Introduction

From “I Will” to “I Did”

When people get married, their bridesmaids and groomsmen stand with them saying, “I will.” When people die, their pallbearers who carry them to the grave say, “I did.” What a picture of friendship. It makes for a great card, but let’s not kid ourselves: it’s rare for someone to be carried to their final resting place by the same people who stood with them at their wedding.

Korie and I were wed on a July morning several decades ago. We were flanked on either side by men and women so dear that we asked them to stand with us as we exchanged vows, entered into a covenant, and made the most important decision two humans could ever make together. These friends made up our village.

I met my best man, Bobby, in Sunday school when we were five. Moments into class, he dared me to place a tack on another kid’s seat. I took him up on it and got in big trouble. A friendship was birthed.

Next to him was Jaxon, another childhood friend who once visited me from Atlanta when I was in graduate school on the West Coast. I’m not sure if he was attracted by the weather, the ladies, or our friendship, but a few weeks later Jaxon packed up all his things, moved to California, and crashed on my sofa.

I met Howard and Dennis in college, where we enjoyed each other’s company so much we petitioned to become roommates. I remember late-night battles on the SEGA Genesis, road trips up and down the East Coast, and deep fits of laughter whenever Dennis showed us his swollen testicle the size of a potato. (After months of urging, he finally went to the doctor and thankfully nothing was seriously wrong with him.) When I moved from Atlanta to Los Angeles, Howard hopped in the car to keep me company on those long stretches of I-20 in Texas where the exits seemed to be fifty miles apart.

I met my other groomsmen in Los Angeles. We were in a small group together, where we shared intimate secrets and leaned on each other for strength. Not every interaction was somber, though; there was plenty of laughter as well. Derrick, on a dare, once took off his prosthetic leg, jumped into the pool, and beat another friend in a race.

I smile when I see pictures of our wedding party, but it’s not because of the outdated tuxedos and cummerbunds. What brings me joy are the many mountains and valleys we scaled together. But if I can be honest, the odometer on our friendship has long since stalled for all but two of my groomsmen. My relationship with one of my friends has changed so much I’m not even sure I’d want him to lower me to my final place of rest.

Neither time nor taste permits me to get into a detailed postmortem of what happened between my groomsmen and me. Suffice it to say there are various reasons for the demise of our friendships, with enough blame to go around. I screamed and cursed at Bobby one time because I thought he cheated on a few holes during a round of golf. Which was silly, because we both had picked up the game a few months before and had yet to break a hundred. It took me a few years to move past my hubris and say I was sorry. Bobby accepted. While we still talk from time to time, it hasn’t been the same.

Another of my groomsmen got married and soon began abusing his wife. I helped her get to safety before confronting my friend. To this day he refuses to speak to me. I’m sad but comforted that I did what was right.

Derrick told me he’s no longer a Christian. About a year or two later he divorced and moved to Africa.

As for three of the others, there’s not much to tell. We live far apart and have sunken more and more into our own worlds. Over time the calls and interactions became less until they all but ceased, save for direct messages on social media once every eighteen months.

Then there’s the one that most irritates me. I worked really hard to preserve my friendship with Howard. I’d call and we would have substantive conversations, after which I’d feel full as if I’d eaten just a bite too much of my favorite food. But then it hit me: we never played tennis. Not in the literal sense—rather, I was always the one calling, and Howard never returned my “serve” by calling me back. While I know I shouldn’t play these games, I decided not to call to test my theory. Howard and I went a whole year without speaking until he called me moments after I’d opened Christmas gifts with the kids. We picked up right where we left off, but some months later I realized yet again we weren’t playing tennis. Maybe I’m wrong, but I interpreted his lack of initiative as, “He’s just not that into you.”

In the years since our wedding, God has been kind and replaced those friendships with new ones, which have come at the most opportune moments. I don’t know how I would have endured five tearful years at St. Jude Children’s Hospital with my middle son if it weren’t for new friends in Memphis, none of whom were around when Korie and I exchanged nuptials. But for the most part, these new relationships have also receded like the tide. I’ve come to the conclusion that friends are like people who join you with a cup of cold water during stretches of life’s marathon. They are there for a few miles to refresh and strengthen you, then drift back into the crowd. Friends are more seasonal than permanent.

This is just one of many things I would share with my young self at the altar. The temporal nature of relationships is not a sign of failure but is instead the natural course of things. While I grieve the passing of my “I wills,” I also give thanks for the stretch of road they ran with me. Their friendship was a real gift. To be clear, this book is not about the people who will come in and out of our lives but is more focused on what Gordon MacDonald refers to as our “happy few,” the rare ones who will be there for the whole marathon.