My Takeaway from Losing Two Friends

We’ve all been handed a death sentence. Do the thing you have been putting off.

Photo by Julian Lozano on Unsplash

It happened again. 

A friend’s wife contacted me this week to tell me her husband had passed away the night before. 

Ken and I weren’t the kind of friends who spoke every day or even every week. In fact, the last time I saw him was 2017. But we had the type of friendship that picked up where we left off, no matter how long it had been. 

I met Ken in church more than twenty years ago. He offered to lead a small group of entrepreneurs and encouraged me to attend. We read through two or three books and discussed the contents. The contents were great, but I was more impressed by Ken. He’d been in business for himself for quite some time but still had a heart for people who were at the beginning of the journey. 

That was me. I’d left a job at a bank and had jumped into freelance writing. Early on, he helped me to think about my writing in a comprehensive way – as both a business and a ministry. Over the years, whenever I got stuck, I’d reach out and he’d invite me over. We’d spend several hours hashing out my options in his conference room. 

We easily blended the line between work and friendship though. We once talked through an issue that was important to him based on a scripture passage he had been chewing on. The more personal we got, the more he became my informal mentor as well as friend. He was knowledgeable, wise and humble. Even though he was farther down the path than me, his default setting was gentleness.

As a fellow tennis nut, we would text each other during the Majors to get each other’s take on what we saw. During the historic Isner-Mahut Wimbledon match in 2010, we texted back and forth in euphoric tennis bliss, unable to believe what we were seeing. When his son took up the game, I started going to watch him play in tournaments. Then his youngest daughter started playing, and I showed up for that too. 

One Christmas Eve, he asked me if I had any plans. After my grandparents died, I no longer had anything going on for Christmas Eve. He invited me to spend it with his family who was so accepting of me. They asked me questions about my life and really took an interest. I probably way overstayed my welcome, leaving around 11:00 or 12:00 o’clock that night, but their kindness kept me glued to my seat. 

Ken once suggested we meet in a cigar bar. When I walked in, I felt like C. S. Lewis and his Inklings in the Eagle and Child, meeting to discuss weighty matters. I’d never been in a cigar bar, so weighty matters had to be put on hold while Ken taught me how to trim and light a cigar. I probably let it burn more than I actually smoked it, but we did finally get down to the business of conversation.

Ken taught me a lot of important lessons over the years. A couple of them will always stick with me. 

First, he wasn’t big on looking for people to mentor. If he approached a guy first, he figured the guy’s passion would often fizzle rather quickly (or maybe never even ignite in the first place). He probably learned that from experience. Instead, he waited for guys to express a need. He knew they were ready at that point.

Second, he taught me to think independently. True to his nature, he had a gentle demeanor as he thought through a topic. He gave people who were on the other side of the argument credit and/or the benefit of the doubt, while also explaining why he disagreed. This was so helpful for me as a young Christian. Since then, I’ve found myself in the minority view fairly often, and I can hear Ken’s gentle approach in my ear every time.

We’ve all been handed a death sentence. Time is short. Do the thing you have been putting off. Mentor the person who has asked for help. Disciple the new Christian. Make amends. Take the road trip you’ve been talking about for years. Write the book. Start the business. Answer the call.