
I was nineteen years old - a freshman at Presbyterian College. Mr. Jim was in his sixties. We began a friendship that would last a quarter of a century.
At our first meeting, we found common ground in our faith. We both believed in Christ, read the Bible, and were Baptists. I doubt if there was one time out of the several hundred I visited his shop that we did not talk about God's Word in our conversations.
He cut my hair for much of those years, except for the four
years I was in seminary. He remained an encourager in my life, he often
wanted to talk about the Lord, and he shared many of the faithful qualities of
his generation.

Jim was opinionated and didn't mind sharing those
thoughts. He had a "this is what I think, and you can take it or
leave it" mindset. He had the exterior of a stubborn old man who was
set in his ways. I would often come home and share with my family
something funny Jim said. But knowing him for many years, I knew that
there was depth and goodness beyond the outside. And I knew that he
sincerely wanted to please his Lord.
Jim always asked about my life. He showed interest in
my family, my education, my various pursuits, and in the churches I
served. Occasionally he would stop cutting, put his hand on my shoulder,
and offer unsolicited advice. I knew he genuinely cared about me and
hoped for my best. I think in some ways to him I was always that nineteen
year old college student who walked into his shop. When I gave him one of my business cards a
year ago, he looked at my picture and began laughing. He said, “I forget that you aren’t a freshman
in college anymore. You don’t look like
you did then!”

Jim taught a Sunday School class weekly. I could
expect an update from him regarding what book of the Bible he was currently
teaching to the Knights of the King class. He embodied
faithfulness. He was proud of his boys. He often talked of his late wife, what a wonderful woman she
was, and how he missed her. I remember his stopping cutting hair one time
and saying, "When she was here I had a home. Now I have a
house."

I will miss his steady hand on my shoulder.
God bless you, Jim, and goodbye old friend. You are now
with Christ and those who have gone before you.
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