The doorbell ringing jolts me wide awake.
Shooting up in bed, I look over at the clock. It illuminates 4:02 am.
My abrupt movement wakes my husband, David, so I turn to him and whisper, “Someone is ringing our doorbell.”
We both stumble out of bed and walk the short distance from the bedroom through the living room to the front door. David looks through the peep hole and then exhales a little. “It’s Cheryl,” he says.
I’m both relieved and concerned. Cheryl is a good friend, but why is she here at 4 in the morning?
David opens the door and Cheryl quickly begins explaining, “I’m so sorry to wake y’all, but Meghan’s having an asthma attack, and I need to take her to the ER. Can Cole stay with you?”
“Oh, of course,” I reply, remembering that Cheryl’s husband is out-of-town. After telling Cheryl that we’re praying for Meghan, we usher her five-year-old son, Cole, into the house. I direct him to my own sons’ bedroom while David lays out a sleeping bag and pillow. Cole crawls inside the sleeping bag and quickly falls asleep.
At that time, Cheryl’s family and my family were neighbors in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Because Cheryl had no other family in town, we were part of her stand-in family. And I was happy to be that for her not just because I adore Cheryl. But as one who’s not lived near family for the entirety of my adult life, she was part of my own stand-in family then.
That’s quite the contrast from how I grew up too: neck-deep in family on O’Neill Lane in Osage County, Oklahoma. O’Neill was not only my last name but the last name of everyone who lived on that lane.
Later, I fell in love with and married a fella bound for the USAF. Thus began a couple of decades of moving all over the place where no place held any relatives–except for a brief period when a couple of cousins lived in Ohio while we were there.
Looking back, I see all the ways God chose this life I’ve lived, and I haven’t regretted it one iota. Then and now, I feel in my bones how I’ve always been where I’m supposed to be. But without the advantage of close-by family, you quickly learn that your circle of family must widen to include those who don’t share blood with you.
Your definition of family must expand to include what I call framily.
And whether you lived smack dab in the middle of your own family or an ocean away from them, I bet you have some framily of your own–friends you help through middle-of-the-night emergencies as well as with broad daylight necessities. Friends who help you by filling in your gaps where needed.
Friends you love like sisters through thick and thin.
I’ll also admit, though, that I haven’t always had framily. I haven’t always known where to conjure up those relationships.
What do we do to find our framily when we don’t know where to start? Here’s a few ideas from my own playbook:
- Consider where you can go that puts you in proximity to other people.
- Notice one or two people you believe have great friend potential.
- Pay attention to something you like about that person–her cute haircut, her kind way of engaging, the way she handled that parenting situation.
- Go right up to her and tell her what you noticed.
Kind words are a relational superpower. What you say will be received favorably because no matter how little you know someone, it’s refreshing to meet a person who takes the time to build you up in some way. No, your gesture may not see that encounter through to a family-like friendship. But every framily-like friendship has to start somewhere.
In a world when affection is often hoarded in favor of destructive criticism, here’s to using our words and actions in ways that bless people.
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Not all family is flesh and blood.
Friends are Family we Choose, by Kristen Strong, aims to bless the people in your life who feel like family with a collection of sweet sentiments and affirmations. Perfect for sharing with those who have loved and supported you through the years, this book celebrates the gift of friendship and the blessing of forming unbreakable bonds.
Learn more about Friends are Family We Choose here.
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