Mike Rutledge.CA

I think it was C.S Lewis who wrote about friendship’s beauty by realizing that in friendship, parts of us that wouldn’t otherwise exist come to life. In the act of being a friend, of relating to another on a deep and intimate level, a part of us comes to life, the part of me that exists in how I interact with my friend. Through all the jumbled words, you actually know what I mean. You ever have a friend that was the only one who could make you laugh a certain way? Or another friend that made you always think in ways you didn’t normally? Or maybe negatively, act in ways you don’t act? You see deep friendship does that to us. There are those souls that when we are near them, parts of our dormant self leaves its slumber and wakes.

This week, a part of me died. A part of me will never again on this earth find its morning, remaining now slumbered until the day when it wakes again at heavens doorstep. Because one of my soul friends – as some may call it – passed way.

There are many reasons why someone seeks out friendship. Some are afraid to be alone. Some find likeminded community. Some are just really friendly people. Some, like me, are more practical. We see the utility of a relationship and are friends in so far as it is beneficial to some goal or mutual task, etc. – this is not a good way to view relationships by the way – but the point is this, if I am going to be honest, most of the relationships that I have developed in my life are on this level of utility; I don’t like admitting it, but its true. I am not the best of friends. But Josh was one of the few people in my life that broke through that boundary. He was a friend that truly wasn’t a utility, but a pleasure. A pleasure to know. A pleasure to talk with. A pleasure to just sit with. I loved Josh. He brought out things in me that have shaped the man I am today, things that have literally, without exaggeration, formed the very path of the life that I walk in. He knew my struggles and loved in spite of them. He knew my hopes and my dreams and he encouraged every single one of them. He made me love Jesus more. He made me love and appreciate my wife more. He helped me marvel at the beauty of my baby girl. He challenged me in ways not many could.  He was a pastor to my soul.

He knew me like very few have. And it was a joy to know him.

Words really do fail me now. And if you know me, you know the irony. Words are somewhat my life. One of my main jobs is communication. I am hired to write and speak, to counsel and give wisdom. And here I have nothing at all to really say. Human words fail to express the weirdness of this moment. I feel sorrow at the emptiness I stare down. Embarrassment at the feelings I have when I think of his beautiful wife and daughter, Brit and Eve, and their pain – so inexplicably deeper than mine. Disbelief that I can’t just call him today. And for most this is where the emotional journey comes to end. The abyss of death leaves many robbed of present joy. But in spite of the emptiness there is yet a full soul. A full joy. A full peace. The Apostle Paul wrote it beautifully well when he said that we who know Christ do not grieve like those who have no hope. For I know that my hope is sure, and that Josh – in no way a cliché – is in better place. Having the marvellous light of his Savior’s glory finally shining on his face. And this momentary suffering I may feel is nothing in comparison to the eternal glory that he now knows and I am weirdly joyful for him. I hurt. Yet I have peace.

I break for you Brit. I hurt for you Eve. I weep for you his family. He was an amazing man. A great husband. A joy filled, adoring and fully in love daddy. His soul was beautiful. I miss him in a way I have never felt before. I will miss him until that day we see each other again.