TIM E HOLDER

Proverbs 14:4 says: “Where there are no oxen, the manger is empty, but from the strength of an ox come abundant harvests.” Now, I’m not calling my friends oxen, although I could stand to lose a few pounds. this scripture jumped out at me as I prepared this lesson.

Yesterday was a perfect day. A few childhood friends decided to get together to celebrate our 60th year of life. At least 45 of those years we have known where we all were and known what was going on in each other’s lives. I moved back to Arkansas in 1994 from Los Angeles and we have made it a point to be together as often as possible.

I live in Little Rock, and struggle with chronic fatigue which forces me to slow down and rest, totally against my nature. Judy lives in Conway and has been band director in Greenbrier for 30 years. She has cataracts, which means that after surgery, she will never have to wear glasses again. Sherry works for the literacy program in Searcy and also facilitates adoptions for an agency there. She survived a heart attack, but lost more than 100 pounds in the recovery process. Billy lives in Clarksville and is in the transport industry. Billy has no major maladies yet, as he doesn’t turn 60 until next week. We shall wait. We shall wait.

We ate cheeseburgers at Market Cafe in Bald Knob and recounted ancient tales of growing up in Searcy. All topics are open for discussion. Except, due to our advancing age, our one and only concrete rule is that we will never discuss bowel movements. EVER!!!

Because a few, not all, but a few of us grew up in excrutiatingly dysfunctional homes, this group of friends was our safe place. We were all in band together, so there were plenty of travel stories. One trip to Six Flags over Texas. I think we were all juniors at the time. Billy and I were in line for a roller coaster, long line, and decided, intentionally, to get into a heated, although completely fake, verbal argument. We decided to have this disagreement in a foreign language. Neither of us speak a foreign language. So, for about 15 minutes, we held this group of complete strangers spellbound as we spewed forth a red faced, verbal, nonsensical assault on each other.

Later in the day, we were in line for the Spindle Top. A big barrel of a ride where everyone walks in and stands against the circular wall. The barrel starts spinning and at some point, centrifugal force takes over, the floor drops out from under you, and you are plastered against the wall. Billy told me he rode this one before and he knew a really cool trick. Work up a big mouthful of spit. The moment the floor drops, let ‘er fly. It will shoot straight across the barrel to the people directly across from you and they will be so concerned with the floor dropping out, they will never know who did it.

So, as the door to the barrel closed, with probably 30 people in a circle against the wall, I began the job of collecting. I mean, I made sure this was going to be one epic spit ball. As the barrel began to slowly spin, so did my anticipation. The dude, straight across, probably 25 feet from me, was going to be very surprised. The floor dropped, I spit.

My face was an immediate bowl of soup. At first I was so shocked I couldn’t do anything but stare at the dude across from me and wonder how he could be completely dry. Trying to raise my arms to wipe it all off was futile because the force of the room caused me to slap my face instead of the intended windshield wiper action I originally intended. There was nothing for it, in the end, but to weather it out till the ride ended. Except for hearing the people on either side of me, yelling, “Eeeeuwwww,” I glanced to my left and saw Billy, strategically positioned, about 5 people away from me, laughing hysterically, and slapping himself in the face, trying to wipe tears from his eyes.

Growing up in a small town like Searcy, we were accustomed to being really creative with our shenanigans. I will save the stories of the time Billy and I snuck into the drive-in in someone’s car trunk for another time.

After our burgers, we decided to go to my mom’s retirement village for a few minutes. She was beside herself. Some of these friends were unseen by her for 40 some odd years. What a blessing to watch her grab them and hug them and kiss them on the cheek. It was marginally magical to watch them all get caught up and enjoy each other. I thought about heaven and all my friends and family who are already there. This was a taste of what that will be like. To sit in each others homes and get caught up on our lives and how we would make plans to spend the next few milleniums hanging with each other and Jesus.

It was Bingo time for Mom, and there was one more stop to make. There is one other friend who lives in the same retirement village as mom. Fayetta Murray. Our Jr. High English teacher. So, we traipsed up to the third floor and got completely lost. Found wings A-C, but had to walk our cheeseburgers off to find wing D. Finally, found the room.

I knocked and heard “Come in.” I opened the door and saw Miss Fayetta propped up on her bed reading. She looked up and said, “Tim Holder? In the flesh?” I said, “Okay, we are NOT going to invade you. But, I have a surprise for you.” She hopped up and I turned around and ushered in everyone. She looked at them and said, “Bill Townsend. What a sweet face. Judy Lance and Sherry Treat.” Of course Judy and Sherry have different last names now. I said, “We all got together to celebrate our 60th birthdays.” Miss Murray said, “Well, guess what. Yesterday, I turned 92.” Sherry said, “I turned 60 yesterday.”

