I am writing this from Anchorage, Alaska, where my two youngest daughters and I have come for spring break to visit a friend. I haven't seen him in nine years. But it is the kind of friendship where you pick up where you left off. And whether it has been nine years or nine days, it feels like a favorite sweater that always fits just right. And it is timeless; other styles come and go, but it stays. Classic. A keeper.

I often marvel at the unlikeliness of this friendship. He is the doctor who delivered my three children who came after Grace. Hers was a difficult birth, exacerbated by a bad experience with the obstetrician/gynecologist I had at the time who seemed not to know how or have the confidence to handle it.

Two of my church friends had babies within a few months of me and swore by their doctor. He had a bit of a cult following among the women he served, and I found out why when we met. He was tall, dark, handsome, and possessed the best bedside manner I'd ever encountered.

After being introduced to him when I visited one of the church friends and her baby in the hospital, I decided I wanted to be his patient too. I went straight from her room to his clinic in the same building at St. Edward's and asked for an appointment. The receptionist denied me, saying he wasn't accepting new patients. I left, chagrined, but then spotted him across the parking lot getting into his car. I hollered at him and ran that way, with baby Grace jiggling on my hip.

He had the right to be horrified but wasn't. He was kind and a little amused. I told him what the receptionist said and how I had a bad experience and really wanted him to be my doctor. He said to go back in and say to that receptionist how he told me personally he would take me as a new patient, so that's what I did. And that is how he ended up delivering the rest of my children. And becoming a mentor and one of my closest friends.

Two years later when I had Harper, I swear I could hear my pelvis cracking. I don't think I knew I was shrieking until my doctor said, "Gwen, stop screaming! You have to focus." It was such a relief to have someone else in charge--not to have to bear that burden when I was so vulnerable--who I could implicitly trust. He was one of those people who I believe was born to do what he did. Even his giant hands seemed designed to catch babies: strong, skillful, and safe. By the time they caught Stella I was 40, and he was ready to retire. He spent five years with Doctors Without Borders in far-flung places, and then moved to Alaska to be near his own grandbabies.

My then-husband did not appreciate our friendship even though my friend is gay, 17 years my senior, and was always supportive of my marriage and efforts to stay in it. When one of the terrible awfuls happened--there were many--he set up an iPod for me with music to power walk/run to. After another such experience he recommended a therapist. He did things like load my Kindle with Margaret Atwood's entire oeuvre. Anything to help me stay sane.

It has been such a great time visiting here and catching up. My girls have played Uno with the grandson he picks up from school, and we've watched movies every night. Every morning I've had coffee in the blue Fiesta cup I used to drink from--and cry into--when I needed this friend who never judged me, and who listened, really listened, as I sorted through the pages of my story, trying to find where I needed to go with the next chapter.

He let me see him live his life as a gay man in a culture less friendly than we are now--acknowledging we still have a long way to go--and as an obstetrician/gynecologist raised Catholic and working in a Catholic hospital, dealing with the nuances left out of the politically motivated abortion debate, as well as in parenting and navigating painful differences with family and friends he loves. He made me a better person. And let me know I am not alone.

It has been great for my girls to see Alaska. But even better than that is the example that kindred spirits can be found where you may least imagine. And friendship, love, respect, and community exists between all kinds of people in all kinds of places; it is a gift wherever you find it. To be cherished is a wonder of the world.

Gwen Ford Faulkenberry is an author, teacher and award-winning columnist from Ozark. She is a litigant in a case against LEARNS. Watch her vodcast here: https://small-town-girl.castos.com. Email her at gfaulkenberry@hotmail.com.

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