A few weeks ago, I caught myself counting my friends. If someone had asked me to name the people closest to me, I could probably have counted them on one hand. Colleagues who have turned into best friends. One best friend I have known since college who now lives across the world. A couple of others who have walked with me through different seasons of life.
And for reasons I couldn't quite explain, that bothered me.
I wasn't lonely. I wasn't unloved. Yet somewhere along the way, I had begun to believe that adulthood was supposed to look different. I imagined a calendar full of coffee dates, girls' nights, birthday dinners, spontaneous catch-ups, and group chats that never seemed to stop buzzing. Every time I opened social media, it seemed like everyone had found "their people." Everyone seemed to have a thriving social life, and I wondered why mine didn't look the same.
So I started asking myself uncomfortable questions.
Shouldn't I have more friends by now?
Am I not investing enough in people?
Am I too busy? Shouldn’t I be going out for brunches too?
I even tried changing it. I reached out to people, made plans, and tried to be more intentional. But instead of feeling fulfilled, I found myself feeling guilty.
Guilty because I couldn't keep up.
Life, in this season, simply does not leave much room for spontaneous coffee dates or long afternoons spent catching up. Between raising my son, teaching, ministry, and the ordinary responsibilities of life, my days are wonderfully full. There are invitations I would love to accept but cannot. Messages I do not reply to as quickly as I would like. Friends I think about often but do not speak to for weeks.
For a long time, I thought that made me a bad friend. Then one day, I realised something. The expectations I was struggling to meet were not coming from my friends. They were coming from me.
I had accepted the world's definition of friendship without even realising it. I had begun measuring friendship by frequency.
How often do we meet? How often do we text? How often do we talk?
How many memories are we making together?
But what if that's the wrong measure altogether?
One of my closest friends lives on the other side of the world. We do not speak every day. Sometimes weeks go by without a phone call because life is busy for both of us. Yet I have never once questioned our friendship.
When one of us reaches out, we simply continue where we left off. Sometimes it's a voice note asking for prayer. Sometimes it's a Scripture that has carried one of us through the week. Sometimes it's rejoicing over God's faithfulness. Sometimes it's crying together from thousands of kilometres away.
Our friendship has never depended on constant communication. It has been sustained by grace, prayer, and the shared understanding that we are both trying to follow Jesus faithfully.
The same is true of a handful of friends God has placed in my life at my workplace.
Most of our conversations happen in passing, between classes, over lunch, or after chapel. We do not always have hours to spend together, but somehow they have become the people who quietly point me back to Christ. They remind me to trust Him when I'm anxious. They celebrate His faithfulness when I forget to notice it. They pray for me. They speak truth when I need to hear it.
And it dawned on me that perhaps these were the friendships my soul had needed all along.
Spiritual friendship isn't always measured by how often we see one another; it's measured by whether we help one another look to Christ. The Bible paints this picture of friendship over and over again.
When David was hiding in the wilderness, Jonathan sought him out and "helped him find strength in God" (1 Samuel 23:16). I love that description. Jonathan didn't simply encourage David or tell him everything would be okay. He strengthened his friend in God.
Isn't that what spiritual friendship does? It reminds us who God is when we have forgotten.
It points us back to the truth when our feelings threaten to overwhelm us. It celebrates God's goodness and gently speaks truth when we need correction.
Even Jesus, surrounded by crowds, chose to walk deeply with a few. He loved everyone, but He invested intentionally in those who would walk closely with Him. Depth, not numbers, characterised His relationships.
That has been incredibly freeing for me. I have stopped feeling guilty about my friendships not looking like they did in college. I have stopped comparing my ordinary life to someone else's highlight reel on social media. And I've stopped believing that a meaningful life requires a packed social calendar.
Instead, I have started thanking God for the friends He has already given me.
The ones who pray. The ones who ask how my soul is doing. The ones who remind me of God's promises. The ones who love me enough to tell me the truth.
Those friendships may never look impressive online. They may never fill my weekends with plans or my camera roll with photographs. But they are quietly shaping me into someone who loves Jesus more.
These days, I don't ask myself, "Do I have enough friends?"
Instead, I ask two different questions. "Who are the people helping me follow Jesus more faithfully?"
And more importantly, "Am I becoming that kind of friend for someone else?"
The greatest gift a friend can give us is not constant availability, endless affirmation, or a calendar full of plans. It is helping us keep our eyes fixed on Christ.
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So true. Reminded me of my friends who have stood by me, who I can text/ call at anytime and ask for help, praying and reassurance.