An Unlikely Friendship

I was in the front yard of the Salvation Army in Lewisville talking to Steve Thomas when my phone buzzed. We were excitedly making preparations to construct a Prayer Garden on Main Street and I had no intention of interrupting our discussion. I glanced at the screen to see who I would need to call back.

The name on the screen made me stop cold.

Polly Champion had been in declining health for weeks. In the first week of June, I was at her house when she had to go to the Emergency Room. Instead of the minor diagnosis that she had hoped for, she learned that her cancer had returned with a vengeance. The ensuing surgery left her in agonizing pain. The family had hoped for the best but had to call in hospice last week to manage her pain. As part of that treatment, they discontinued her daily dialysis. Her body was winding down.

If Polly’s daughter, LaSonya, was calling me, there was only one reason. I asked Steve’s forgiveness and stepped away to answer her call. She gave me the news that I dreaded was coming. Polly had passed away earlier that morning.

I muddled through the rest of my conversation with Steve, but the excitement was gone. I told myself that I knew it was coming. Polly was eighty years old and in poor health. I tried not to think about it, pushing down any other thoughts that surfaced and trying to stay distracted.

The next afternoon Polly’s other daughter, Lisa, called me. Her call showed up as “unidentified” so I let it go to voice mail while I continued my call on the other line. A couple of hours later I saw the notification and played back the message. Her recorded voice told me that she had called to make sure Kim and I had heard the news, “because you guys knew how mom loved you and she would really get onto us if we didn’t call you. You guys stay blessed and we love you because you are family.”

The torrent of emotions couldn’t be suppressed this time. It is an amazing honor to be called family by the Champions and I began to mourn Polly’s passing.

I don’t mourn for Polly. She would have never allowed that. She had been anxious to be called home to Jesus and receive her reward. I mourn for me because I miss her.

I met Polly in November, 2016. She lived alone in a small home that was built in the 1960s. It needed a series of basic repairs that I worked with the First Fruits team for two weekends to complete.

Following the same pattern as countless other workdays, I met with Polly before the workdays to ensure that I understood the tasks and her expectations. Afterward, I followed up with her to make sure things had been done properly and address any little things she still needed help with.

Little by little and visit by visit, our relationship moved past the chores and became an unlikely friendship.

I use the word unlikely because Polly and I don’t seem to have much in common, at least the way most people view life. I am still married, thirty years younger, and very active. She is retired, a lifetime local, and the matriarch of a sprawling, four-generational family. Our homes are eight miles away, but our communities seem worlds apart. Flower Mound is an upscale town full of new construction, while Old Town Lewisville is more down-home and diverse.

We have each grown where God planted us and frequently laughed at our differences. Friendships aren’t built on differences though. They grow out of common bonds.

Polly’s previous cancer attacks had exaggerated the unavoidable effect of time on her body. On each visit, we would take time to pray together, thanking God for his blessings and asking him to have sympathy for our suffering. Usually, I would lead the prayer. Polly is much livelier than me when we pray. She cries out to Jesus right in the middle of somebody’s sentence! Folks don’t do that where I come from, but she was always genuine and I think Jesus liked it. We enjoyed sharing time with our Lord together.

Sometimes she would call me while I was at the office. I always tried to answer. She would tell me if she was feeling sick and ask for my help because I was one of her prayer warriors. I had never seen myself that way, but she did. Polly looked past my present to see my potential the same way God does, and I loved her for that.

Polly was poor as most people viewed it. What I saw was a lady who had what she needed, provided by God at just the right time. She never seemed to have money in the bank but her bills seemed to get paid. Her refrigerator didn’t have a lot in it but she was never hungry. When her home required larger repairs, a local charity, Hearts for Homes, stepped in. God’s faithfulness was on display in her life.

For a long time, Polly thought that I worked for Hearts for Homes. She would call me to come over for all kinds of reasons, both big and little. Maybe it would be to fix a remote control that didn’t work. Other times she would tell me that she really hoped for new furniture for her living room. Whatever she asked for, I did my best to honor her request. I bet two years passed before she figured out that I just did those things because I liked her.

For the first time, I offered a “blank check” to someone who wasn’t my family by blood or in-law. Since Polly was clearly under the protection of the same God who provided all my blessings, it seemed proper to use what I had to meet any of her needs. She could ask me for anything and if it was within my power, she could have it immediately. She frequently exercised that right but never abused the privilege.

One time she called me to see if I had a new bulb for her bedroom TV because her screen wouldn’t light up anymore. Polly was prone to blinding headaches that could leave her confined to bed. On those days, her TV and old episodes of The Rifleman were her companions, so I considered it an important request.

I said, “Yes ma’am, I do have a light bulb for your TV and I’ll bring it over.” After hanging up, I asked Kim to buy a second-hand TV. When I carried it in, Polly asked why I had a whole TV when all she needed was a bulb. I told her “That’s how they sell TV bulbs now.”

After that, she used to say that if she ever needed something done right now, she could count on me.

Occasionally, I stopped by her house just because I needed to talk. Polly had wisdom and a manner about her that was refreshing. Although an army of family, friends, and neighbors seemed to wade through her living room, I never felt like an intruder. We would typically chat for an hour or two, but she would share as much time with me as I needed. I knew I could count on her.

Some of my best friends seem like unlikely ones. Our lives may not match, but they are complementary. We help each other to see the full palette of colors that our Father paints with. Some friends can understand exactly what I’m going through, while others help me to see life in a new way.

Polly always seemed to send me home with a new perspective.

It seems like I’ve lost a lot of people lately. Each of them was dear to my heart. Dealing with their loss has been like the pains of a phantom limb. In my mind they are still a part of me, but when I reach for them they are gone.

The wounds don’t heal quickly and a raw nerve gets bumped every so often. Part of me wants to hold onto my pain because it is all I have left of them. Another part of me wants to wrap thick bandages around every hurt place so I don’t feel anything. All of me hopes that my heart stays soft toward others even though suffering is inevitable.

May God provide comfort when the people I love seem too far away. May he listen to my news when the people I would normally run to can no longer hear my voice. May his presence be tangible on days when I need a friend.

Congratulations, Polly. You raised your family well. You were a vibrant part of your church and community. Your love ran deep and wide. You walked with your Lord through all of your days. All of these things are now yours for eternity, less all the sorrow and pain. You can finally stand face to face with the Savior whose Spirit has guided your life.

Until we meet again, I will do my best to preserve the unlikely friendships in my life, embracing our differences as part of God’s complete plan. At the end of my days when God calls me home, I will search the faces of all those who gather to greet me. I know that you will be there with your giant smile and an embrace that will let me know I am home at last.