From her book “The Holiness of Everyday Life”, Joan A.MacDonald shares:
When all is done, a person of related mind, a brother or sister by nature, comes softly and easily, so nearly and intimately, as if it were the blood in our proper veins, that we feel as if some one has gone, instead of another having come: we are utterly relieved and refreshed: it is a sort of joyful solitude. . . .But only that soul can be my friend, which I encounter on the line of my own march, that soul to which I do not decline, and which does not decline me, but, native of some celestial latitude, repeats in its own all my experience. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
Last week I met a friend for lunch. That is something I don’t do often for, like you, I am busy and have trouble finding time for such an indulgence. But last week I met a friend for lunch. I drove to her house, walked in, and instantly felt at home. We had a nice lunch and talked for over two hours. It was hard to leave, but when I did I felt refreshed and renewed, I thought of how easy it was for us to talk and how open and comfortable we were with each other. Friendships are unique relationships. They are different from relationships within the family. We can learn much from those differences. We can learn about ourselves, our family relationships, our relationship with the Savior, and, again, the nature of love.
Friendship and Choice
The first unique component of friendship is that, throughout the time the friendship lasts, it is voluntary. Friendships are free of strings. There are no vows, no “for better or for worse” as in marriage, and no “take what you get” as in parenting. We choose our friends and, if the relationship no longer fits, we let it die and move on to other friends. Because of that, friendship is often the arena in which we both feel and offer the greatest acceptance. We do not set out to change a friend, and our friends seldom attempt to change us. Our best friends are often our best friends because to them, and them alone, we can say anything. It is with our friends that we share fears of frustrations that are too large and threatening or too small and petty to discuss with anyone else.
Emerson wrote: “A friend is a person with whom I may be sincere. Before him, I may think aloud. I am arrived at last in the presence of a man [or woman] so real and equal that I may drop even those undermost garments of dissimulation, courtesy and second thought, which men never put off, and may deal with him with the simplicity and wholeness, with which one chemical atom meets another.”1
Our unguarded, spontaneous conversations with friends provide spiritual renewal. Through these conversations, friends bear one another’s burdens.” Shared problems are always easier to deal with, and the exchange of emotional support is the kind of service that is at the heart of the living gospel. Our friends can give us an objective view of our problems. Comments and responses to shared secrets often lend insight we would be hard pressed to gain on our own. We, in turn, can often offer similar insights to our friends. Open hearted conversations with friends are a wonderful sounding board. Sometimes our worries or complaints are petty or silly. Sensing this we are reluctant to voice them to a spouse or authority figure such as a parent, bishop, or even professional counselor. Nonetheless, these concerns bother, and the more we think about them, the larger they become. Ah, but we can say anything to our best friends, and so we do. Often, as we do, our problems melt away, for petty worries of complaints are often dispelled the moment they are spoken out loud. Friends provide a great service to each other just by being there, listening without judgment.
Moreover, conversations with friends often go far beyond everyday concerns and problems, great or small. In searching conversations with our dearest friends, we can explore the infinite, question the unquestionable, and glimpse the unknowable. Deepest conversations of that type help us sort out who we are, what we believe, and what we cherish.
I recently had a conversation with a dear friend. This fiend is a member of our ward but is on assignment to an dependent branch, so I don’t see him often. He has a wonderful intellect and great spiritual sensitivity. On the rare occasions I do see him, I seek him out in hopes of having the kind of conversation we enjoyed last week. We began by discussing common experiences as seminary teachers, including questions teenagers often ask. We then discussed one of those questions: We were immediately engrossed in a lively discussion that attracted other members of the group—we all hunger for such discussions. It was great fun. It was lively and stimulating. But it was far more than just stimulating fun. I thought I had some answers to an age old question. He challenged those answers. He proposed an idea I hadn’t considered, but one I will be considering for some time to come. And he said some things I rebelled against, rejected, found disturbing—yet I couldn’t say why. As I did that, I identified and reaffirmed my own most cherished beliefs about the nature of God. In such conversations, friends hold up a mirror to our minds, helping us clarify our own thoughts and interpret our own experiences.
We often fall prey to the belief that the only kind of spiritual pursuits are church attendance, scripture study, and prayer. These are important. Had I not spent solitary time in study and prayer, I would have nothing to say to my friend. The conversation would not have happened. But the conversation itself was a spiritual pursuit every bit as important as my own personal study. Through that conversation, I was given access to someone else’s scripture study and prayer, someone else’s insights and understanding, someone else’s holy space. ~ Joan B. MacDonald, The Holiness of Everyday Life (Salt Lake City:Deseret
Book, 1995) p.71-74
