Staring out the window, I marvel at the sunshine- it appears that Spring is announcing her arrival. The heavens are blue, accented by soft white clouds, and the birds are singing a crisp, clear chorus. It’s the kind of day for a nice long walk. The kind of day where you meet a friend for lunch and take your time chewing, talking, laughing.

I turn back to my thoughts and wonder ‘Where does one find a new best friend?’ You know- the kind of friend who will tell you when you have broccoli in your teeth, who will listen to you as you share your burdens, and then offer some really profound advice. The kind of friend who makes you laugh and also calls you to task when you’re just being plain ridiculous. The kind of friend who remembers how much you love dessert, who reminds you of your many blessings, and holds your hand to pray with you.

I’ve searched the library shelves, my favorite passages of Scripture, and yes, I’ve even asked my dogs. But none of these places or canines has been able to answer my question. Where do you find a new best friend? When you’re 53, your children no longer dot the soccer field or attend Confirmation classes. You no longer compare notes about prospective teachers or inquire about the latest rash or mysterious symptom.

You’re looking for that friend you can call at 4 a.m. when the bottom just fell out of your world. That friend who can fix a zipper or bake a cookie that makes you hope there are chocolate chips in Heaven. That friend who loves you- warts and all.

I sigh and my gaze returns to my window. My little brown dog cocks her head as if to say, ‘I’m not sure you’ll find that again. She was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of friend.’ And she certainly was.

Maybe I can market myself as that kind of friend. The friend you call when you just need to be real, the friend you call when you just want to have a three-hour lunch. The friend you call when you just need someone to sit next to you and remain comfortably silent.

You know- a four a.m. kind of friend.