -- we have, after all, established our own families, our own professions, our own directions. But we have been circumspect. With all the technology at our disposal, we rarely communicate. We are, to be sure, busy. Absence, as my Dad used to say, makes the heart grow fonder for someone else. But I can't help but wonder if we moths resist flying too close again to that friendship flame.

Whatever, seeing them again is always inexpressible joy -- as it was in late July when they all came to hear me preach when I was guesting in a nearby pulpit. Hopefully my sermon didn't damage their discipleship, because their presence deeply moved and filled me. It was only briefly, but seeing and embracing them, talking and catching up with them made me thankful all over again for the memories we hold in common, and the grace-filled holding we shared of each other's lives.

And it gave me new resolve to dust off their e-mail addresses, phone numbers, and calendars. Already I miss you David, Eugene, and Sheryl. And already I long to see you again...

...and look forward to it.