I’m writing this post on August 6, 2025. It’s been several moon cycles since I felt inspired to write something for “Thoughts of Another Traveler.” Today would have been my dad’s earthly birthday, and for some reason, a flood of memories and reflections have occupied my soul.
In the midst of this emotion and memory, I felt the Spirit reminding me not only of my dad but also of some very special people who occupy a space in my mind because of him. I suppose this is because they were such a part of his life and who he was. These people aren’t famous; some have passed on, and some have been forgotten. Each of them has a story that most will never know, a story that would be considered a “tragedy” in any literary genre. Some had no immediate family members who were alive, cared for them, or spent time with them. Each one also lived with some type of disability, whether mental or physical.
But each one also shares something else in common. They were each “adopted” to an extent by a bearded, poor, stubborn preacher from Western Kentucky who placed the value of a millionaire on them. Today, as I remembered my dad, I was filled with visual images and reminders of each of these men. I want to share their stories with you as you consider the life lesson Jesus shared in Matthew 25:31-40.
Before sharing their stories, let me preface with a few brief thoughts about my dad, especially for those of you who didn’t know him well. Bro. Jim (as my dad was affectionately known for over 35 years) was born in far Western Kentucky in 1947. He was the son of a small-town barber (John) and a school cafeteria worker (Ruby). He was the neighborhood knucklehead who grew up hunting, playing ball, and going to church. He went to college and got a degree in speech, which was a huge generational accomplishment in his family. He then pursued a career in teaching and coaching, all while secretly becoming an alcoholic by the age of 22. He also did a stint in the National Guard toward the close of the Vietnam War.
By age 23, Dad had a “Damascus Road” experience with God and was called to preach. A few years later, he accepted his first vocational ministry position in Dexter, Missouri. That didn’t last long, as Bro. Jim preached hellfire and brimstone on every evil thing he knew, which led to a small-town uprising of key folks who didn’t think highly of his “toe-stepping.”
In 1976, he began his tenure as a pastor in Farmington, Missouri. During the transition between those two roles, two things occurred that would change him forever. Bro. Jim and another pastor were returning from a hospital visit when they were in a horrible automobile accident. Dad was incapacitated and assumed dead at the scene. Miraculously, he survived with serious eye and head injuries and a completely shattered pelvis. Not long after that, his dad passed away at 76 years old.
Shortly into his new role in Farmington, Dad had what would be the first of several complete mental breakdowns. I was around six years old when this occurred and I have vivid memories of men in scrubs placing my dad in restraints and taking him away in an ambulance. Dad was diagnosed with Bipolar/Manic Depressive disorder and simultaneously told that being a pastor was not in the cards for him. Despite this, God’s faithfulness endured, and Dad went on to pastor two churches (in Farmington, Missouri, and Paducah, Kentucky) for a total of 47 years. I could write a book about his life, ministry, and the struggles of living and dying with mental illness (and probably will someday). I could also write a book about my personal experiences—the joys, sorrows, and challenges of both growing up as his son and later working directly with him in ministry for many years.
But my focus for now is drawn away from that and directly to what made Bro. Jim unique and how this uniqueness continues to shape my life today. Dad had a passion for those less fortunate, for those who were addicted, for those forgotten by society, and for those who just needed a friend. He never, ever built a relationship on what would benefit him or what dollars might come if that person filled a seat in the congregation. I can’t even count how many times Dad (sometimes even to the detriment of his own wallet and our family’s needs) would give away his time or money to people whom God placed in his path who needed it most.
There are so many vivid memories that I can’t even begin to list all the people or tell all the stories. However, there are a few that stand out, and their stories have been on my mind recently. I want to share my memories of four unique people that influenced my life in a powerful way, simply because Bro. Jim lived in real life what Jesus taught in Matthew 25.
First, and probably the most unique character of them all, was Terry. I only met Terry later in my life, years after Dad had “adopted” him. I will never forget the day I met him for the first time. It was just a few weeks after I had returned to Paducah to work with Dad full-time in ministry. We were in Dad’s office—which was the brown recliner in the spare bedroom that was wall-to-wall books for those of you who never had the privilege of visiting—and the phone rang. I heard a raspy voice on the other end reminding my dad that it was “smokes and grocery day.”
