Old Friends

Ted Davidson died last weekend. I conducted his funeral service on Tuesday. Ted and Winnie Davidson were neighbours of ours when I was a kid growing up at home. Many days I would jump on my bike and peddle up to Ted and Winnie’s to play with their son Lyle on the farm. My own dad had stopped farming by the time I was old enough to have a hand in it, but I have many memories from my childhood of time spent on Ted and Winnie’s farm.

Ted was a quiet man but a great story teller. He always seemed to have time for people whether it was just to visit or to help out someone who needed a helping hand. And that included little people too! I don’t think I ever saw the man in a hurry. He loved life. He loved people. He loved his family.

Children have a unique vantage point when it comes to judging character. They have a way of slipping under our radar, especially after they’ve been around for a while. People generally don’t think of children as being in any position to further their cause one way or another and you don’t get anywhere by impressing children nor have anything to gain from them really. As a result, children often get to see the real person that others don’t get to see.

Ted Davidson was a gentle man. I always liked him; always felt safe and good around him. He had a way of making you feel special like you were somebody; somebody important, even though you were ‘just a kid’. He always seemed glad to see me and genuinely interested in me and how I was doing. You know, they talk about the measure of a man, but sometimes it isn’t easy to really get to know people because we can all put up a pretty good front. But, you can tell a lot about a man when you show up unexpectedly at meal time, tramp through his house, tear his hay mow apart to build forts and tunnels and piles to jump in, chase his cows around the pasture… and Ted was just a truly great man. He was one of the most patient men with children that I can remember from my past, and to me, that really says something. Especially when I consider my own lack of patience a lot of the time.

Then last Friday night I got a call from Lyle. He told me that his dad was not likely going to make it. He was in the hospital and heavily sedated. Lyle asked me if I could swing by and visit for a bit with his mom who was home alone. With that knot that you get in your stomach at times like that, I jumped in the car and headed up the road and landed at the door of that old familiar farm house where Winnie greeted me and welcomed me in just like old times. We talked for a while and then I said to her, “Winnie the last time I was here to visit I left a little something for Ted and you to read through. Do you remember that?”

In October of 2008, as Florence and I were preparing to go on a sabbatical leave that would take us away until last summer I had stopped by Ted and Winnie’s for a little visit and we talked a little about the Lord that day and I prayed with them. And as I was leaving I said, “I want to leave you a little something to read and the next time I get to visit with you I’d like to talk about it.” Ted accepted and I slid a simple gospel tract into his big hand that warm sunny October afternoon.

Now, sitting in their quiet kitchen on a cold icy February evening, I waited to see if she would even remember. Without a word, she slowly and with difficulty, raised herself up from the coach we were sitting on and, with the help of a cane, made her way across the old farm kitchen. Reaching up to a shelf above the stove she took down that same gospel tract and brought it back across the room and placed it in my hand. She said, Ted was waiting my return so he could give it to me.

I was kind of trying to remember myself what it was exactly that I had left with them for though I remembered leaving something, I didn’t remember which tract it was. It was a simple explanation of the gospel. It talked about how we all need to acknowledge our sin to God (Rom 3:23) and put our faith in Jesus Christ to receive forgiveness and to be saved for all eternity (Jn 3:16). It had a place on the back where you could make a decision and sign your name to it. And there it was – ‘James Lawrence Davidson’ (‘Ted’ was a nickname that everyone, including his family, used). There was a place for your address and also for your age. He had written it in – 91 ½.

I can’t tell you how good I felt the moment I flipped that tract over in my hand and sat there suddenly staring at that man’s signature on that piece of paper; that man who had been so kind to me as a young boy, that man who had been such a gentle and patient influence in my young life; such a grand friend for a little neighbour to have. But I can tell you that at that moment my spirit was giving thanks to God.

You really miss people when they die, even if you haven’t spent a lot of time with them really for many years, you just kind of like to have them around because the world just seems like such a better place with them in it. And you always wish you could just see them one more time and hear them speak and watch them tell a story.

But, need I remind you, that is exactly what heaven is for. And Ted is just one more person I will be looking forward to seeing there. How about you?