How are you, My Friend

Dear God,

I never knew the weight a simple question could carry until recently. Three ordinary words: How are you?

Not the version we throw around while already walking away. Not the one we ask because politeness demands it. I mean the kind that stops long enough to wait for the answer. The kind that says, “I am here and I see you.”

A friend asked me how the women’s conference I had helped organise went. I smiled and replied, “You won’t believe the title……… How Are You, My Friend?”

Honestly, Lord, I almost laughed when I first heard it. It sounded too ordinary. Surely a gathering of accomplished Christian women deserved something grander. Something with words like purpose, destiny or kingdom impact. No wonder the scripture says that “He chooses the foolish things of the world to conform the wise”. Because in those simple words, Heaven hid its deepest sermons.

Now Dad, let me paint the picture for you. I have come to believe that Nigerians can overdress for absolutely anything. If there is a dress code called ‘casual’, we will interpret it as a personal challenge. I left home that morning convinced I had overdressed. Five minutes after walking into the venue, I realised I had grossly overestimated myself. Father… These women eh!

It was as though every global fashion house had quietly opened a Nigerian branch overnight. Fabrics flowed with confidence. Shoes introduced themselves before their owners did. Hair deserved diplomatic immunity. Makeup artists had clearly been operating under divine inspiration. For one brief moment, I genuinely wondered whether someone had mistakenly sent me to the Grammy Awards.

But no. These were my sisters in Christ, beautiful, elegant and carrying themselves with effortless grace. Then in the heat of the matter, the guest speaker gave an instruction. “Find a woman you do not know. Look into her eyes and sincerely ask, ‘How are you, my friend?’ Don’t rush off, don’t move on. Just hold her, ask and wait.”

Naturally, I walked over to a lady I had admired all morning. She was beautifully dressed, poised, articulate and had the gentlest face. I wrapped her in a soft bear hug and whispered into her ear, “How are you, my friend?”

The next thing I knew, she broke. Not gracefully, not politely. She simply collapsed into my arms and wept. Lord… It happened so suddenly that I froze. Then my instinct took over and I held her tighter, rested my head gently against hers and rubbed her back while she cried. Words seemed too small for the moment, so I softly hummed a song over her instead.

All around us, something extraordinary began happening.  The room erupted. Women everywhere were crying. Some held complete strangers. Others clung to old friends. Mascaras surrendered. Carefully constructed composure dissolved. The walls people spent years building came down because someone looked them in the eye and genuinely wanted to know… “How are you?”

Hmmm.

It turned out that many of us are surviving, not living. We have mastered the art of functioning while quietly falling apart. We attend meetings. We hit deadlines. We smile for photographs. We quote Scripture. We show up. But beneath the polished surface, many hearts are carrying stories too heavy to tell unless someone first creates a safe place to lay them down.

That day, I discovered something profound. I learnt that people are hurting deeply but quietly and that sometimes they rarely need perfect advice or lengthy sermons. They just need permission to be human. A small space to be vulnerable. I finally understood why Johnny Drille’s beautiful song has touched so many hearts. Its message isn’t really about friendship. It is about presence. It says, in essence:

“How are you, my friend. How do you do, my friend. I know it may feel as though no one notices your struggles, but that isn’t true. I haven’t forgotten you. I pray for you. My shoulder is here whenever you need to rest. Whatever I have, I am willing to share because your burdens matter to me.”

What a beautiful translation of love. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just quietly available.

The lady I hugged later told me something that has stayed with me ever since. She said it wasn’t even the question that broke her. It was my hug. She said the moment I wrapped my arms around her, every emotion she had been suppressing suddenly found permission to breathe. She said the warmness and the grip reminded her of her mum’s and all she wanted to do was curl up in it and cry. Imagine that. (By the way Lord, my hugs should be patented, they are the biggest, warmest, most honest bear hugs ever).

Throughout the conference, women shared stories that left me speechless. Successful women. Strong women. Elegant women. Women everyone assumed had life neatly packaged with satin ribbons. Behind the smiles were battles with difficult children, fractured marriages, impossible family dynamics, loneliness, disappointment and silent grief. One particular story shook me.

There was a woman I had quietly concluded must surely have escaped life’s harsher blows. She was married to an incredibly wealthy man. From a distance, her life appeared almost perfect. When she stood up, I sighed silently and waited for her to give testimonies of how everything was nice and dandy, but she shared that she had attempted suicide twice. Dad, twice. I sat there in stunned silence.

Because that was the moment You reminded me, Father, that appearances are terribly deceptive. The rich also cry. The poor wail. The successful struggle. The cheerful sometimes go home to unbearable silence. Everyone is carrying something.

Dad, I can relate to these women. There are times I don’t want to be strong at all. There are times I don’t want to solve any problems; I want problems to solve me. There are times I don’t want to carry anyone, I just want to be carried too. But I can’t afford not to be strong, to keep organised, to hold it all together even if I am breaking up inside.

So now, I have made a quiet promise to myself. No matter how busy life becomes… No matter how overwhelming my own responsibilities feel… I will keep hugging people and asking, “How are you, my friend?” Because we all need a hug.

And Dad, I am deeply grateful for the people you surround me with. In the office, at home, in church, in my community, everywhere I go, I have some amazing people who take one look and ask… How are you, my friend? They see me, they know me and they are always there. They will stand up to fight my cause and stand in for me. My colleague told me to please stop frowning. That he prefers my smiles because every time he sees me frown, he wants to shot someone…. I laughed hard but I was grateful for that, whether he meant it or not. Thank you.

And if you’re reading this and we haven’t spoken in a while, please don’t mistake my silence for indifference. Life has a way of keeping all of us juggling more than we planned. But know this. You are often on my mind. I pray for you more than you know. And if one day the weight becomes too much to carry alone, please reach out.

I may not have all the answers. But I can offer a listening ear. A sincere prayer. And if you’re close enough… I will give you my famous bear hugs. Because I have learnt that kindness is not measured by the size of our gestures but by the sincerity of our presence. I have learnt that sometimes healing begins long before the counselling. Long before the prayer. Long before the solution. Sometimes it begins with simply knowing someone is willing to hold your pain without rushing to fix it. And all it takes is one person who truly sees you to break the dam.

So today, before you rush into your next meeting… Before you scroll past another name in your contacts… Before you assume everyone is doing just fine… Pause. Look someone in the eyes, ask that important question and mean it…. “How are you, my friend?”

You never can tell, perhaps Heaven has chosen your voice at that moment to unlock a heart that has been silently crying for help. So, Dad, teach us to notice the people who have become experts at saying, “I’m fine.” And make us the kind of friends who stay long enough to hear the truth behind the “I’m fine”.

This is your daughter; I am checking in on you to ask…… “How are you, my dad?”