DOWN HOME: It’s not too late to say some things

Posted: 7/20/07

DOWN HOME:
It’s not too late to say some things

Do you ever feel so overwhelmed with relief and gratitude to God you just about don’t know what to do with yourself? If the highest mountain were nearby, you’d climb it, just to shout to God how thankful you are. I feel that way this evening.

Two weeks ago, my buddy Glen thought he had the flu. A week ago, Glen wasn’t in good enough shape to think about anything, but his family and friends feared he was about to die. His liver was failing. The doctors didn’t know why, but they considered just about every horrible thing you can imagine. Tonight, he’s still a pretty sick guy, but his liver is functioning and he told his wife, Nancy, he just wants to go home.

And tonight, the world looks misty and sparkly for all of us who love him. Tears do that.

Glen was a BMOC—Big Man on Campus—when I was a mere freshman at Hardin-Simmons University “back in the day.” He was president of the Baptist Student Union. I remember he had long hair (but we all did then), rosy cheeks and a warm, affable way of talking that made even freshmen feel like they mattered to him. Everybody knew Glen.

Thank God, I really got to know Glen about nine years ago, when he became pastor of a church not far from my office. We planned lunch because we thought we should, so we could talk about mutual friends and professors. But before we finished chips and salsa, we started talking about the stuff of our lives—our wives and children, our jobs, our aspirations and frustrations, our faith and struggles for faith, our dogs, our city and Baptists—all that really matters. By the time we argued over the check, we were deep friends.

Years later, I can’t tell you how many times Glen and I have met for lunch. We get together in other places, too, but our lunch conversations have enriched my life. We always laugh. Sometimes, because we’re funny; sometimes, to keep from crying. But we laugh. And talk. The wisdom of Glen’s perspective keeps me sane. His humor keeps me joyous. And his love for God and for people keeps me passionate, too.

As Glen lay in the hospital, I thought about him almost constantly, and I realized what I admire most about him and why I love him so much: He’s honest, transparent and vulnerable.

I remembered our friend George’s description, that Glen “preaches his guts out” because that’s who he is. He’s candid and honest and feels things intensely. Sometimes, he looks directly at hard things, but he makes others look at them, too, and we’re better for it. Selfishly, I mourned for how my life would be diminished if Glen weren’t around to make me look.

One of the things I regretted last week was that I might not get to tell him how much I love him and admire him—his courage, his transparency and vulnerability, his goofy humor, his loving passion. When he gets better, we’ll go back to that restaurant. And I’ll tell him.