Very Best Friend

A stranger approached me the other day;
you won’t believe what he had to say.
“You,” he declared, “are now my best friend!
My search is over! Let deep friendship begin!”
With that, he extended his hand to shake.
“Sorry, sir, but you’ve made a mistake.
I haven’t a clue about who you are;
you could have fallen from a passing star.
You’re a stranger to me; so how, in the end,
can I possibly be your very best friend?”

Friendships develop; they take effort and time.
I regret to tell you: “I respectfully decline
your offer to be your life-long friend.”
And that’s how our meeting came to an end.
I could tell he didn’t feel the same.
I don’t even know the stranger’s name.
But the chance encounter, and you will think this odd,
reminded me of my friendship with God.

Just like the stranger who approached me that day,
I once thought that I could honestly say:
“God is my rock; my very best friend,”
when, truth be told, at the day’s end
I knew nothing of God; I could only pretend.
God was a concept, an idea at best,
“why bother,” I thought, “with all the rest
of what it takes to be a friend:
time together, considered thought,
sharing the ways that friendship ought
to grow and develop, become mature;
but over time I became quite sure
that calling a concept, an idea, my friend
simply won’t work; that’s not the end
that I sought when I wanted to be
in love with God who, in turn, loved me.

I now understand that in order to be
a friend to my neighbor, anyone I see,
there is much, indeed, required of me.
Friendship does not come casually.
There is pain to share, times to cry;
a spirit willing to lay down and die
for the sake of the one known in the end
as my sister, my brother, my very best friend.

God is much more than a casual thought,
a distant acquaintance whom, I think, ought
to rush to my rescue as my last resort,
but who, in good times, stays apart
until my need grows strong again,
and I call out: “God, help me!”
to My Very Best Friend.