Just had to write this and let someone see it.

John

When I lived in the big city I spent several years in our church’s singles class. It was there that I met John. John had grown up near the city. He owned a one-man lawn care business in town. He also had bought a farm over an hour’s drive away. Between these two businesses and moving back and forth between them he must have spent nearly all his time working. But he was still in church each Sunday.

John had been married before. I did not find out about this until some time after I had met him. All he ever said about it was that he had “got unmarried.” Someone else told me that the breakup had not been his idea. And that’s all I ever found out about it.

When I knew him he always had a smile on his face and a friendly greeting. He was always interesting to talk to. And he was generous with resources.

Once he offered the use of his farm outside town for a weekend church singles’ retreat. The farm covered hundreds of acres of beautiful green rolling hills. John showed great pride in his crops, his herd, his barns, and his house as he showed them to us. The house was an attractive, two-story structure with plenty of room that he had built some years back for his bride. Since it now had only one resident for only a few nights a week it was not fully furnished. But John had lots of room and plenty of mattresses for his guests to sleep on. Those of us who were more adventurous could camp out in tents in a field in back of the house. Some of us thought it rather sad that he had nobody to share that house with.

That evening John gave us all a hay ride behind his tractor. We sang hymns and visited. We also sat around a campfire, sharing camping stories and having a devotional time. The next morning John made us all breakfast at the house. We had more devotional time and also hung out and relaxed.

I sat on John’s porch swing for a while and just looked out at the countryside. I’d grown up in the country myself and needed a chance to get away from the city. I even dozed off on the swing for a while and nobody thought anything of it. Everybody had a great time that weekend. And we owed it mainly to John.

One Sunday after church John invited me to his parents’ house on the edge of town for a home-cooked meal. I was living hundreds of miles from home and couldn’t resist. His parents proved nice folks, friendly in a quiet way. On their wall hung the stuffed head of John’s first-ever deer. I got to hear the story of how he had gotten it—and how after that beginner’s luck he spent a couple of years trying to bag another one.

After lunch John took me for a drive in the country. Drives in the country were a favorite pastime of mine. It felt good to have a “native guide” for a change. He took me some way south of town to see a Civil War battlefield and the remains of a fort from the period. I was a student of history myself—I had come to the city in the first place to get a history degree—and loved it.

Then we went to see a farmer of John’s acquaintance. For weeks John had been regaling us with stories of how his bull kept getting loose and making trouble and forcing him to go after him on his four-wheeler. Now he had decided to get rid of the troublesome beast and was in the market for a new bull.

The farmer, his dog, John, and I all piled into an open-topped utility vehicle and rode out into the pastures. Unlike John, I had not had the chance to go home after church to change out of my Sunday best. So I looked extremely incongruous bumping along in that vehicle. Who knows what the farmer made of my coming out there like that.

We stopped near a knot of three bulls. The gentlemen cows glared at us with that stupidly malevolent look that bulls have. John and the farmer approached a little closer. I stayed near the vehicle, hoping I wouldn’t get mud all over my good shoes. The farmer’s dog kept close as well. He struck me as seeming rather nervous. I wondered whether perhaps he had had a bad run-in with the bulls at some point. While the two farmers stood discussing the physical attributes of the bulls and possible prices, one of the animals began to make water copiously with a sound like the pattering of an outdoor hydrant. Then another one joined in. I observed to myself that bulls were very uncouth creatures.

After the bull shopping we rode around a bit more and saw some more countryside. I learned a few things about places around that I had not known, and saw some pretty spots I had not seen. I enjoyed the afternoon a great deal, odd as the experience may have been in some ways.

Eventually I married and moved on to the young couples’ Sunday school. But I still saw John at church now and then. He gave us a nice new lamp for a wedding present. A little later he loaned us a batch of house plans he had collected over the years, so we could get ideas for some future dream house of our own. One afternoon we visited him in his residence in town. Another time we were in the general area of his farm and drove out to it. I recognized his dogs, but he was not there.

After a few years we moved away. A few years after that I experienced the same misfortune of “getting unmarried” when it was not my idea. When my ex stripped the house I lost the lamp and all of my other mementoes of the people at church back in the city. All I had left were some photos I had taken myself.

Recently I went back to the city for a visit. At the church on Sunday I found out that most of my friends in the couples’ Sunday school were still there. Sunday school felt almost like old times.

Of the singles I had spent time with (those who were still single) I only met and talked to one. He told me that everybody else pretty well had moved on. And he told me about John. It seems that John, unknown to me, sometimes had serious problems with depression. A couple of years after I had last seen him he came down with a severe illness. Things got very bad for him. So one day he gave in to despair and killed himself.

I spent years of my life fighting attacks of depression of a severity I would never have wished on anybody. There were times when life no longer seemed much worth living. But I never actually planned to end it all. It hardly bears thinking how terrible things must have felt to make somebody actually do that.

I’ve wondered whether if I had stayed I could have helped to prevent it. Probably not. John had other friends, who would surely have tried to help him in his distress. What he did was ultimately between him and God.

I don’t see any biblical basis for the teaching of some that throwing away the life God gives in and of itself puts someone forever beyond God’s mercy. So I think I’ll probably see John again eventually. But what a terrible and tragic waste! John meant so much to so many, and did so much for so many. How much more could he have done, if he had let himself have more time?

thanks for sharing your story Daphne. it is very moving.

Todd

Thanks, Daphne.

It is a sad thing when someone you care about has given up. My cousin did that also, but I still love him.

I may have taken this the wrong way so don't want to say anything other than what do you mean " I still love him"?

Nicely written.

And eventually you'll write the last missing paragraph or sentence. You may not realize yet that it's missing. I think you'll discover — however sad it is with life's unanswered questions — his contribution to the world, as unfulfilled as it might have been, was not wasted upon you, and you will find a way to resolve your frustration without leaving this sweet homage with a question mark. The anger, the frustration and sadness will remain but, as a writer of many eulogies, I think you'll feel better if it does not end in a question. I think perhaps we all deserve our eulogies to not end in a question mark, no matter how many questions we leave behind. (Maybe if you were to swap the sentiments of the last paragraph, starting with the anger and question and ending with seeing him again eventually, you'll then discover what seems to be the final missing sentence.)

Please, I do not mean this as any sort of criticism. It's just the editor in me. (I proofread billboards, too.)

It's marvelously written. I'm impressed with its simple, straightforward style. It's very effective. Eulogies are not easy to write, and you've done a terrific job. John has clearly been honored in a way he never anticipated.

In defense of bovines: I believe the bulls were uncouth only by your standards and not by any choice or lack of education on their part.

I had been thinking for a long time about writing the story of that rather odd day I spent with John. And then I learned what had happened to him. And the rest went from there.

I can't end my thoughts about John with anything other than a question. I won't be able to have the questions answered until I too am past this life. Until then, the questions will have to remain.

Nice ending. Thank you.