Dad said, “Let’s go, it’s time you met Terry.” We drove about a mile down the road and parked in front of a trailer that looked like it should have been sent out for scrap many years prior. It had missing windows, all of the underpinning was gone, and the door to the small, rotten front deck was standing partially open. We entered the trailer, and here is how all five senses were greeted: The television was blaring the afternoon ballgame, the air reeked of stale smoke and yesterday’s supper leftovers, and in the only chair in the room sat an older man with a ball cap on, very little hair, a two-week-old scruffy beard, and maybe four total teeth in his head. I noticed that Terry appeared to be at least 60 years old, but he spoke with the vocabulary and heart of a child.
That day, we put Terry in the car and took him to Kroger. He bought what he could with his food stamps, and then Dad paid for the rest. We then stopped at the discount tobacco store on the way home, where Terry purchased a few packs of cigarettes for the week with his weekly allotment of cash from his check. After we dropped him off, I asked Dad to tell me the story (with a hint of what he knew were questions about why Dad would contribute so amicably to his smoking habit). This is where I got Terry’s story.
Terry had been mentally disabled since he was a child. His mother had died many years ago, and his whole life he had been taken care of by his dad. Dad had also been very close to Terry’s father. I asked what had happened to his dad, assuming he had passed away of old age. My dad got very quiet and emotional. As the story goes, Dad had been taking care of both Terry and his father for several years. The story was always very vague regarding any other family, but it was very clear that, at least from a weekly and practical standpoint, Bro. Jim had become a friend and relied upon caregiver. As Dad gained clarity from his emotion, he told me the rest of the story.
Just a short time before I relocated back to Paducah, Dad got a call from Terry in the middle of the day. He was so frantic and shaken on the phone that Dad could barely understand him. All that dad could gather was that something terrible had happened to Terry’s dad, and Terry needed Dad to come quickly. When Dad arrived, the police had just arrived as well. As Dad entered that same trailer I described earlier, he discovered that Terry’s dad had taken a shotgun and ended his own life in the back room. Dad asked me to imagine what it was like trying to comfort and calm a 60-year-old man who had the thought processes and emotions of a little boy.
Over the next several years, I went on several trips to visit Terry and even took him myself to get his groceries and smokes a time or two. We never met for a family meal at Mom and Dad’s house where we didn’t fix a box of food to run down to Terry, which usually involved Dad silently disappearing before our crazy conversations or family arguments were finished. Everyone would look around, and Dad would be gone, and we all would say together, “He has gone to take Terry some dinner.” Terry loved Miss Donna’s cooking, that’s for sure. Dad made sure Terry didn’t miss a meal, stayed warm in the winter, stayed cool in the summer (as best he could in that old trailer), and even helped Terry clean the room where his father died.
Terry never came to church, although our church family loved him and cared for him as an extension of Bro. Jim through the years. Dad always assured me that Terry was that little child that Jesus placed on his knee and then reminded the crowd that it takes the faith of a child to inherit the Kingdom of Heaven. Terry is in Heaven now; he arrived not long before my dad did. He was a simple soul that few invested their time or love into. My dad did. I will never forget Terry. He is on my early list of souls to seek out when I get to the other side. I figure he won’t be far from Bro. Jim when I find him.
There was also Ronnie. Ronnie had a different story. He lived alone, and his mother, who was a wonderful caregiver and person, would stay with him at night. He had a strong family support unit who loved and prayed for him. Ronnie had suffered with severe diabetes and had become an amputee. He could walk on his prosthetic leg but chose to stay in a wheelchair most of the time. He had few friends or visitors, and he had struggled with depression and addiction for many years since his amputation. Ronnie was loving and caring and would give you the shirt off his back, until the addictions of drug and alcohol use took over. Dad invited me to go with him to visit Ronnie several times over the years. I will never forget how his mood would change and his eyes would light up when Dad would enter the room. Ronnie knew he could trust my dad, and he knew that judgment was not going to be part of the conversation.
