In our nation as portrayed in the news or on social media today, Dickie Phelps and I should not have been friends. He and I were so very different. I’ve never been in a motorcycle gang. I’ve never been a marine. I’ve never spent time in the brig. I don’t hang out at the bar. I don’t smoke. His vocabulary contained lots of words and phrases that I haven’t used in a very long time. He was so colorful and gregarious, and would happily share a drink with anyone, but could also come across as gruff when he wanted to.
Yet he and I were friends. More than fifteen years ago, when I was in a tough spot, he hired me to help him with his concrete work. I worked side by side with him, and since he knew that I took my faith seriously, he did his best to curtail that colorful vocabulary of his around me. We played softball together, and the glove that I have now is a gift from him (we both play left-handed). He sent his kids to our vacation bible school. And when the house that he and his family were living in burned down, he even came to the church one Sunday morning to thank the congregation for helping him. While he joked that his presence in the church was just tempting a possible lightning strike, no such calamity took place.
Dickie and I had two very different approaches to life, but we genuinely cared for each other. It was more than a mutual respect, earned through long hours of hoisting concrete blocks and pouring foundations. It was an appreciation for who each of us was, without judgement of our respective paths through life. When I shared my faith with him on many occasions, he knew that it was out of genuine love and concern, so he would put up with me even as he would jokingly rebuff me. I so wish that he hadn’t, but that didn’t change my love for him, and it didn’t seem to change how he felt about me.
So how was it that he and I could have a friendship like that? It was because he didn’t care about stereotyping people. He was willing to give anyone a chance to prove that they were worth getting to know better. That doesn’t mean that he wouldn’t reach some conclusions about folks quickly, but he was willing to start everyone off as a blank sheet, letting us provide the details that would form his determination about our character, and whether we were worth getting to know better. Ultimately, that meant that Dickie had a remarkably diverse set of friends, which may be one of the best tributes to his character.
I’ll miss my friend Dickie. He was as authentic as it gets, with no desire or need to impress anyone with some other version of himself. I and so many others are better for having known him. May God have mercy on him, and may God provide peace and comfort to his family and any who are grieving.
Blessings to you all – Pastor Aaron