Reflection
Sixteen years ago today, I lost one of my closest friends, Joe, to suicide. We grew up together—basketball buddies and fun-seekers, thick as thieves.
In the final years of his life, Joe grew curious about Jesus. He occasionally attended the recovery church service I led on Saturday nights. Joe said he enjoyed the recovery service, probably because he could relate. His dad was a severe alcoholic, and Joe also had some struggles with addiction.
One evening, while I was checking in on my team at the pharmacy, Joe, who was delivering medications for his courier business, stayed for a long, honest conversation about Jesus, grace, repentance, salvation, and prayer.
That night mattered as a couple of weeks later, he mentioned he had been praying and could tell a difference in his spirit.
The last time I spoke with Joe was when we served food to the less fortunate at our church. But not long after, he went radio silent. The enemy often attacks its former allies when they begin to reach for the light (John 10:10).
Here is me cutting down the net at U.D. Arena after Covington’s first-ever District Championship, and Joe is doing one of his patented silky-smooth moves to the hoop. We were a heck of a tandem, averaging over 40 points a game between us. One local newspaper referred to us as Abbott and Costello, while one of our opposing coaches likened me to the Fox and Joe the Squirrel, based on our style of play. See you in heaven, Hitch.
Holy Week reminds me of everything I tried to show Joe about Jesus: that grace is real, that love is relentless, and healing is possible. While Joe lost his battle on earth, Jesus’s death and resurrection gave Him eternal victory, and his soul is at peace.
God beats the devil every day of the week.
Here’s an interesting twist to this story.
In 1978, as I was heading home from Ohio Northern University for the weekend, my car broke down on I-75. Fortunately, I was near an exit with a gas station with a pay phone. I called the local tow guy—Joe’s brother—and he said he’d send someone to pick me up. That “someone” turned out to be Joe’s dad, the same man I mentioned earlier—a severe alcoholic for much of his life.
What I didn’t know at the time was that he’d been sober for a few years. He didn’t waste a minute with me as his captive audience on that hour-long ride home. He preached Jesus, Jesus, and more Jesus. He knew I was wild at heart—his son was my best friend. When we pulled into the service station in Covington, he had planted enough seeds in me to farm a few hundred acres. 🙂
God wastes nothing. Not a single ride, a single word, a single moment. “So will my word be… it will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire…” (Isaiah 55:11).
Psalm 147:3, “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.”
Thought for the Day: Never believe that God can’t use you and that your work bringing others to Jesus is a waste of time.
P.E.A.C.E.
Jay@EagleLaunch.com