Dad’s conversations with Ronnie were genuine and heartfelt. Dad would share his own battles with mental health, depression, and struggles with addiction—and simultaneously share the forgiveness and love of Jesus. When sober, Ronnie loved to play the guitar for Bro. Jim in return. For years, dad would schedule his time every couple of weeks to take a few hours and spend the afternoon with Ronnie. Sometimes these visits could not occur as dad would find out it was a “Drinking or Drug” day and Ronnie was just not in the right frame of mind. Ronnie was continually on our family and church prayer list, and Dad would often remind us not to forget him as we prayed over meals.
Like Terry, Ronnie never came to church. He was never a tithing member or a volunteer greeter. Dad rarely, if ever, mentioned him publicly or talked about Ronnie in sermons for an emotional response from others. Most of Dad’s close friends and even our family members only knew of Ronnie as one of Dad’s buddies that he visited often. Dad just befriended him, spent time with him, and loved him like a brother. I suppose a leadership guru or church growth expert might evaluate the amount of hours that a pastor of a church of several hundred spent with one person like Ronnie and consider it a sub-par use of “Kingdom time” and priorities. But not Bro. Jim. And certainly not Ronnie. Ronnie truly loved Bro. Jim in return. Ronnie is gone on to eternity now, his story primarily forgotten by most except his beloved family members. I haven’t forgotten Ronnie and what his friendship meant to my dad. And I know that Ronnie has met up with Dad in Heaven. Instead of sitting, they probably go on long walks together showing off those healed legs and hips!
And there was Raymond. Let me pause and think about how I want to describe Ray with grace and tact. Ray was that super lovable, but outright annoying guy at church. Every church has one. Dad had met Raymond one day at Walmart (for those of you who don’t know, this was Bro. Jim’s secondary office for daily ministry duty) and invited him to church. Ray had lost an arm in an accident and only had one good arm. Ray was retired and disabled, but he did pull a trailer behind his old truck with a push mower on it. This was his side hustle for cigarettes and the occasional lottery ticket.
Ray was personable and friendly, but let me tell you, he would milk that missing arm to his benefit at every opportunity. If a visitor came to church, we would have to watch Ray closely, or he would be on them asking for help—while not so subtly waving around that Captain Hook arm. Although we had to have a few sit-downs with Ray over the years and provide some corrective teaching on his behavior—he never got mad or quit coming. In fact, for years, Ray never missed a Sunday. We provided opportunities for jobs around the church for Ray to make some extra money, we often helped him buy fuel for his mower, and we even got it repaired for him several times. After a while, we broke him of the hustle of approaching multiple church families each Sunday asking for help (usually to the tune of, “Can you spare $20 for some fuel for my truck and my mower, so I can earn some food money this week?”), which was good for the church members’ sanity and, frankly, helped with the complaints coming in on the weekly congregational communication cards.
Raymond was one of Dad’s “projects” that he sort of shifted to me over time. I always wanted to (and often did) take Ray aside and have hard discussions with him about asking for money and spending money on cigarettes and lottery tickets—especially after a church member who had given him $20 at church saw him in the Huck’s market scratching off lotto tickets and let me know about it. Dad encouraged me to keep teaching him, but also to hear his story and pour into him a little bit. I did, and it changed me. Ray had been a veteran and lost all of his family to death or abandonment. He didn’t have many friends and lived alone in a worn-out little trailer in a rough trailer park. Dad had introduced him to Christ, and now the church had become his only family. Dad and I worked hard to help Ray find that home and that family he was missing. Ray began to tell me about his faith and hope in the forgiveness of Jesus and how much having Bro. Jim and our church in his life was the only hope and joy he really had.
I will never forget the moment when God spoke to me about Ray. He granted me the discernment to see that Ray was sincere and as important to our church family as any person who was serving or giving in any capacity. Dad had also reminded me that I didn’t live in a glass house when it came to my discretionary expenses either; maybe God just wanted me to give from the heart. The next Sunday, I pulled Ray aside and said to him, “Here is $20. Every other Sunday, come find me, and I will have this for you. Don’t approach anyone else for cash, and don’t make up any more crazy stories about what you need to spend it on. I don’t care where or how you spend it, but don’t buy lottery tickets where church people shop!” He hugged me and cried. I also nicknamed him “Lefty” and made it a point to remember which hand to hold out to shake every week! I can’t tell you how many $20 bills that added up to over the years (still probably less than I spent on fishing tackle). What I do remember is how that man wept at Bro. Jim’s service when he passed a few years ago.
