The Simpleton Who Taught Me

I have a very good friend whom I have known for most of my children's lives. They are now in their 30s. His wife and my wife, Diane, have been friends for even longer.

I must admit something that isn't particularly flattering about myself.

For many years, I viewed him as a simpleton.

That was my word. My judgment. My arrogance.

He has a warehouse job. He has a high school diploma. He isn't particularly focused on personal growth in the way I am. And, somewhere along the way, I convinced myself that those differences somehow made me more than him.

Over the years, though, something changed.

I came to know him not as a simpleton, but as a man of simple integrity.

And there is a profound difference between the two.

We have vacationed together as families. We have spent time together in a band that celebrates our faith. We have stood together through loss, including burying a woman he loved deeply and whom I had tremendous respect for.

I have grown very close to this man.

And yet, I'll be honest—I still find his simple ways irritating sometimes. I make fun of his choices. I shake my head at some of the things he says and does.

Then, a few days ago, something happened that caused me to see our friendship differently.

I was sitting in my vehicle around midday when my phone rang.

I looked at the caller ID.

It was him.

My first reaction?

I was irritated that he was calling me.

He sometimes calls me about what I consider to be the silliest things.

I took a deep breath and answered.

"Thomas, I have to tell you about something that happened today. Do you have a few minutes?"

I could hear both joy and sadness in his voice.

"Yes."

He told me that his dad had suffered a heart attack. The blockage was so severe that doctors couldn't place a stent.

His dad had decided not to undergo the necessary open-heart surgery and was preparing to go home on hospice.

My friend had talked with his dad about the decision.

He told him, essentially, Dad, you don't get to decide when you're going to die. God may keep you here for a long time, or He may take you tomorrow. But you also need to think about the burden your decision could place on Mom and everyone else who will have to care for you. Please reconsider.

His dad began to cry.

He told his son that he was afraid.

And he agreed to reconsider the surgery.

Then my friend said something that stopped me.

"Thomas, I prayed and prayed that he would decide to have the surgery."

His dad had chosen to have it.

There was something profoundly beautiful about that moment.

A son sitting with his frightened father.

A difficult conversation.

A decision about life and death.

And God at the center of it all.

But what struck me almost as much was what happened next.

I was the first person he wanted to call.

I have never considered myself to be much of an influence on this man.

Yet he ended the conversation the way he has many times before:

"I love you."

This time, those words hit me differently.

He loves me as a brother.

He believes I have influenced his life over the years.

And I realized, perhaps more clearly than ever, that he has influenced mine.

He is brash and lacks finesse—and yet his simple way of living is anything but easy.

He is goofy and believes in conspiracy theories—and yet I love him.

He can be an airhead and sometimes lacks basic social skills—and yet I genuinely enjoy his company.

He laughs at vulgar and inappropriate humor—and yet he makes me laugh…a lot.

We seemingly have very little in common.

And yet, we have so much common ground.

When I really think about it, there are two things at the center of that common ground:

Love of God.
Love of our neighbor.

Apparently, that can be enough to build a friendship that lasts for decades.

Maybe that is a God thing.

What else could bring two people who appear so different into a bond of such deep friendship?

And perhaps that is the lesson I needed to learn.

Don't become so rigid in your thinking that you fail to see God in people who are different from you.

Don't allow your human biases to cloud His vision—or His plan—for the lives of His children.

We live in a world where we can choose what we listen to, what we watch, what we believe, and even who we spend time with.

We can surround ourselves almost entirely with people who confirm what we already think is true.

But I wonder what that does to us.

Perhaps it makes us flatter.

Less curious.

Less empathetic.

Less willing to be challenged.

And ultimately, less shaped by the experiences and perspectives that make us better human beings.

My life is richer because of this friendship.

I am grateful for a friend who doesn't always think like I do, live like I do, or see the world like I do.

Because through him, God has reminded me that difference isn't always something to overcome.

Sometimes, difference is the very thing God uses to grow us.

And maybe the "simpleton" I thought I was teaching...

was actually teaching me.