It was a little after one, after our daily stair climb at work, when Nathan sent the note.

At first I thought it was peculiar because he and I are friends but we don’t really chat (I’m not a big chatter”), so I just thought may be he was writing to ask a question.

Opening the chat window, though, I realized I was part of a group that he was addressing, and that the responses being made were chirps of surprise and sadness.

Scrolling up the feed, I read his first statement.

That morning, our mutual friend, Wes, had died.

—

The chat circle was made up largely of university friends, guys and gals who had been involved at Baptist Student Union on campus at UNM back when we were all undergraduates at the end of the 80’s.

The Baptist Student Union was a home away from home for many of us during class days- a home near downtown and the UNM campus which was a much closer place to hang out than driving back to the real home when several classes were separated by hours. As expected, it was Baptist kids who ended up hanging out there during the week- kids who grew up in local Baptist churches, or who were involved in Baptist youth groups in high school, and who found community in our flavor of the Christian faith.

The BSU offered students midweek midday meals, weekly Bible studies, social events, and a (mostly) quiet refuge between or after classes for studying or resting or yacking or wrestling, or whatever we college kids needed to do. Between classes and after class days, we got some pretty competitive basketball games in at the basket in one corner of the parking lot. At times, the BSU was host for a party or a study, or the meeting place for a downtown excursion or concert caravan. But it was a hub for midday mingling, most of all. And, in that mix, was where I met Wes.

Wes was always smiling, a loud talking friendly guy who, to me, always looked like he just came in off of the ranch or the farm or from the oil field, and its probably because he was very much that guy. Handy and undaunted by the technical demands of any trade, he was a guy who could do stuff, and he always looked like he was either coming from or heading out to go do that stuff. His uniform usually included cowboy boots, blue jeans, and a belt with a shiny buckle. Wes laughed easily, and had no problem volunteering his opinions on a range of topics, if only because he enjoyed talking to you, and you felt that.

Wes ended up finding his wife at the BSU in the few years he was involved there. And not surprising to me, he ended up living far north of Albuquerque and Bernalillo on an open, rocky swath of earth near Algodones, New Mexico- a plot of land away from city and suburbia where he could put his array of creative and trade skills to work.

Wes and Peggy in time had a family of three kids.

—

It’s hard for me to fathom it.

Last night, the three kids, between the ages of 9 and 13, had a father. Today, they do not.

Wes had had back surgery a week ago, and in the throes of a challenging recovery, he went to sleep last night, and despite his wife’s efforts to rouse him this morning, he did not wake up.

I, like so many others, am stunned.

So it does sometimes come like this.

Unannounced, uninvited.

Unapologetic.

—

I knew Wes okay back then, as a guy who shared some space and some conversations with him at BSU events.

Time and life inevitably took over and nudged us both in different directions in life- but I’d hear from time to time about he and Peggy through friends, especially when the kids came. I last saw him a few years ago when I ran into him at a Lowe’s. Always friendly, he talked to me like he had just seen me the day before as we caught up for a few about family, work, life. He was busy and happy. He looked good.

We were never super tight, but there was one season we were a little closer to each other than others. In a moment not so unlike this one.

One summer after we all were out of college, I was spending a fair amount of time with Wes and one of his best friends. My relationship with Tim was another friendship that was born out of a BSU connection, but that was deepened by our mutual participation as bass players in two kid’s worship bands at Calvary Chapel. I was learning, he was leading, and his wife involved us both in practices and performances. Tim was a quiet but close friend to me that summer when I spent a lot of Saturday mornings at his house. He even gave me a travel bag for my newly acquired bass back then- he had had an extra he thought little of giving to me.

How or why it happened, we’re not sure, but it did. One day late that summer, Tim and Wes were fishing in a bend of the Rio Grande, or wrestling, or chucking sticks at each other over the swift waters, and for some reason, something happened and Tim slipped and was suddenly grabbed by the river and pulled down into a deep ravine. Tim, a giant ox of a guy, somehow was swallowed by the river. And Wes, nearby, saw Tim disappear and dove into the water after him, struggling to get to him.

And Wes could neither find Tim, or ultimately save Tim.

—

Tim’s death shook the BSU circle back then- a confusing ending to a promising life, but certainly, it shook Wes much deeper. They were kindred hearts and tight friends.

Today, I have to think in the utter surprise of what’s just happened, despite the grief left behind here, Wes has found Tim again.

 

Bless you, Wes. Rest in His grace and peace. I, like many other folks here who loved you, will miss you.

Image Credit: Nathan Moses