A Friend Who Sticks Closer Than a Brother

I've had a buddy I'll call George. Now if you've ever lived or been around much, you know every community has one fellow who's about 50% helpful, 50% troublemaker, and somehow 100% lovable. George fit that description like a glove.

His reputation started long before I ever became a pastor.

When I was just a kid, my dad bought an old store that had been sitting empty for years. He was fixing it up to become our home. The downstairs would be the store, and upstairs would be a three-bedroom apartment where we'd live. It was wintertime, cold enough to make your nose hairs freeze together, and Dad and George were putting a new metal roof on the building. A fresh snow had fallen, just enough to tempt a man not to work but also leaking ceiling required the work be done. So they had been up there on that roof a while working.

About that time my mom came walking around the side of the building.

George looked over at Dad with that grin that always meant somebody else was fixing to have a bad day. Before Dad could even ask what he was up to, George had already packed a snowball and timed the drop perfectly. That snowball fell from the roof like it had GPS guidance and landed square on top of my mom's head.

Then George did something only George would think of.

He ducked back away from the edge of the roof just as Dad stepped forward to see what all the commotion was about.

My poor mother looked up, saw only Dad standing there, and immediately concluded he was the guilty party.

Now, I won't repeat exactly what came floating up toward that rooftop. Let's just say it wasn't the Beatitudes. I'm fully convinced she made things right with the Lord later on that day, because I know she's with Him today.

Fast forward several years.

George and I ended up serving together, he was a deacon while I was pastoring.

Our deacon board had started a visitation ministry. Several nights each month we'd check on shut-ins, folks battling illness, or church members who just needed someone to pray with them.

One evening it was me, George, and another deacon I'll call Larry.

We pulled into the driveway of a sweet family from our church who owned one of the biggest Saint Bernards I'd ever seen. I'd always admired those dogs. Every movie I'd seen made them look like oversized teddy bears carrying little barrels around their necks rescuing stranded hikers.

This one looked more to us like Cujo.

He wasn't mean, but he was fiercely protective of his family, and everybody knew you didn't just stroll past him like you were delivering Amazon packages.

Thankfully, the lady of the house stepped onto the porch and hollered, "I'll hold onto him while y'all go in through the side door."

Sounded like a solid plan.

She grabbed the dog's collar. We climbed out of the car and started making our way around the house. I went through the side door first. George came in behind me.

Then I heard George lock the door.

He yelled back through the door, "We're good! You can let him go!"

About that time I noticed something important.

We were one deacon short.

George had intentionally locked Larry outside.

The lady let go of the dog.

From inside the house we heard toenails clicking across the porch, the screen door rattling, the doorknob shaking, and then frantic pounding that sounded like the sheriff had shown up with a warrant.

Finally, George unlocked the door.

Larry didn't walk into that house.

He dove into it.

His eyes were about the size of cue balls, and I'm pretty sure he covered the last six feet without touching the ground.

Thankfully, the dog never bit him. He just wanted to inspect the new visitor. But for about thirty seconds Larry had already planned his funeral.

Now before you decide George was just a professional troublemaker, let me tell you something. He was a typical friend of mine.

If your truck quit on the side of the road, George would be there.

If you were moving, he'd show up before daylight with a trailer.

If your family was hurting, he'd quietly slip in the back door with a casserole, a handshake, and a prayer.

He enjoyed aggravating people, but when life got serious, so did he. That's why folks loved him. His jokes made us laugh, but his loyalty made us trust him.

The older I get, the more I realize good friends are becoming harder to find.

We live in a world full of followers, likes, and friend requests, yet many people don't have someone they could call in the middle of the night. We often know people's highlight reels but not their heartaches.

The Bible paints a much richer picture of friendship.

One of my favorite examples isn't David and Jonathan, though they're certainly a wonderful example. It's actually two widows named Naomi and Ruth.

After losing her husband and both of her sons, Naomi decided to return home to Bethlehem. She had nothing left. No security. No future she could see. In her mind, she had become a burden.

So she looked at her daughters-in-law and lovingly told them to stay behind. "Go home. Start over. Find husbands. Build a family. Don't waste your life following an old widow back to Israel."

One daughter-in-law did exactly that.

But Ruth wouldn't budge.

She wasn't staying because it was convenient. She wasn't staying because it benefited her. She stayed because she loved Naomi.

She looked her mother-in-law in the eyes and said,

"Where you go I will go, and where you lodge I will lodge. Your people shall be my people, and your God my God." (Ruth 1:16)

That wasn't just family obligation.

That was friendship.

Real friendship stays when it would be easier to leave.

Loyalty isn't proven when life is easy. It's proven when walking away would make more sense.

"A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity." (Proverbs 17:17)

Ruth also teaches us sacrifice.

Following Naomi meant leaving everything familiar behind. Her homeland. Her relatives. Her culture. She willingly traded comfort for commitment because people are always more important than convenience.

That's exactly what Paul had in mind when he wrote,

"Carry each other's burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ." (Galatians 6:2)

Real friends don't just celebrate mountaintops. They help carry the load through the valleys.

Friendship also requires honesty.

A real friend loves you enough to tell you the truth, even when it stings a little.

"Faithful are the wounds of a friend; profuse are the kisses of an enemy." (Proverbs 27:6)

George could laugh with you, but he could also look you in the eye and tell you what you needed to hear. Those kinds of friends are becoming rare.

Finally, biblical friendship produces joy.

Paul wasn't writing to relatives when he told the Philippians,

"I thank my God every time I remember you. In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy because of your partnership in the gospel." (Philippians 1:3-5)

Their friendship had been forged in serving Christ together.

I've found that some of the sweetest friendships aren't built around hunting, fishing, or even growing up together.

They're built while praying beside hospital beds.

Serving together in church or in the mission field.

Sharing meals after funerals.

Teaching children about Jesus.

Knocking on doors during visitation.

Standing shoulder to shoulder in the work of the Gospel.

Those friendships tend to last because they're held together by something stronger than common interests. They're held together by Christ.

When I think back on George locking Larry outside with that Saint Bernard headed his way, I still can't help but laugh.

But when I think about George showing up whenever someone needed him, I smile even more.

Anybody can have acquaintances.

Anybody can collect followers.

But if God gives you even one Ruth in your life... or gives someone else a chance to find one in you... you've been blessed with one of Heaven's greatest gifts this side of eternity.

The truest friends aren't the ones who simply walk beside you when the sun is shining. They're the ones who refuse to leave when the road turns muddy.

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