True Friends Are Hard to Find

But, With God's Help, I Found Them (Things That Matter #20)

Something starts to shift in life when you hit your mid-20s. Your friends start having kids and slowly, without any sort of conversation or announcement, you fall out of touch. Then you start having kids, and what touch you had left with those few friends seems to completely evaporate. One day you wake up and realize that years, maybe even decades, have gone by, and people you once made road trips with, shared apartments with, laughed until sunrise with, got in trouble with at the mall over juvenile pranks, you haven’t heard from in forever. The friends you used to ditch family for in your teens or early 20s are now people you only see in Facebook posts nobody really responds to.

It’s weird. And it’s real. And it reminds you how rare good friends are. When you’re in ministry, it gets even harder. You move off to some new town, take a new role or a new church, and everything in life does a hard reset. You try to build friendships but there’s this unspoken wall between you and everyone else. Seminary professors and ministry books will even warn you not to get too close to congregants. At first, that seems cold.

But it’s often not without good reason. You don’t give in to some congregant’s whims who thought, because you were their friend, they could gain some clout and power. Then the rumors start. The gossip shows up. You confide in someone and they turn your vulnerability into their version of a public prayer request. And when you move on from that church, don’t expect Christmas cards. Most of the time, you’ll never hear from those people again.

After over two decades in ministry, I can count on one hand the people I truly became close to and still stay in touch with. Most of those fingers, in fact, are behind my back and curled. But Hawai’i has been different. Nearly six years ago, after two years of being here, I took a ministry role not knowing what was ahead. It was tough. It was hard to build trust. Hard to break into the culture. Hard to lead during Covid. Hard to stand firm when denominational leadership collapsed in on itself like a theological sinkhole. There were family feuds, district politics, outright betrayals of the gospel. And the church I stepped into was hanging on by a thread.

But a small circle of leaders rose up. Over time, as we fought side by side, we became friends. We weren’t just coworkers. We weren’t just church people who saw each other once a week and smiled while secretly bracing for impact. We were a team. And when the denomination (Church of the Nazarene) tried to intimidate, shame, and even bring legal recourse against us, we didn’t flinch. When district figures easily wooed a pitiful few to their scandalous side, we saw it for the cowardice it was. And we stood our ground. We stood for Scripture. And most importantly, we stood together. As friends.

That kind of friendship changes you. It rewires everything inside your core. That kind of loyalty recalibrates something deep within your being. For the first time in ministry, I found myself looking around and saying, “These people! They’re my friends.” Real friends. Not ministry contacts. Not polite acquaintances. Friends. Actual friends. People who argued with me, laughed with me, cried with me, and never left me. People who knew the full mess and chose to stay in the middle of it. Right in the middle of it. In the thick of it. All of it.

Lynn is one of those people. Loud, direct, passionate. She says exactly what’s on her mind and means every freakin’ syllable. She’s the kind of person who makes you stronger just by being in your corner. Fiercely loyal. Would take a bullet for you without blinking. Some people don’t know what to do with her boldness. But if you get beyond it, if you let her in, you see the depth and beauty of a friend who never walks away. She’ll ride with you into the valley, no questions asked, and probably bring snacks along to share with everybody. She is a wahine koa - a female warrior.

Johnny, her husband, has grown in quiet ways that command deep respect. I’ve watched him learn and lead and, in a way, come into his own. He’s principled. Honest. And he doesn’t have to be loud to be strong. He’s got a good sense of humor, a good heart, and the kind of presence that doesn’t need to be big to be felt. He’s generous, steady, a fellow UK grad, and someone who deeply loves his family. The kind of guy who will help you move a couch and never make you feel bad about it. In John 1:47, Jesus describes Nathanael as “one in whom there is no guile.” That’s Johnny, too. What you see is what you get.

Patti has this joy about her that’s infectious. She makes you feel good just being near her. Generous to a fault, always looking for ways to give, serve, and lighten the load of others. She asks the right questions, the hard questions, and she never flinches from truth. She’s fun, faithful, and full of conviction. She isn’t afraid to burn a bridge if it means protecting something sacred. She’s been in pursuit of God as long as I’ve known her, and she’s never once backed down from that pursuit. Patti’s what Hawaiians call pōmaika’i - a blessing. That’s what she is to everyone around her.

Her husband Pat brings the music, the creativity, the laughter. He’s always kind, always willing to join in, and I wish we had even more time to get to know each other. He’s got a laid-back warmth, a great smile, and an artistic eye. If I ever need someone to sing Journey while painting a sunset, I know who I’m calling. There’s a Hawaiian word, le’ale’a, that means joy or delight. Pat brings that energy with him everywhere he goes.

Then there’s Chris. Solid. Steady. Grounded in the gospel. The kind of guy who never seeks the spotlight but makes everyone around him better. Thoughtful, generous, faithful. A retired soldier who knows what it means to walk through the trenches and still hold your head high. He’s the guy who will stand in the line of fire with you, and then offer to clean up after. There were months when everything was breaking, and he stood by my side. Shoulder to shoulder. That’s friendship. That’s gospel. That’s Chris. In Scripture, he’d be called a “pillar” - one holding up the house, holding up the church, holding up the people. That’s exactly what he is.

Mendel has a voice like butter and a heart that beats for Jesus. He’s local to the bone and made this outsider feel like ‘ohana. We’ve butted heads a few times, and I’m thankful for it. We fought, made peace, and walked away closer every time. Watching him grow in discipline and faith has inspired me. He’s been through surgeries, healing, and spiritual transformation, and his love for his family runs deep. He is, more than anyone else I know, THE embodiment of “Aloha.” Period.

