Friendship, like any meaningful relationship, isn’t always easy to maintain. Over time, misunderstandings creep in, wounds form, and distance grows where there was once closeness. Sometimes it happens slowly, like a leak in a boat that you don’t notice until you’re ankle-deep in water. Other times it’s sudden — a harsh word, a broken trust, a moment when the foundation of a friendship cracks beneath the weight of unmet expectations.
My wife and I have experienced both kinds of breakdown. We had a close friendship with another couple that at one point felt like family. Our kids were connected too — spending time together, forming their own bonds, almost like extended family. But then something happened. They heard a side of a story — not the whole story — and instead of coming to us directly, they distanced themselves. What hurt most wasn’t just the separation; it was the silence and the gossip that followed. They never addressed it with us directly until, finally, they decided to break the friendship “officially.”
And maybe that’s where it was doomed all along — if you’re willing to end a friendship without ever sitting down and having a conversation about it, was it really built on the kind of foundation that could last? Since then, their true colors have come out, making it pretty clear that the door to restoration isn’t likely to open again. But it’s made me reflect on how fragile restoration can be — and how it takes two sides to make it work.
But it’s not just personal friendships that break this way. Sometimes it happens in ministry too.
A while back, I was in a ministry leadership position, and it became clear that one of the leaders didn’t want me there. It wasn’t sudden — it unfolded over time, with quiet undermining, subtle shifts in tone, and eventually, a clear effort to push me out. They found a way to make it official, to “fire” me in a way that they could justify.
But here’s where the story shifts — because even though the leader wanted me gone, my teammates didn’t. Over months, they stood up for me. They fought for restoration in ways that I didn’t even fully understand at the time. They reminded me that the bonds we had built weren’t so easily broken — and that true restoration wasn’t just about fixing what had been broken, but about standing together in the hard moments.
Now, one of those friends — one of those comrades who stood up for me — has set up a lunch. It’s not just with them — the leader who pushed me out will be there too. It’s going to be awkward, and honestly, it’s hard to know what to expect. But I know it’s necessary. Restoration can’t happen without both sides showing up, and this lunch is a step — maybe the first step — toward finding out if both sides are really willing to engage.
The Fragility of One-Sided Effort
It’s tempting to believe that restoration can happen if just one person works hard enough. If I apologize enough, if I give enough, if I prove I’m trustworthy — maybe things will go back to the way they were. But real friendship, especially when it’s been damaged, needs reciprocity. One person can’t build a bridge when the other isn’t holding the other end of the rope.
In our situation with that other couple, I think we tried. We reached out, tried to clear the air, but you can’t force someone to meet you halfway. We could only reach so far before it became clear they weren’t reaching back. That’s the painful truth about restoration: it only happens when both people are willing to try.
In ministry, though, the restoration process has been different. The leader who wanted me gone wasn’t interested in restoration — but my teammates were. Their willingness to fight for me created the space where rebuilding could begin. And maybe that’s why I’m still willing to take this step today — because even though not everyone reached back, some did. And that’s enough to make restoration worth trying.
Shared Purpose: The Glue That Holds It Together
Friendship is not just about shared history; it’s about shared purpose. The strongest friendships I’ve had weren’t just about having fun or making memories — they were about building something together. Sometimes that “something” was a common cause, a ministry, or a shared passion. Other times it was simply the understanding that we had each other’s backs no matter what.
When friendships break, part of what’s lost is that shared sense of purpose. With this particular couple, it wasn’t just that we lost the connection — we lost the sense of unity we had built together. It wasn’t just our friendship that ended — it affected our kids too. The shared space we had created as families, the moments of laughter and trust, evaporated.
In ministry, the shared purpose was even deeper. We were working toward the same spiritual goals, creating something meaningful together — and when that fell apart, it left a different kind of wound. But even when the leader rejected me, the teammates who stood by me reminded me that the shared purpose was still there. Restoration began because there were still people standing with me, even when the leader wouldn’t.
The Cost of Restoration
Restoring a friendship is costly. It requires humility — the willingness to say, I was wrong or I misunderstood you or I should have been more present. It also requires courage — the willingness to trust again, to believe that the other person is committed to rebuilding with you. And it requires patience — because restoration doesn’t happen overnight. Trust is built in layers, and sometimes the scars remain even after the healing process begins.
With the couple, the cost was too high — not because we weren’t willing to pay it, but because they weren’t. And that’s the reality of some broken friendships: you can’t carry the whole weight of restoration alone. It’s easier to walk away. It’s easier to say, Well, I tried and let the silence take over.
In ministry, the cost has been different. The initial wound cut deep, but the restoration that’s happening now — with teammates standing up and choosing to reach back — is showing that the cost might be worth paying. This lunch today isn’t just about reconnecting; it’s about testing whether the bridge can still hold weight.
A Two-Way Road
If I’ve learned anything about restoration, it’s that I can’t do it alone. I can take the first step. I can open the door. I can sit down and say, Let’s talk. But if the other person isn’t willing to sit down too, it’s not a restoration — it’s a monologue.
And that’s what it came down to for us with that couple. We opened the door. We invited the conversation. But they didn’t step through. They made their choice, and maybe that’s what hurts the most — knowing that the friendship wasn’t as mutual as it once seemed.
But in ministry, it’s different. My teammates took the step toward me. They showed me that even when the leader didn’t want me there, they did. And that’s why today matters — because sometimes restoration isn’t about fixing the original fracture; it’s about discovering that the foundation underneath is stronger than you realized.
When both sides do show up — when both sides are humble enough to apologize, courageous enough to trust again, and determined enough to rebuild — that’s when the real magic happens. That’s when you not only restore what was lost, but you find that the foundation underneath has become even stronger.
So if you’re holding onto a broken friendship, take a step toward restoration. Apologize if you need to. Forgive if you can. Make room for grace. But also be honest with yourself: restoration requires two hands reaching toward each other. It requires two hearts willing to put in the work.
If you’ve been trying to rebuild alone, maybe it’s time to release it. But if you see a hand reaching back toward you — don’t be afraid to grab hold. True restoration isn’t easy, but it’s always worth it.
