“I used to wonder why my parents didn’t have any friends!” So said a friend of ours—a busy parent of young children.

We all laughed, but she was pointing to a hard truth. For so many, including us, it’s difficult to just hold onto the friends we have—much less cultivate new ones—through the many seemingly all-consuming years of raising children.

Despite all our hyper-connected technology, Americans statistically have fewer close friends today than ever before. And the pandemic hasn’t made friendship any easier. Fast forward—and we find so many couples in retirement suffering in a kind of widespread poverty of friendship.  
 
Some dear friends of ours recently celebrated their 40^th wedding anniversary. “With 40 years under your belt, what advice do you have for us?” we asked. They pointed to the importance of prayer, daily acts of kindness toward one another, and then they said, “Cultivate your friendships!”
 
How right they are! Over the years, we’ve become aware of a friendship paradox: the less time we think we have for friends, the more we need them. So often overwhelmed—especially in our early years of parenting or career—we slipped into a mindset of “I’m too busy to make that call. I’ll do it as soon as I’m free.” And then (newsflash)…that moment never seems to come.
 
On the flipside of this paradox, we find that when we interrupt the daily busyness to reach out to a friend, the weight of whatever we’re going through seems to lift. The fatigue doesn’t necessarily disappear, but graced by a word or laugh with a friend, we are reminded that we are not alone in any of this.
 
Imagine the chasm between these two approaches—between “I’ll call as soon as my schedule opens up” versus “I’ll call now, even though today seems crazy.” One ends in a constricted loneliness. In the other, time and space open up—we get outside the cacophony of our own thoughts, ignite the power of relationship, and flourishing results.
 
So often, as rugged, individualistic, self-reliant Americans, it’s easy to think that we are hardwired to make it alone—and that friendship is an “extra.” In fact, our deepest identity in the imago Trinitatis means that we are created for interdependence, friendship, and self-giving. Glimpsed through this lens, friendship is not a choice—it’s a given. It’s what we are made for.
 
We pray that the pandemic is lifting. But if we rush back into what one writer called the “joyless empire of busyness,” then we will miss the truth of this friendship paradox. So, instead of making that mistake again, let’s take a deep breath and call a friend.
 
With this simple act, we can take one more step away from that joyless empire—and toward the joyful persons we are created to be.