A Tribute and A Short Trip Down Memory Lane

I'm going to be honest, I have now written the introduction to this post 11 times, and I still don't feel like I can do it justice. The reason is because today's post is about a man for whom I have a ton of respect.  He has been my friend for the past ten years, and has helped me get through a lot of really tough things.  I love him like a brother and I'd go to battle with him or for him, any day of the week, for any reason.  This man is my best friend,and his name is Jim Stallings.

Our story as friends began on a bus going from Fort Collins, Colorado to Estes Park, Colorado. It was the CSU, Campus Crusade for Christ, All-Staff Conference, and we were missionary kids. Somewhere about half an hour outside of Rocky Mountain National Park, I made the mistake of mentioning how great I believed Tiger Woods was as a golfer.  I was even bold enough to predict that he would eventually become, and probably was, the best golfer to ever play the game.  As soon as the statement was made, I heard a casual, southern voice, from a few rows back, say, "What about Bobby Jones?"  Well, to be really honest, I had no friggin' idea who Bobby Jones was, but I knew enough about Tiger Woods to defend my position. I found out quickly that this blonde-haired, five-foot-nothing, 13 year old boy took his golf history very seriously.  We went back and forth until the bus arrived at its destination, and then outside of Jim being in my small group that week, I don't remember us hanging out at all, or discussing which ministries our parents worked for.

Fast forward to February, 2002.

My family had just moved into our new home in Maumelle, AR.  The trip down had been awful, and I didn't understand how it could be 55 degrees and sunny without snow in February.  I was busy unpacking boxes when the doorbell rang.  Since my room was the closest to the front door, I answered it.  Standing on our porch -yes, we have a very redneck porch - was a incredibly short, blond woman holding an odd-looking cake and seemed very flustered.  I had never seen her before; however, I found out very quickly that everyone at the ministry knew who I was.  Her name, to me, was and always will be, Mrs. Stallings, and the first words she spoke to me with her high pitched southern  drawl were, "Oh hi dear, you must be Matt.  When we heard ya'll had moved in, I just had to bake ya'll a cake.  Jim is in the car, but he ripped his finger-nail off, so he isn't coming out."  I stood speechless because I had never heard someone with such a thick southern accent, she was 4 foot 11 (in heels), and I had no earthly idea who Jim was.  I had a pretty good clue who he was since he looks so much like his mom, but in the moment, I just couldn't remember.  My mom eventually saved me, and we set a date to see them again.

I guess it was a few weeks later that my mom and I went over to Jim's house for the first time.  Jim and I had basically nothing in common, and it showed.  We went outside and I pretended to be interested in his golf stories and love for college football; two things he indoctrinated into my life.  I remember we tried to have a sword fight with sticks, but I was way more athletic, and quite a bit bigger than he was, so, I tried to hold back.  I'm not going to lie, I probably wouldn't have hung out with Jim for much longer if I had any other friends, but I was lonely and he was a good kid.

Our friendship continued because of Fellowship Bible Church and the fact that our parents were in the same community group together.  So, every Sunday night, I went over to the Stalling's house and hung out with Jim.  We took turns kicking each other's butts at Nintendo hockey and college football on the gamecube (ironically, I was the one who lost at hockey...every game).  The more I went over to his place, the more I realized that I didn't like hanging out with Jim because we had a lot in common.  I liked hanging out with Jim because he is as hyper-competitive as I am; thus, our friendship was born.

Jim and I compete in everything.  I think his wife hates it, but we have a great time.  Oddly enough though, the closest and most heart-breaking losses (okafor from half-court, and blowing it with Spain in the Fifa 11' World cup), are the moments that make our friendship stronger.  I can't remember ever getting into an argument with Jim where I was angry at him, and I don't think he's been seriously upset with me.  Jim has always been there for me.  When I was at my lowest point a couple years ago, Jim watched out for me. He'd call me and tell me to drive across town to play pool with him because he knew I just needed some friendly competition to blow off some steam.  He'd listen to me vent until I was only focused on the game and our inside jokes (all 30,000 of them).  He knows I'd do the same for him.

I've never known someone who has had to deal with as much crap as Jim, and I've never known anyone who has taken that much with the level of class that he has.  I have more respect for this guy than anyone else, and it has been well earned.  I wish I still lived in Little Rock so we could hang out more, but I guess we're all grown up now.  Man, if you've read all of this, you know I've left out a lot of things intentionally.  But all of those things meant just as much to me as the others.  I'm going to sign off now because, "I've got to go see about a girl", but you know it's my turn to use that line now...How do you like them apples, eh?

Happy Birthday, Jim...I miss you and Samantha,

-Matt