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Tuesday, October 25, 2011

I'd consider moving again if it meant more pulled pork sandwiches.

I can mark the seasons of my life by looking at the friends I have had. When I was in elementary school (grade school for some of you) I pretty much had one friend. He was a kind boy who always tried to do the right thing unless I could give him a compelling reason to do otherwise. Then, in junior high, I made more friends and my grade school (elementary school for some of you) friend and I grew apart. These friends weren't quite so kind and weren't as concerned with doing the right thing. Then, right around my senior year, my friend situation got really bad and I met some people who not only didn't want to do the right thing, but they wanted me for company as they spiraled out of control. Then I met a guy whose thought process seemed far more appealing to me. In the interest of self-preservation, I ditched my old friends and went back to having pretty much just one friend. He encouraged me to make better decisions and to grow, even if he was a little mean about it sometimes. Then that guy moved away and I met another guy. This guy also encouraged me to grow, but he was way nicer about it.

My point is this: Up until that last guy, I never really had the kind of friends who would help you move. Now, five years after meeting that last guy, I have lots and lots of friends and they all encourage me to grow and they're all willing to help me move. All except one...

I don't want to embarrass him, so I won't use his real name. I'll just call him Rudd Ronson. Rudd was recently in the hospital for injuries received due to old-age and when the time came for us to move, he was unable to help. He felt bad, he told us. I think he was just bummed that he wouldn't get to carry a drawer full of my underwear. Anyway, Rudd told us that, since he was being a baby and couldn't lift anything, he wanted to help in another way. He and his wife, let's call her Recky Ronson, would feed us and our entire crew on moving day, lunch and dinner.

What an amazing gift. The best pulled pork I've ever eaten, homemade Twix bars, cheesecake cupcakes with Oreo cookies buried inside, and two kinds of pasta, both of which knocked my socks off. Rudd knows what his gifts are and he makes sure he uses them whenever he can.

You may remember a while ago I mentioned a friend who mailed me a pizza. Rudd. He also stopped by my house on his way home from Chicago the other night with two Italian sausage sandwiches he picked up on the way. He hadn't seen his wife in three days, but he took the time to stop at Portillo's and buy me a sandwich.

And I'd also like to mention my friends Stew and Stashly Quaker (not their real names) who have been waiting for over a year to adopt from Ethiopia, the last few months being incredibly trying, and even in the midst of their trials, they took the time to bake cookies for everyone and load and unload truckload after truckload.

And Pyler and Patalie Chord (another pseudonym) who procured a truck for us at no charge and whose cooler is still sitting in my garage (you'll get it soon, I swear). And R.J. Ronson (son of Rudd) and Derrick Runaway and Kevin Assley (his real name) and Ken Krump and Ryan Boss and everyone else who helped and got lost in the crowd that stormed our humble little castle that day. Such amazing friends can only be gifts from God and I am thankful for each and every one of you.

Matt Miller (who didn't help and therefore doesn't get a made-up name) was "sick" on the day of the move, but since he received such a severe and shameful beating from me the other night in Modern Warfare 2, I'll forgive him.

(NOTE: Stew and Stashly are current in Ethiopia collecting their daughter, Stoe.)

Thank you,
      Matt Beers

1 comment:

  1. You're welcome. That is, of course, for actually coming to your blog and boosting your hit count...and leaving this comment.

    Derek Runaway