Thinking Out Loud, Volume CD

I walked into the lobby of a Dallas, Texas hotel, looking for three men I had never met and whose names I didn't know.  All I knew was that I was supposed to see a guy from Texas, one from Missouri, and another one from Nebraska, and they knew that a man from Louisiana was to meet them there at that designated time.  As I stood there looking around, the elevator door opened, and three gentlemen stepped out.  One of the them, a small man in his mid to late fifties, saw me and approached me with a smile on his face.  "Comment ca va?" he asked.  I replied, "Ca va bien.  Et toi?"  He laughed and said to his companions, "I found him.  Yep, this guy is from Louisiana."  He then offered a handshake and said, "I'm John Stovall."  I said, "It's good to meet you, John.  I'm Preston Davidson."    Although I had no way of knowing it at the time, that was a life changing moment for me.  It was almost eleven years ago, and from that moment to the present, my friendship with John Stovall has steadily grown to the point that I can now say he became one of the best friends I've ever had.  The drive from my home in West Monroe, Louisiana to his home in Dripping Springs, Texas is more than seven hours, so it's not a trip that we've often made, but each of our phone conversations about every two weeks have lasted, on average, about an hour.  In an effort to save a few dollars, when we work a trade show or attend a sales meeting, we have always shared a hotel room.  Usually on the first night of these trips, when we haven't seen each other in a while, our conversations have lasted well into the night, just catching up.  You name the topic, we've probably discussed it.   Yesterday morning I received a phone call from John's son, Brooks, telling me that his dad had passed away during the night.  I felt blind-sided by that information.  I was well aware of John's health issues, but I thought he was getting better, so this hit me like a ton of bricks.  Since that call, my mind has been going over more than a decade of great memories of my good friend.  I have a cactus growing in my front yard that came from his yard, and I'm naming it John in his honor.  When I first bought my GPS unit for my car, with the woman's voice giving directions, I told him that we had to come up with a name for her, and it was he who came up the name Destiny.  During so many of our conversations, the term "lol" became literal for me, because he was an individual who could make me laugh out loud.    John was a man with an intimate relationship with Jesus Christ.  We had some interesting conversations about spiritual matters and about Heaven.  And while I'm on that topic, I should mention one of my good running friends, Amber Zambie.  Many of you are acquainted with Amber and her battle with MS.  Two or three years ago, she was going through a rough spot in her fight, and I mentioned her situation to John.  He told me to text her name to him when we got off the phone so he could add her to his prayer list as well as the prayer board at his church.  Since that time, during many of our conversations, he would ask about Amber.  I could usually report that "she is doing well," and he would say, "Well, I called her name in prayer this morning."  So, Amber, I want to tell you that you haven't lost a prayer warrior...he has just moved up to where he can now call your name to the Lord face to face.    Going to the Dallas Gift Market or the Los Angeles sales meeting is just not going to be the same any more, and I know I'm gonna be lonely without my buddy to talk to in our room and during our meals.  As men, we often feel a little awkward when it comes to telling another man how we feel about him, like maybe it will make us less of a man, or less macho.  It doesn't have to be that way.  It's one of the areas where we could take some lessons from women.  John found out he was sick this past January.  After that, our conversations have changed somewhat, and several times since then, right before we would end our conversation, he would tell me he loved me, which didn't make me feel uncomfortable at all, because I knew what he meant and what kind of man he was.   John, rest in peace, my good friend. I love you and I'm gonna miss you more than you know.  Life won't be the same without you.  Until we meet again......   Preston   P.S.  John was the one person who responded most often to these Friday "Thinking Out Loud" posts, always by email or text.  He would usually begin with the words, "My take."  Removing his number from my phone and his email address from my contact list will be a difficult task.   One more note:  Today's issue marks the 400th consecutive week that I've sent out this weekly "Thinking Out Loud" message.