By Pastor Scott
You ever notice how friendships start to feel like old sweaters? They’re cozy, familiar, but over time, they get stretched out, a little threadbare, maybe even lost in the back of the closet. You don’t mean for it to happen. Life just… happens. And suddenly, you’re standing there, wondering where all your people went.
I’ve been chewing on this a lot lately, mostly because I got hit with a question that stopped me dead in my tracks. I was doing this pastoral survey—you know, one of those “reflect on your life and ministry” deals that’s supposed to make you feel wise and connected. It asked, “Do you have two friends you could call in the middle of the night if you were in a crisis?” Simple, right? Two names. Just two.
I sat there, cursor hovering over the page, and I couldn’t answer it. Not honestly. I mean, I’ve got people. I’ve got my wife, my kids, my congregation, folks I laugh with at church potlucks. But two friends I could call at 2 a.m., no hesitation, no doubt they’d pick up? I didn’t know if I had that. And that realization? It felt like a punch to the gut.
Here’s the thing: I don’t think I’m alone in this. The older we get, the harder it is to maintain friendships. When you’re young, it’s easy. You’re thrown together in school, sports, youth group. You bond over pizza runs and late-night talks about dreams that feel like they’re just around the corner. But then life creeps in—jobs, mortgages, kids, doctor’s appointments, and suddenly, you’re not just juggling time; you’re wrestling it to the ground.
And let’s be real: as a pastor, it’s even trickier. You’re everyone’s friend, but nobody’s friend, you know? You’re there for the crises, the weddings, the funerals, but when it’s your turn to need someone, you hesitate. You don’t want to burden anybody. You’re supposed to be the strong one, the one with the answers. Plus, there’s that weird dynamic where you’re not sure if people are your friend because they like you or because you’re Pastor Scott.
But it’s not just a pastor thing. I’ve talked to enough people—carpenters, teachers, stay-at-home moms—to know this is a human thing. As we age, our worlds get smaller. We move away. We get busy. We get hurt. Maybe a friend betrayed you, or maybe you just drifted apart, and now it feels awkward to reach out. Like, what do you even say? “Hey, remember me? We used to grab coffee ten years ago. Wanna pick up where we left off?”
And then there’s the vulnerability piece. Friendship—real, deep friendship—requires you to show up as you are. No mask, no filter. That’s scary when you’re 20, but when you’re pushing 40, 50, 60? It’s terrifying. You’ve got baggage now. You’ve got scars. You’re not sure if you can trust someone to hold all that without dropping it.
So, what do we do? Do we just shrug and say, “That’s life,” and keep trudging along, lonely but pretending we’re fine? Or do we fight for it? Because I think friendship is worth fighting for. It’s not just nice to have; it’s holy. Jesus didn’t do life alone—he had his twelve, his inner three. He ate with them, laughed with them, cried with them. If the Son of God needed friends, who are we to think we can go it solo?
I’m trying to figure this out myself, and I don’t have all the answers. But here’s what I’m learning:
- Start small. You don’t need a squad of ten. One friend, one real connection, can change everything. Text someone you’ve been meaning to reconnect with. Say, “Hey, I miss you. Can we grab a burger?” It might feel awkward, but awkward is better than empty.
- Be honest. If you’re struggling, say it. I’m preaching to myself here, because I’m terrible at this. But the few times I’ve let my guard down and admitted, “I’m lonely,” it’s opened doors I didn’t expect. People want to show up; they just need to know you need them.
- Make time. I know, I know—time is the one thing we never have enough of. But friendship doesn’t survive on leftovers. Schedule it. Put it on the calendar. Treat it like it matters, because it does.
- Lean into grace. Not every friendship is meant to last forever. Some people are in your life for a season, and that’s okay. Let them go with love, and keep your heart open for who’s next.
I’m still wrestling with that survey question. I’ve started reaching out to a couple of old friends, and it’s been messy and beautiful and humbling. I don’t know if they’d pick up at 2 a.m. yet, but I’m hoping we’re getting there. And I’m praying for the courage to keep showing up, to keep risking the vulnerability, to keep believing that God’s got people for me—and for you.
Because here’s the truth: we weren’t made to do this alone. We were made for late-night calls, for belly laughs, for someone to sit with us in the dark and say, “I’m here.” And if we’re willing to fight for it, I think we can find our way back to each other.
So, tell me—how’s it going for you? Got your two people? Or are you, like me, staring at the question, wondering where to start? Let’s figure it out together.
Grace & Peace,
Pastor Scott
Pastor's Ponderings 