We sat down to talk a bit. Now remember, Mrs. Murray is 92 years old. She hasn’t seen Billy or Judy or Sherry in probably 45 years. She remembered that Billy lived across from the football stadium. She then proceeded to remind Judy that her dad worked for AP&L. We sat for a good while and told stories and laughed. Then it was time to leave.

I looked across the room and saw this precious lady who I know loves the Lord. And I smiled and said, “Miss Murray, we’re here because you made a difference in our lives and so many others and we want you to know that you are important.” She smiled her humble, sweet smile and said “Thank you.” What I really wanted was for her to stand up and glide through the room, waving her arms up and down like a butterfly, exactly the way she used to do down the halls of Ahlf Junior High school in 1970. We took a selfie, held her sweet, brittle, fragile hands in ours, and left.

Realizing we forgot to get a selfie with Mom, we went to the cafeteria to find her. Apparently, bingo time in a retirement village is very serious business. When we walked in, everyone’s face was buried in a card. I think I may have seen sweat on a couple of furrowed brows, even the ones with strikingly cotton candy blue hair. Some use Checker chips as markers. But, others used glistening red jewels as their markers, the kind of glass you find in the bottoms of vases filled with plastic flowers.

We were attempting to be quiet as we looked through a very crowded room for mom. Of course, she was in the exact center of the room. I stealthily took the lead as the four of us traversed the tables and chairs to get to her.

More and more heads looked up to see what the unwelcome intrusion was. I’m reckoning I would have the same feeling of dread if I were at the White House and accidentally stumbled into the situation room during the Cuban missile crisis. The two young girls calling out the numbers they picked out of a rolling cage looked at us with an embarrassingly fake and condescending smile.

Not to be deterred, I kneeled down by mom and said “Sorry, we forgot to get a picture.” The guy at the next table yelled, “BINGO.” Mom shoved her card away. At first I thought she might be mad. And she was. Not at the intrusion. But, because she lost. The guy at the next table began calling out his numbers, “B-23, G-16,” as if he would lie just to win a pill separator or the ever popular chip clip.

Mom grabbed my hand and pulled me down close. B and Sherry and Judy all jumped in and we got the picture.

Just to be rebellious, the lady next to mom said, “Hey, let me take one for ya.” She snapped it, looked at it, puckered her lips and said, “Not bad. Except I chopped her head off.”

We left and went back to Sherry’s house. Spent a little more time processing the day. We haven’t fully figured out what was so special about our group. Was it generational? Was it being in band together? Was it a small town dynamic? Was it a combination of some or all of those things? One thing we do know for certain. It is most definitely a God thing.

We are not oxen. But, they are part of my herd. We do know that the memories we build together now and the memories we’ve spent a lifetime building will never be lost. I’m thankful for technology and I can take really good pictures with my iPhone. But, the most important, the most substantial pictures I take are heart pictures. I took plenty of those yesterday. C.S. Lewis said, “A friendship is born when one man says to another, ‘What! You too? I thought I was the only one.'”

The four of us friends, and a few others who couldn’t make it yesterday, are not alike in so many ways. But, somehow, when we were just kids, subconsciously on our parts, but certainly not God’s, we chose to look for similarities in each other instead of differences. And that has made all the difference. It brings home to me the truth that God never meant for us to live this journey alone. He is very deliberate in telling us that two are better than one.

Lewis also said, “In friendship, we think we have chosen our peers. In reality a few years’ difference in the dates of our births, a few more miles between certain houses, the choice of one university instead of another…the accident of a topic being raised or not raised at a first meeting-any of these chances might have kept us apart. But, for a Christian, there are, strictly speaking no chances. A secret master of ceremonies has been at work. Christ, who said to the disciples, “Ye have not chosen me, but I have chosen you,” can truly say to every group of Christian friends, “Ye have not chosen one another but I have chosen you for one another.” The friendship is not a reward for our discrimination and good taste in finding one another out. It is the instrument by which God reveals to each of us the beauties of others.” Think of your friends. Be deliberate. If you haven’t already, start taking heart pictures. They are eternal.

By the way, while we were at Sherry’s house after this magnificent day, I got a text from Mom, “YAY!!!! Y’all brought me luck. I bingo’d right after ya’ll left. Big ole package of bite sized pretzels.”