I have four best friends (okay, five, when you count my husband. But for the purpose of this post, just know that I love him and I'm going to talk about my girls from here on out). We met on the day that the five of us moved into the freshman dorms at USU, two on one side of the hall, three on the other. What was an enquiry after a missing can-opener became the saving grace of our college years. We have been the best kind of friends ever since.
Maybe we're not the type of pedicure-getting, shopping-going, latest-fad sharing, chocolate-inhaling friends (although plenty of that goes on too), but to me, these girls are the best kind of friends. The best kind of friends are the ones that decide not to go to the dance because they know you don't have anyone to ask. They let you come spend the evening doing homework in their apartment because there is a sock on your dorm room door. They hold you in the back of a suburban on the way home from spring break when you decide to break up with your boyfriend of two years. They stop by to see you when you are slaving away at a fast food place all summer to pay for college when they know you are slightly dying inside. They are the kind that come to you, worried about a friend or family member, and ask you to fast and pray with them for this person just because they can't bear to do it on their own. They hold you when tragedy strikes your family more times in a year than anyone's family deserves and pray with you when you get a cryptic message from your mom telling you to call and you think the family dog may be dying but you're not sure and you just need some courage to hit the redial button. They listen to you go on and on about that boy you aren't sure you love, but you just might, but he hasn't said anything and he's leaving for France for two years and what do you do? They are understanding when a move needs to happen, or you decide that a trip to Georgia is necessary even when they know what (or who) you really need is right there in front of you. They write you on your mission to remind you that "you don't do failure." They celebrate with you when Prince Charming finally makes an appearance in your life, even when he's been especially slow to show up in theirs. They take walks around campus on a cold winter's day just to hear you talk things out so you can make sense of life. They gather together and show up when your baby has come eight weeks early and you've just found out that she may or may not have a serious illness that could change the course of your lives just to take you out for Chinese food and bring you some books to read during the stressful days of sitting next to an isolette in the NICU. They are the kind of friends that when you are wound up so tight you're driving your husband nuts he suggests you "call one of your girls and get out of the house."
They're the ones where you have an unwritten rule that despite geographic distance or how long it has been since you've last talked, you can call about anything and get a listening ear. Even at two a.m.
They are the kind that, when you've spent all morning on your knees praying for God to send you someone who understands, calls at ten a.m just because she feels like she needs to, even though she has a brand new baby who has his nights and days mixed up and a rambunctious two-year-old and surely enough concerns of her own.
And she's exactly the person you need to put you back together and give you a pep talk and let you know that once again, you can make it through this.
Thanks, my girls. Happy seventh anniversary.
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