By Jim Nichols

It was constructed of blue metal with white trim, four wheels, colored wooden beads right at bite level, and a wooden “driving” handle. 

One of my treasured snapshots from childhood shows me sitting in that era’s version of a baby stroller—a Taylor-Tot. I was about one year old. That was a popular early life purchase for new parents apparently in those days, since sitting next to my stroller was an identical one containing David, my first friend. His mother and my mother worked in the same secretary office (a common workplace for women then) before becoming pregnant with their first children, so this was a natural friendship. Neither David nor I had met our fathers yet because they were out of the country during World War II. We continued to be friends until he died young; I have never forgotten him.

Another friend memory was from third grade. My family had moved from one city to another, so I enrolled in a new school in a new neighborhood in mid-October, well after the school year had started. I was sad to leave my old Francis Willard Elementary school, but the family thought this would be an overall positive move. Hickory Grove became my new school. Recognizing the trauma of an eight-year-old enrolling in a new school during the year, the teacher on my first day wisely assigned a current student, Bob Snodgrass, to be my friend. I had a friend “assigned” to me, as odd as that seems. It was a great idea, however, because Bob and I were a good friend match all the way through high school and beyond. Besides, how much more fun can a boy have than to have a best friend named Snodgrass. I have never forgotten him.

A third friend in my mind was neither the “first” nor “assigned,” but in a third category. When I visited the house belonging to one of my grandmothers, I found that she had a neighbor who had a visiting grandson about my age. Whenever the two of us visited our grandmothers simultaneously (which did not occur often), we played together. We knew virtually nothing about one another except that it was fun to have a friend there. I never met his family nor knew where he lived.

My family again moved to another school district. On my first day there, I went out on the playground at recess. Children who were strangers to me seemed to be at home there. As I stood there surrounded by yells and shouts of play, I heard my name being called. I looked toward the sound and, sitting on the top of the jungle-gym was Mikey, my friend from my grandmother’s neighborhood. We were reconnected friends.

It was not an accident that, when I first saw Mikey, my reconnected friend, he was sitting high above the other students. I quickly learned that Mikey had a reputation, including on the playground, as the leader. Or, maybe, even as the boss. The very first day two other boys approached me and asked with a degree of amazement, “Do you know Mikey? Are you friends with him?” Apparently, he had some level of intimidation to him, something that I had never noticed during those visits at our grandmothers’ houses. There he was just another boy who ran, jumped, played cars and ball with me. Knowing him already allowed me to break into the new school society smoothly. I had immediate street-credibility. I was a friend of Mikey, and he liked me. I never forgot Mikey, my reconnected friend.

Friends can introduce us to pieces of life. Friends can direct us through life. Friends can in numerous ways save us at points in our lives. Friends are holy gifts.

During our lives, we collect several friends, but some of them have a special place in our hearts for no logical reason. I believe God puts us together in a way we cannot understand simply because we seem to be a good “match,” whether as a first friend, an assigned friend, or a reconnected friend.

My hunch is that you can think of a few friendships like that in your life.

Jim Nichols is a retired Abilene Christian University biology professor and current hospital chaplain