A busy work day after a long Memorial Day weekend, I was grateful it was interrupted midday by a lunch appointment with Steve. I was lost in space driving over to the downtown Monroe’s on Lomas when I realized I had drove past it on Central, and then made a long detour north up 12th street. I circled back, found the restaurant, parked and entered, and he was there, in the front skinny room, sitting at a table near the window toward the back, reading his phone. I apologized for being late, and he smiled and shrugged it off and said hello, and then asked how I was doing.

Our conversation started out circled about the Constitution and about the importance of understanding the history and the thought that lay behind the push of the Federalist Papers, and waded into the congress of political and religious thought in the public sphere, and the ways different perspectives handle- or disparage- the significance God plays in the heart of a culture. In time, we pulled back to the more personal, catching up on family, on personal faith, and on work life.

Steve’s a busy guy, but for some reason, he has made time to hang with me, a lunch here, a lunch there, for several years now. Steve’s been a quiet but powerful presence in my life, though.

Part of it lies in the fact that we both have this inner pull to communicate with others through writing. Steve has published a few books, and he freely offers me thoughts about his experiences writing his books, and seeing them published. He just offers a lot of thoughts to me in that area.

Part of it also lies in our brotherhood in Christ. Steve is unapologetic about his faith, but it is a faith that is grounded in living in and from the Word. We both share a high view of the Bible. It is the center of our spiritual lives, and our faith offers us the best answers we can come up with for all of the issues in life. We share a similar view of God ad His work in this world, and His original design for people.

And part of it lies in the fact that Steve gives me his ear ad his sincere thoughts every few months, and they usually appear when I need them.

Toward the end of today’s lunch, Steve asked me again how I was doing- and if where I was at in life was a good time to try some new things. My thoughts had devolved from expressing contentedness about what I have in life to a confession that much of my life is dictated by those things that keep me safe, and that I fail to imagine options for myself, and now, sliding toward fifty, the hill I was once climbing with great expectations largely ascends behind me, and the coast before me is shrouded. I told him I feel like I am drifting again, and the admission of those words tapped my heart, and hesitant tears began to roll. “I see the hill behind me and the gray before me, and I am still not driving toward anything specific.”

“You can write. You’ve always said you want to write. A writer has to write. You have the time and the space and the solitude and the ability to write. Maybe that’s what you need to pursue now. A writer has to write.”

Steve was gracious as I stumbled through the emotion for a few moments, he offering some writing thoughts while I settled myself down. Without embarrassment for me he continued on, bringing up that he really liked Brad Paisley’s song in which he writes a letter to his younger self. “That’s a good exercise- maybe you can write a letter to your younger self, or to another young person you may know, offering some advice about life from what you’ve learned.”

In a short time, we ended our meeting and said our salutations. “A writer’s got to write. You have the ability.”

Thanks, Steve, for being regularly encouraging to me- and seeing something that I may not see in myself. Or in the moment.

In these gray spaces.

Image Credit: Heavy Clouds by Quinn Dombrowski via Flickr. Creative Commons license.