Leslie, his wife, is quiet and grounded. She has weathered some storms this past year that would’ve flattened a lot of people, but she stayed standing. She’s got a gentle strength, a soft spirit, and the kind of faith that doesn’t rattle easy. She’s a loving mother, a devoted believer, and a blessing to everyone around her. The Hebrew word khesed means “covenantal love,” something akin to loyal love - the steady, quiet kind that never lets go. That’s Leslie.

Lloyd is a man of few words but deep wisdom. When he speaks, you listen. Not out of fear, but out of reverence. He’s generous, humble, and full of integrity. He’s served his church for decades, and served his community with so much love and consistency that he was recently inducted into a national sports Hall of Fame. He’s one of those people who never asks for recognition but always deserves it. Every crew needs a Lloyd. He reminds me of the biblical “elder,” particularly the “elders at the gates.” He’s respected, wise, and worth listening to.

Kalen is the definition of “behind-the-scenes” excellence. He serves. He gives. He cares. He’s tech-savvy, loyal, funny, and deeply kind. He has cared for his grandparents for years, and he’s shown that same level of care for his church and friends. He doesn’t need spotlight. He just shows up and does what needs to be done. That’s rare. When I think of Jesus’ phrase, “Salt of the earth,” I think of Kalen.

Alyssa, the first person I baptized in Hawai’i, has served right alongside her signifant other, Kalen. She’s got a heart as wide as her board game collection, which, to be fair, might actually need its own storage unit. She’s quiet, joyful, selfless, sweet. She’s the kind of person who brings peace into the room with her. You don’t meet many like her. There’s a Hawaiian word maluhia means peace and calm, and that’s exactly the presence she brings.

Barry has that dry, sarcastic sense of humor I absolutely love. He’s quiet until he’s not, and when he speaks up, it’s usually either deeply wise or absolutely hilarious. He’s a thinker, a problem solver, and someone who never just complains; instead, he comes with a plan. I always knew that whatever he brought to me was done with care, love, and a deep desire to see the church grow and flourish. He’s thoughtful, honest, and deeply respectable. The word that comes to mind for Barry is “discernment.” The dude sees through the fog and always cuts to the truth.

Maria is curious and creative. She loves Scripture, loves theology, and asks the kind of questions that make Bible nerds like me light up. She’s thoughtful, poetic, and unwavering in her pursuit of God. She’s walked through fire in the last year and done it with poise and grace. Her faith hasn’t wavered; it’s deepened. And mine has, too, because of her. In Hawaiian, the word mana means spiritual strength or power. That’s Maria, through and through.

Rick is one-of-a-kind. He’s in the prisons, the streets, the halfway houses, and he’s opening up his own home to those who are recovering and trying to start again. He’s a connector, a builder, a bold preacher of truth. And if there’s someone on this planet that I want to be more like, it’s him. He lives his faith out loud. With grit and grace. He’s, as we used to say in high school: ‘Bout it ‘Bout it! And I absolutely love and admire this dude. He’s what Scripture calls a “doer of the Word,” plain and simple.

And Dev. Well, don’t get me started. Everything I just said about Rick, I could say about her. She’s sweet, generous, wise, strong, and totally committed to Jesus. She loves people so well and is such a blessing to this island and to everyone she touches. She’s a rare find. My admiration for her runs so so deep. She is what the Bible calls a “woman of valor” an eshet khayil.

Jerimy has been my guy for decades. He’s been with me through the hardest stuff and the weirdest transitions. From church leadership to sidewalk comedy, he’s stuck around. He’s recorded me, watched me bomb and shine, helped with my dogs and my life and my questions. He’s always got a C.S. Lewis quote for any moment. He’s a brother. And losing the routine of regular connection with him, it’s gonna be tough. Saying goodbye, hopefully temporarily, is not something I’m looking forward to. Gonna miss this guy lots! He’s what Proverbs calls “a friend who sticks closer than a brother.”

And Kristi. Of course, Kristi. My best friend. My wife. My ride or die. This island has held our hardest years and somehow also some of our most beautiful. There’s no one I’d rather walk through this life with. She has believed in dreams I didn’t even have the nerve to fully believe in myself. I mean, who lets their husband with 5 degrees, 30+ published books, and a scholarly career start doing stand-up comedy in his mid-40s and not treat him like he’s having a midlife crisis?! Kristi! Every time I look at her, I know one thing for sure: I get to leave the island with her. And for that, I’m the richest man on earth. She is my ezer - the Hebrew word for helper, partner, ally, strength beside strength. It’s the same word used of God himself. She’s definitely my ezer.

So many others have touched my life here, no doubt. But these people. These friends. They are close to my heart. They went through it with me and together. And they never once wavered. Not a single time. They are true friends. And I hope distance won’t change that.

We all got together and sang karaoke last night and, yes, someone put on “Friends Are Friends Forever.” We laughed. We cried. We meant it. And I believe that line: “Friends are friends forever, if the Lord’s the Lord of them.” We will be, because he is. And so, to my friends. I love you. I thank God for you. And if anyone outside our circle reading this isn’t a little jealous, they should be. Because true friends are rare. And it’s not at all lost on me just how fortunate I am. True friends are hard to find. But, with God’s help, I found them. And I love them.