After the service, he approached me alone (like he always did when he needed that $20). Instead of asking for money, he shared with me his hope and assurance that he would soon see my dad in Heaven. He told me that if it wasn’t for the day my dad invited him to church at Walmart, and our patience and love for him through the years, he was certain he would have ended his life and never had a hope in Jesus or a family like he did with our church family. He then asked, “Is there something I can have to remember Bro. Jim with, something I can keep with me or wear?” Two days later, I met him at my dad’s house and gave him a storage crate with a variety of Bro. Jim’s sport coats, shirts, and even a good pair of boots that fit him. I truly believe that meant more to Ray that day than if I had given him a thousand dollars. Ray passed on a couple of years ago, after I moved to Oklahoma. I think Jeff Russell, my brother in life and ministry, took up the weekly $20 routine until he passed. Few remember him or his story. A percentage of those who do might just remember that he was the one-armed guy Bro. Jim invited to church at Walmart who had a new excuse to ask for money every Sunday. I will never forget ole Lefty. I am going to shake his new hand in Heaven one day.
And last, I want to tell you about Eddy. Bro. Jim met Eddy and his aunt through one of our church members. When Eddy and his aunt began to come to church, she was in her late seventies and Eddy was in his mid-fifties. Eddy’s aunt provided full-time care for Eddy because he was a special-needs adult. Eddy looked about 25, had the physical energy and physique of a 16-year-old, and the mind and emotions of an early teen. Eddy loved to go, loved to be around people, and was involved in every possible club or activity dedicated to special-needs people.
He found out that my passion was fishing, and after that, every Sunday he would say to me (fast, loud, with one breath, and over and over again by the way) “Hey bro, let’s do it, let’s go fishing, when we gonna go, I’m ready, let’s do it this week.” His deepest passion was the Special Olympics, and he loved his basketball team as much as life. Every Sunday, he had an update from the week’s competition to tell Bro. Jim. In fact, if Eddy got your attention just right, you could be tied up for a while, as he loved to tell stories.
At this time, our church had grown significantly. We were having two services with Sunday school between them, and Sundays were busy for both myself and Bro. Jim. I just loved Eddy, but if I have to be honest, sometimes I would take a different route to not let Eddy corner me. Dad never did that. I remember Sundays where Eddy would literally follow him around for 30 minutes before service and greet people with him—all the while telling him a story about something he had done that week. During the week, Dad would drive by where Eddy lived as Eddy liked to sit on the front porch and wave at people. If Eddy was out waving, Dad would pull in and sit on the porch with Eddy and let Eddy tell his stories about his adventures. They would also sing old hymns together because Eddy loved to sing.
One day, Dad approached me as we were planning Sunday services. He had a request. Eddy wanted to sing a solo in the worship service. Pause here. We had a full worship band. We practiced weekly and really prayed and planned our services. We already had a setlist for that week planned, and we had a solo already planned for the offertory. My focus on this decision was absolutely not heart- or Spirit-led at the time. In fact, as I look back, my thoughts were consumed with what people might think, or what if he completely messed up, or what if we had a new family this Sunday and Eddy talked for 15 minutes into the mic and we couldn’t get him off the stage? Regardless, I could tell this was important to Dad—and I could only imagine how excited Eddy was when he asked Dad. We put him down for the closing song, just before dismissal. I can’t tell you the change and impact that occurred in my life and spirit that next Sunday.
At the end of the service, we introduced Eddy, brought him to the stage, and handed him the mic. He lowered his head, paused, and as he lifted his head and the mic, he began to sing straight from the soul. With an almost Elvis Presley-like presentation, Eddy belted out every single verse of “Amazing Grace” a cappella. Sure, some of the words were a bit vague, and a few of the notes he hit were not in the original score—but our entire congregation was moved to tears as he finished and smiled the biggest, 12-year-old proud grin you have ever seen and then bowed to the crowd. He walked off the stage and bee-lined to Bro. Jim for a huge hug.
