Okay, the stabbing was metaphorical but it was performed by an Eskimo — a Yup’ik Eskimo to be precise, and I deserved it. His name is David, but we all call him DJ. He is a friend, and he has been my ally on this desperate battlefield we call life for many seasons.
DJ is the first one I go to when the stuff hits the fan. Well, him and another ally named Rick, a wise counselor wrapped in the body of a redneck in Pedro Bay, Alaska, where pastoring a village requires MacGyvering ancient generators back to life. Rick has the skills for both, and so does DJ. They know when to let me ramble, when to tease me with a GIF, or when to stab me in the gut.
And I was ranting that day with DJ, really letting it fly, cursing myself left and right and whining in the process. DJ sipped his coffee, smiled in his gentle manner, and endured a few stanzas. When I took a break to sip my coffee he pulled out the literary dagger and struck.
“Vince,” he said. “Make sure you’re not making agreements with the enemy in the way you’re speaking about yourself.”
*Blink, blink.*
I pondered his thrust, considered a parry, but admitted the obvious. Dangit, DJ, you got me. Crap.
“Right,” I said. “Thank you.”
And then we moved on, because good friends stab us in the front, and thank God for that. I hardly ever see them in person, so a global quarantine hasn’t effected our relationship much. I can rest assured that should I need a swift kick in the backside, my guys will be right on the other end of Facebook Messenger to deliver it. But they’re not the only ones.
On the other side of the Chugach mountain range sit two other allies. These are older friends I see even less often, but they’re also right there on the other end of Messenger. We have different opinions regarding this quarantine and the government’s response to it. We spar with words from a hundred miles away and love each other.
These relationships are the essence of biblical fellowship, and they’re growing stronger in this time of isolation when people finally have time to hear each other instead of just doing stuff.
These men are dear to me because they make time for me, as I do for them.
DJ is an artist, a woodworker with a penchant for traditional methods. His most recent endeavor is handmade traditional frame kayaks, a task that is painstaking and intricate. His art is his family’s livelihood and it requires time, but he willingly set it aside to drive a dozen miles in the snow to listen to a friend vent over three-shot Americanos.
The tables will turn, and my friends will need me to speak something into their life more profound than a Captain American meme. When it does I know they’ll receive the blow with humility and contemplation, because we aren’t afraid to tell each other what we think, to stab each other in the most loving way possible.
We’ve been afforded a great opportunity. People who’ve relied on the blessing of proximity to connect are in a new boat, isolated in a sea of uncertainty, but unity need not suffer. In fact, unity of purpose and strengthening resolve may very well be the flavor of the day. Lean into it. Call up those old allies. Reconnect those lines of communication that distance, time, and the business of life severed long ago.
Most of us are home (or should be) and most people will appreciate the chance to reforge what was broken, to sharpen that iron and perhaps shove it between your ribs, because we all deserve a shank from time to time, and a friend who knows how and when to deliver it.