“Only a Boy Named David” — or is it a man after God’s own heart?

Blessings come in a lot of ways. Ours came in the form of an awkward 10 year old with bright eyes and a contagious laugh. I was on our church-school board at the time and I met with David, his mother and grandmother to discuss his possible admission. It wasn’t an immediate fit, but everyone stuck with it to make it work. He even graciously gave up his pony-tail to make dress code. It was a treasured tuft of hair that hung down his back, a small braid that had never been cut. Later he told me that it was an incredibly hard decision only made palatable by his grandparents' promise of a big banana split after the visit to the barber. 

He came into our lives at the right time too because our boys were also staring down the barrel of middle school. The next few years were not easy for David or our boys, but they made it. David’s quirky passion for Science led to long random discussions about the states of matter, nuances of geology, or trains. The greatest gift David gave at the time was the constant reminder that you don’t have to have many of the traditional marks of success — athleticism, trendy clothes, traditional coolness — in order to have a good time. Board games were just as exciting as basketball. Playing with the least popular kids was just as dramatic as playing with the most popular. 

The pandemic was particularly difficult for kids like David. He basically lost a year. Added to that loss, we all said good-bye to an iconic high school teacher. “Teacher” isn’t really the best word to describe him. He was the sort of person that helped youth to see that life itself was worth living. With him gone, the high school dispersed into about 12 pieces, everyone went their own way. 

During that pandemic year, another angel came along. I am proud to call her my wife. She started a home school coop, pandemic style. It started with just four students but gradually grew to 8 by year end. When David rejoined, he brought new laughs and energy. The matcha mud he drank every day was infamous. 

Anyway, this wasn’t meant to be a biography, just a short story of a kid who didn’t quit.

A year ago today, David lost his grandmother. She wasn’t just his grandmother. She was a source of stability and support throughout his entire life, a steady presence who even without words made David know that things were going to be ok. When she left, things were not ok.

Yet in this year, he somehow started to give back. He went with friends every Saturday night, in the middle of the night to find and feed the loneliest New Yorker’s, those folks on back streets or train stations with cardboard signs and open wounds from years of addiction. David found them, not to take away their pain, but just to offer a bit of joy, a sandwich, a prayer, maybe some socks. This is David. Not only that, he participated in a training for Sunday School teachers and now teaches the toddlers. Just the thought of that still makes me smile. To them, he may as well be 40 feet tall, something like a Redwood tree among unsuspecting tourists, gentle and awe inspiring.  

So when David asked me to run with him on the anniversary of his grandmother’s death, it was not a hard decision. He picked the route, places of memories and inspiration through some of the greatest sights in our great city culminating at a hot dog stand that held special memories. We hadn’t trained much so it was appropriately painful to run 14 miles, but like most of what David does, there was perfect irony in it - pain, loss, a bit fool-hearty, and always epic !!! 

We were pumped at first. Trains of course caught his eye. He could tell you way more than you ever want to know. We talked about his grandmother and the story of his relationship with her.  He also explained some nuances of urban planning another one of his areas of expertise, and we stopped frequently to take random pictures.

Mostly, we just honored the moment and the memory.

After it all, he thanked me profusely. He was wrong of course. It was I who should have been thanking him. Is there really anything more human than to face loss head on? Is there anything more iconic, than to leave it all out there on a world famous trail? Is there anything more meaningful than a life well lived?

Next time a geeky ten-year-old walks into your life, I hope you pause and know that this just might be one of God’s special gifts. Like David of old, he just might be one chosen of God.