I think of multiple things when I see the phrase “silver and gold.” I think of my nearing-forty hair color. I think of my collection of dangly earrings. And I think of friends. You know, thanks to the old sing-songy phrase: “make new friends but keep the old” which I believe came from the Joseph Parry poem:
Make new friends, but keep the old;
Those are silver, these are gold.
New-made friendships, like new wine,
Age will mellow and refine.
Friendships that have stood the test –
Time and change – are surely best;
Brow may wrinkle, hair grow gray,
Friendship never knows decay.
For ‘mid old friends, tried and true,
Once more we our youth renew.
But old friends, alas! may die,
New friends must their place supply.
Cherish friendship in your breast-
New is good, but old is best;
Make new friends, but keep the old;
Those are silver, these are gold.
I am not yet four decades old, but I have been through a variety of seasons with a variety of different friends. Haven’t we all? And what a gift they each are. Each friendship has had its own sweet purpose and presence over the course of my life.
Interestingly, I have lived in the same little country town since I was 14 years old, with just a few years’ stint in the city suburbs thirty-five minutes away. Specifically, I have lived in this home for nearly a decade with my husband. Yet it is only this year where it seems we have finally begun to put down local roots. For years, the only thing we did out here in the country was eat and sleep and school. My husband’s job was an hour away, church was an hour away, co op was 45 minutes away, most of our friends were 45+ minutes away… I distinctly remember Steven calculating out the ridiculous number of hours per week he spent in the car (generally 14!) not long ago, and gently pondering the idea of moving into the city.
It is hard to feel incessantly disconnected.
It is hard to feel like opening my home in hospitality brings more burden than blessing. How many times have I heard, “Oh we’d love to come! Wait: you live WHERE?”
This is the year where God is showing us where we are planted. I can’t help but think of the cheesy old Mary Engelbreit print with the sweet little lady watering her flowers under the sunshine with birds nearby, and the banner “Bloom where you are planted” front & center. Pithy and impractical in my story for decades. Until now.
Just a few months ago, my husband began working from home. Just this spring, we have begun attending church only five minutes down the country road — and that doesn’t simply mean warming pews on Sunday mornings beside these folks, but actually getting to know our neighbors and pursuing relationship with people in our own little town. Just this month, we found out that we will be doing a new homeschool co op with people who live within 10-20 minutes from us.
Our roots are beginning to go down right here where we live. And while this may seem completely ordinary to many people, it is completely life-changing to me. Except for living a 1/2-mile walk through the woods from my parents’ home, we have not dug down into our own community and made connections nearby. This is changing.
I recently read “The Turquoise Table” by Kristin Schell as a follow-up to Rosaria Butterfield’s book, “The Gospel Comes with a House Key.” Both books are definitely more easily applicable to an urban or suburban living scenario than a farm-country locale like mine. But the heart and purpose behind both books is still important to me, and I am eager to find ways to apply the principles faithfully, even if my methods will necessarily manifest differently.
So as we make new (local!) friends but seek to keep up somehow still with others who are further away and no longer as regularly in our habitual life, I pray for ways to mingle the silver and gold together. I know it won’t be seamless, nor ideal, nor easy. But it is my hope. For the sake of my children, even if not for myself. I have specifically exhorted my children to tell me when they miss a friend, and I have promised to do my utmost to set up phone calls or play dates when they do. In the meantime, we are embracing the Marco Polo app and the good old USPS… and seeking to graciously, gracefully pursue new friendships with those on our road, in our farm town, down the pew, and joining our new co op. It is good to begin knowing so many more images of our God.