I started spending more time with Eddy. I let him follow me around at church more. I devised a plan (because he would sing the same song every single service if we would let him) to get him to agree to sing only occasionally, by reminding him that when he sang it was special, and we couldn’t do it every single service or it wouldn’t be as special! I also took him fishing. Just me, him, and Bro. Jim all afternoon at a pond together. Of course, it was just what you would expect if you took a kid fishing—tangled line, enough snacks for a week, not sitting still, singing loud, and smiling from ear to ear the whole time. Dad reminded me often that God sent Eddy to us so that we would never lose that zest for life that Eddy was full of. That zest for life would light up a room and turn just about any frown into a smile.
Eddy is still living well. My buddy says you can still drive by his house where he sits outside and waves at all the people driving by. His aunt passed away, and a cousin moved in to care for him. I haven’t seen Eddy for over five years; the last time was when my dad passed. He hugged me and said, “Bro. Jim was the best. I can’t wait to see him in Heaven soon. We gonna sing then, brother!” Eddy wasn’t famous, other than he once scored six points in a long-forgotten Special Olympics basketball game. Eddy won’t be remembered by many down the road, and his story may fade away. Thanks to my dad, Eddy will forever reside in my memory. When I think of him, I just smile and begin to sing in a super low, dramatic voice… “Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound.” I truly believe that Eddy, Bro. Jim, and myself will get together and belt that out in Heaven someday! And then maybe we will go fishing together again.
Terry, Ronnie, Raymond, and Eddy were not anomalies in my dad’s time on earth. As I write this, I can picture and name dozens of others, all with similar stories. They all represent a lifelong passion and love for the “Least of These,” which was a legacy lived by my dad. Dad didn’t leave behind a bunch of high-powered or influential friends as society would rank them. He didn’t leave behind a portfolio or generational wealth. He didn’t write books on leadership development or church growth. What he did leave behind was a life not sought or lived by many. A life with resources invested without any expected return. This life is the antithesis of everything valued in our culture today. It doesn’t lend itself to success, wealth, or influence. It is not part of any successful business plan as we focus on culling the weak and building a team of high performers for success.
I have been thinking a lot lately about what time I have left on this earth. For some reason, God chose to remind me of Terry, Ronnie, Raymond, and Eddy. He reminded me of how my dad’s choice to invest in these men (and so many others like them) influenced and changed their lives for eternity. He is also reminding me how these men have influenced and changed my life for the better. May I gain a renewed sense of urgency, willingness to accept the call, and re-prioritize the importance of Matthew 25:31-40. May I be reminded that when I care for the least of these, I am actually serving Jesus direct. Martin Luther (the famous Protestant Reformer) wrote in his letters of Spiritual Counsel, “Such evils as illness and the like are not borne by us who are Christians but by Christ himself…as Christ plainly testifies in the Gospel when He says, ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it to the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me’.”
Thanks, Bro. Jim. Your legacy continues to challenge and inspire me, even from the other side of Eternity. As for Terry, Ronnie, Raymond, and Eddy, I’m not sure anyone has ever written about their stories before now, and I never imagined I would. I thank God for the opportunity to have known them, to call them my friend, and to remember them for eternity!
“When the Son of Man comes in His glory, and all the holy angels with Him, then He will sit on the throne of His glory. All the nations will be gathered before Him, and He will separate them one from another, as a shepherd divides his sheep from the goats. And He will set the sheep on His right hand, but the goats on the left. Then the King will say to those on His right hand, ‘Come, you blessed of My Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world: for I was hungry and you gave Me food; I was thirsty and you gave Me drink; I was a stranger and you took Me in; I was naked and you clothed Me; I was sick and you visited Me; I was in prison and you came to Me.’ “Then the righteous will answer Him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see You hungry and feed You, or thirsty and give You drink? When did we see You a stranger and take You in, or naked and clothe You? Or when did we see You sick, or in prison, and come to You?’ And the King will answer and say to them, ‘Assuredly, I say to you, inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these My brethren, you did it to Me.’”
Matthew 25:31-40
Thoughts of Another Traveler... 