Saying goodbye is so hard. Letting go even harder. And that’s what I have to do.
My buddy, the Reverend C.E. Baston, made his journey home. I knew him as Butch. I knew him as wise. I knew him as a mentor. A friend.
Death brings separation. Makes me ask questions I won’t ever know the answers to this side of heaven. Growing up the old folks used to say don’t question God, but I figure He knows my heart anyway. No need to hide.
Why? Why now? I didn’t get to say goodbye.
I can’t decide what’s heavier. Is it my heart or my fingers trying to type? But this is what I do. I vent out thought. I vent out emotion. I vent out and reach out with keystrokes because… well, it’s hard to describe. It just happens when I get a thought. My eighth grade English teacher suggested that I pursue writing after reading an essay I wrote. Go figure.
I don’t write this to make anyone feel sad or feel the ache that I feel when things get still and quiet, but I want you to feel that friendship Butch and I shared. His guidance. His wisdom. His compass of compassion when my soul was distant, angry, and struggling to find its way. And it led me back to the Hope that I knew to be True all along – – God is good.
I found myself a single Father of two girls at 34 years old. Suffice it to say that I was raw. Anger and frustration were a daily part of my life. Fear was overwhelming. I was down in a deep hole. There was light at the top, but I wasn’t sure how to climb out or if I even wanted to climb out. That’s when I met Butch. And it was God’s perfect timing for putting him in my life.
Butch and I met at church as he led a divorce recovery group. He invited me to come and we would discuss the way things were. He asked a few questions as we began to talk a little deeper. I started slow but began to boil over and spew heated poison. Before long I let out a sentence laced with some colorful and choice commentary. At church. UGH. The Pastor heard me say four letter words and I was embarrassed. Butch never even flinched. He let me spew it out and then quietly leaned forward. He patted my shoulder.
“I know you’re torn up inside. Get it out. I’ve been there. We’re going to get through this, though. You’re a good man and I know you didn’t mean half of what you said.”
And so it went from there. Constantly offering grace, love, forgiveness. A few days. A few weeks. Time began to mend wounds but the scars remained. The darkest night but joy in the morning. Then there’s laughter. And suddenly Butch and I are laughing. My anger at life was fading and we both enjoyed bringing a good joke to make the other laugh. We shared the same style humor as we met weekly. We talked about everything under the sun, but one of the continuing mysteries would be his name. Weeks had gone by and I still didn’t know what the “C” in his name stood for. And he let me guess for weeks.
“Clint?” I would say.
“Nope. Keep trying.”
“Carl? It has to be Carl.”
Silence and smiling.
“How about Calvin?”
“You might not ever get it. I’m going to get some real food before Pat gets home and fusses at me for getting off my diet.”
“I’m telling “Miss” Pat!” I yelled as he cranked up his truck.
Butch drove off leaving me dumbfounded and laughed as he pulled away. I was getting desperate. I almost contacted his wife, Pat, or his daughters, Susan and Dianna, to cheat and find out what the “C” was in his name. Then the day came.
“What’s up, Cletus?” I amusingly said.
Butch got all academic. “Is Cletus even with a C? It might be K.”
I finally said, “Well, if it ain’t Cletus, It must be Clarence.”
Butch froze and shot me the wide-eyed look letting me know I nailed it. I celebrated with a fist pump and said, “YES!! Clarence Clearwater Revival!! See what I did there, big guy? You’re from the Clearwater, South Carolina, area and you’re helping revive me. I put it all together and made a cool name for you!”
“Uumm, yeah. Butch will be fine.”
He pouted because I guessed it, but he didn’t pout long. We continued to meet until one day I realized I felt happy again. I can’t point to the day or the hour. I can’t even point to something Butch said. I just know one day I felt good about life again. I began to thank him for hanging in there with me and “saving my life.” Butch interrupted.
“You don’t have to thank me for anything. I just helped you remember what you’ve been knowing for a long time now. I didn’t save you. Jesus did. And even though bad things sometimes happen to good people, God is good. His ways are not our ways. But He loves us and has a plan for our lives so our dependence remains on Him.”
After those days we would meet for lunch often and talk about our children or work. I talked about manufacturing or my dating life and how every lady in the Baptist church knows someone “who would be perfect for you.” We got a lot of mileage off of that joke. I’ll leave it at that. I would eventually meet my Mary, and it would be Butch that married us. On my wedding day he said, “I’m happy for you, buddy.”
And then the time came where Butch couldn’t meet for lunch because he was sick. He began to have some health issues and had to decline my last invitation for lunch. I said I’ll catch you next time. But God’s Word reminds us that we aren’t promised our next breath and that next time never came.
Pine Grove Baptist Church was full of folks paying respect and saying goodbye to Butch. There were people standing in the aisles and sitting in the choir loft. Each and every one touched by Butch at some time in their lives and a testimony to his servitude. His girls stood and gave testimony to a job well done as a father. Not a dry eye in the pews and I don’t know how those ladies made it through. Then the pastor spoke and after I was able to give Butch’s “Miss” Pat a hug. I gave his daughters a hug and let them know how much I thought of their Daddy. My heart aches for them.
Days have since passed and here I am still trying to say goodbye. Still trying to let go of a friend that helped me through the darkest point in my life because he, too, had walked the path. That path made him determined to help and serve others like me. It’s what I like to call Real Church. A life well done.
I miss you, Butch. Since you made it to glory before I did, I hope The Book of Life had your name listed as Clarence Clearwater Revival Baston. Love you, buddy.
