The most beautiful

discovery two friends make is that they can grow separately without growing apart.

— Elisabeth Foley

As I waited in front of the Hilton Inn, watching a team of valets hurry to greet arriving guests, I wondered how it would feel to see my childhood friend.

It had been 20 years since we’d taken our children trick-or-treating that warm night in Southern California. Each with two small children in tow, we had walked the very streets in our childhood neighborhood that had hosted our own Kick the Can games and races on Schwinn Fair Lady bikes with gold-speckled banana seats. Our conversations had centered that night on sewing our children’s costumes, preschools, and memories of hauling around our own stashes of candy in pillow cases.

How would we connect now? I privately wondered. With no children in tow and states away from the old neighborhood, would we experience uncomfortable lulls in our conversations? Would we each take turns updating each other on the most notable events of our lives and allow another 20 years to transpire with little contact?

A look into my darling friend’s eyes, a beautiful green with gold flecks, reminded me that the love of a childhood friend can indeed bring joy and comfort during middle age as well, without the benefit of history in between. A familiarity with the way she talked and references to people and occasions we once shared, calmed any concerns I briefly entertained.

Hopping in the car and greeting her with a hug, we merged quickly into traffic and shared a flurry of stories. One of the best gifts of middle age is what I call the “Roll-over Factor”: those of us who are middle aged have lived long enough to experience the utter joys and complete sorrows that life has to offer. Life has rolled over us all and the stories we shared included those events that have emboldened our spirits and broken our hearts.

So we bonded, all over again, adding understanding and comfort and consoling tears upon the history that had already been layed.

With past remembered, and present updated, we continued our visit. I quietly thanked God for the joy of a mutual past, and the ease of the present. But the future? I asked God, quietly in my heart. How might two women who live some distance apart be able to connect from this time forward? What will unite our hearts for the unknown that lies ahead?

The answer came quietly and gently, the way God frequently expresses Himself in my life. “Faith,” my friend said, ‘I’ve found it. I keep being so amazed at how God seems to know what I need and when I need it. I always thought He was too busy to worry about my little life. I’m starting to see that He was always right there for me, I just didn’t know how to notice.”

So my dearest early childhood friend and I move forward, together. We’re looking for God in our futures and thankful for the promise of His presence in all that is to come.