I lost a friend

Loss of a friend?

Can you call him a friend if you only see, talk, connect about every decade? Can you say you know him if you’ve seen him twice in twenty years? 

I guess it’s like high school reunions. For those special, ideal years where you walk the halls of an educational institution and you date, play team sports, study together, eat lunch next to each other, go to Friday night football (and then eat after), explore life and grow up … but then you graduate and hardly ever see each other.

I mean, did the breakfast club continue to have breakfast together when each had kids, aging parents, jobs, and … life?

Yesterday, I attended a funeral for a man I hadn’t seen in over nine years. He wasn’t really someone I hung out with. My wife actually knew his wife better than I did (High school counselor, went to school with the friend’s daughter) But then, it was me that drove 20 hours just to …. Hug (yes, I hugged) his widow, who I also call friend. I drove 1200 miles to sit and listen to another person talk about him … and I learned more about him from his granddaughter’s words.

So, who was man who was almost 20 years older than me whom I call friend?

When I was just starting out in my calling, I came on staff at a wonderful and gracious church – Windsor Park Baptist. I was youth pastor, served some as educational pastor, and even filled in the pulpit at times. I learned a lot.. I messed up probably more than I want to admit. I invested my life in the youth and others. It was such joy for about seven years.

But I didn’t do this alone. This man, this … friend … and his wife walked along side me to support, to gently correct, and to be there.

It was some great years and some tough years, but these two never gave up and always stood with me, even when many wanted to have a clean slate on staff because of another pastor’s missteps. 

A few years ago, when my father-in-aw was going through health issues, we moved back to Dallas – I was unemployed and seeking direction and this man was one of the very few that reached out and made efforts to help.

His role throughout he years in my life …

As teacher

As a deacon

As a friend

As a corrupter … (well, kind of. He had an obsession with desserts and sweets, and he gave my son his very first Tootsie Pop … I understand he sweetened up his own grandkid and great grandkids … a sugar dealer!) … I have the picture.

Maybe his obsession with tractors took me to where I am now – rural Virginia where people arriving to church on their tractors is not uncommon. Who knows, he may have even dealt with them in their purchase of an IH tractor.

Very few bring me back from Virginia.

But either one of these two …

The Journey is not questioned.

This week my spiritual brother went home to be with the Lord.

I WILL see him again. Till then Mr. Phillip, my friend.