Our nephew Christian recently turned eight years old, so naturally his favorite Fun Aunt and Uncle took him out for fun and games for an afternoon and treated him like a celebrity. Specifically, we went to Nickelmania in West Jordan to play arcade games upon arcade games and tried to win a lot of tickets in the process.
As a result, C.J. was able to go home with some toys and candy. As a bonus, we stopped by Swig for treats on the way.
It's been nearly two months since my friend Jared very unexpectedly passed away. I haven't written anything about this till now because I've been trying to collect my thoughts and use the right words. I still don't know if I have those words. But here goes anyway.
Jared was my friend. (Is there a loftier title for someone not related to you by blood who chooses to be a part of your life? I can't think of one.) I knew him for more than two decades, and with all of life's changes—his first marriage, address and job changes, health challenges, his second marriage, then my own marriage—he remained my friend. He was interested in me and my life and kept inviting me to do things with him and our mutual friends, many of whom I wouldn't have met if not for him, through those changes.
The older I am, the more I've realized what a rare blessing it is to have friends like this. So many others become either mere acquaintances or strangers; and though you might see them on Facebook or other social media channels once in a while, they otherwise disappear completely from your life. My experience has shown me that it's not that common to count on friends to continue to show up in your life over the years.
He had his quirks. For example, there was the time we were playing ultimate Frisbee, and the disc got thrown into and lost somewhere inside a tall patch of weeds; Jared got in his car and plowed into the middle of the weeds to retrieve the Frisbee. There were also group games we'd play, only with Jared around, like "Spin the Body" (trust me, you had to be there). Or the night of playing Balderdash when every answer turned into made-up trivia about John Denver (sorry, Kirsten).
If you knew him, you knew that Jared sometimes did other odd things and could sometimes rub people the wrong way. (Nobody's perfect.) In spite of that, Jared also possessed the ability to reach out to and include other people—people who often wouldn't be included by others—in his activities, parties, and game nights. It is a trait which I admired greatly and have tried to emulate in my own life.
I don't know if he quite knew just how important video game nights playing Halo, Rock Band, or San Francisco Rush 2049 were to me during a period of my life during which I was severely depressed. Very few people in my life know just how bleak things got for me, and it didn't get better for a long time. Yet one constant was video game night every other Friday night at Jared's house, and it gave me something to do and got me out of the house when little else could.
Jared was also among those who made it out to see me perform improv, a unique accomplishment considering many friends and acquaintances have had other plans on literally every single Friday night for the past 13+ years I’ve performed in Davis County. (No, I’m not calling anyone out. Just sayin’.)
The photo below is from a murder mystery dinner Jared, mutual friends of ours, and I participated in on February 15, 2003. The theme was "Roman Ruins," which is why we're all dressed up in togas and such. I played Caesar, ergo the crown of leaves:
About a year-and-a-half ago, Jared and I had an argument online. Why and about what—that's no longer important. I felt like he was the instigator and had said some things that were uncalled for and also weren't true. After that, we didn't speak for several months.
Then out of the blue, around Christmas time last year, he contacted me to apologize. He was sincere, he frankly admitted he had made what he called an "inexcusable" mistake, and he asked for my forgiveness. How could I not say I forgave him? I felt his request was in earnest, and. freely, I told him I did forgive. Between people who had been friends as long as we'd been, I told him I owed him the to never bring up the matter again.
I'm so glad, so incredibly relieved we had that talk. Had the silence between us gone on much longer, it might've been too late to make amends in the here and now. Regret is a painful emotion. Fortunately, I will have that memorable experience to look back on at future Christmas seasons.
This experience led me to recall the sage counsel of President Howard W. Hunter, which was given at Christmas time but is applicable throughout the calendar year:
"This Christmas, mend a quarrel. Seek out a forgotten friend. Dismiss suspicion and replace it with trust. Write a letter. Give a soft answer. Encourage youth. Manifest your loyalty in word and deed. Keep a promise. Forgo a grudge. Forgive an enemy. Apologize. Try to understand. Examine your demands on others. Think first of someone else. Be kind. Be gentle. Laugh a little more. Express your gratitude. Welcome a stranger. Gladden the heart of a child. Take pleasure in the beauty and wonder of the earth. Speak your love, and then speak it again."
This is wonderful advice. I know from firsthand experience that it matters a lot. If something like this is unresolved in your life, I invite you to do what you can to make amends today, and to do it now. It may be too late tomorrow.
