Two years ago, I lost my best friend. After years of heart-wrenching conflict, agonizing silence, and the judgmental fear typical of a couple 20-somethings, the man who stood up at my wedding—promising to be my friend until we were old codgers sharing beers on front porch rocking chairs—quietly made his exit. And I made mine.
It was the most painful experience of my life. Not just because I lost a friend, but because I knew somewhere deep inside that I could never replace him. For all our immaturity and brokenness, he was a good person and a good friend. And I knew that I may never again have a “best friend” like him. I’m grieving that loss today. Not because I think bestfriendom could never happen to me again, but because:
1. It SHOULD never happen in the sense that I idolized my friend, hoping too deeply for his attention and approval to fill some gaping holes in my heart. It’s a weight no friend should bear.
2. I’m tired of scanning the relational “horizon” for some friend who can fill my best friend’s vacant shoes and provide connection, value, and acceptance.
3. My wife has made it abundantly clear that she doesn’t want the job of needs-meeter (nor would it be healthy if she did).
I guess I’m stuck with God! Trouble is, I’ve experienced God as a meet-er of emotional needs... but only sporadically. There have been times when God’s love and acceptance has overwhelmed me in a way that made my wife go, “what did you do with my husband?!” Then there have been long parched seasons of my tired, crotchety, insecure self whose needs tank always seems to hover right around EMPTY.
I’ve been accused of being rabidly extroverted. But I’m still not buying it. Because I sometimes wonder if I neurotically fill my life with the presence of other people... desperately hoping for a friendly nudge, a word of care, an expression of gratitude, a meaningful connection to take my mind of the black hole of need inside.
Yesterday morning, I looked flinchingly into that black hole and God seemed to whisper, “what would it feel like to give up on your passionate pursuit of relationships to meet your needs?”
I thought for a minute and replied, “It would feel like drinking a smoothie through a straw with dry sockets: constant pain and a loud ‘sucking’ sound. I would always be desperately aware of my need!”
The whisper replied, “and that’s a bad thing?” I reeled, curled into a ball and wept. I mean... like... “healing-your-inner-child-therapy-weekend” wept. After a couple minute of staring down the maw of this deep belief that people will always reject me and that God isn’t strong enough, or kind enough, or consistent enough to meet my needs, I cried, “God you’ve GOT to give me something!” And this is where it gets fun. Because in that moment He did.
The Whisper came back into my head, “go read Matthew 6:8.” I was skeptical, but hopeful. After all, “Bible Roulette” is a dangerous game and has often backfired on me. “Okay,” I said. “This had better be good.” So I set my thumb on my weathered NIV and as if by magic, it fell open to Matthew 6:8. And in the middle of the verse, the words of Jesus leapt from the page and seemed to look me straight in the eyes: “Your Father knows what you need.”
“Your Father know what you need...”
“Your Father knows what you.... need!”
Those 6 words began to catch a rhythm and have been marching around in my brain like a game-day chant now for 24 hours. I’m not totally sure what to DO with them, but they’re becoming a healthier mental loop tape than, “everyone will always reject you.” They don’t yet ring as loud and potent as the lie but I hope that someday soon, they will.
As I process it now, I wonder if my emotional and relational need-chasm was something I thought was obscured from God, or perhaps the shameful little secret that quietly exasperated Him. If He knew how deep my need was, would He freak out and quietly take his leave, saying, “that’s way too much pressure”? Of course, it’s a silly thought. And yet, that’s the response I’ve come to expect from people. So why not God?
The words of Jesus tell me a different story. They say, “The Father knows the black hole of need inside you AND He’s not threatened by it. You look at it with a grimace of shame. The Father looks at it directly and stays with you. Even if he doesn’t make the chasm disappear, he stands with you in the chasm and encourages you to look at it without fear or shame.”
To me, the promise of His presence in my deepest place of need rings truer and more refreshing than a simple promise to “fix it”. If He knows my need and is willing to stand there with me, then maybe I can face it. Maybe someday, I’ll even learn to joke about it! Because the fact of his knowing and His Presence in the midst of my need knocks the teeth out of that lion.
In that reality, the loss of a friend (and the fear of always being alone) is still extremely painful. It makes me sad. But suddenly, I’m not as scared of the pain as I used to be. It doesn’t threaten me as deeply. Because somewhere beyond emotion, I sense the presence of the One who knows what I need and isn’t scared by it.
