In the third installment of Peter Jackson’s cinematic retelling of J. R. R. Tolkien’s epic trilogy The Lord of the Rings, Minas Tirith, the fortified capital of Gondor, becomes the staging area between the forces of good and the evil armies of Mordor. All is seemingly lost as Mordor’s onslaught rams through gate after gate of the city. Gandalf and Pippin find themselves trapped inside the citadel and believe their journeys are about to end in death. Pippin looks up to Gandalf and says, “I didn’t think it would end this way.”
GANDALF: End? No, the journey doesn’t end here. Death is just another path, one that we all must take. The gray rain curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass, and then you see it.
PIPPIN: What? Gandalf? See what?
GANDALF: White shores and, beyond, a far green country under a swift sunrise.
PIPPIN: Well, that isn’t so bad.
GANDALF: No. No, it isn’t.
Back in 1997, a group of distinctively mismatched men—including myself—bonded and began a journey of friendship that has lasted almost a quarter of a century. Our travels have taken the three of us down different roads, and our individual stories have been rocky and sometimes obstructed by barbed thorns.
Tim Overby (called TO to avoid confusion) lives in Liberty, Missouri. He presently works for a home-improvement retailer. In order to be visible, TO usually stands in the front row when photos are taken. Although vertically challenged, TO is strong. Really strong. If he were put in a ring with a grizzly bear, I’m not sure where I’d place my bet.
Gene Nobles lives in Hot Springs, Arkansas, and is in an advanced stage of Parkinson’s. His relationship with Abba has grown powerful and personal despite his diminished body. Gene is our biggest advocate and encourager. He dreams big. He listens for the voice of Abba and draws his strength from deliberately acting on cues, hints, and perfect intentions from the Holy Spirit.
I round out the posse of three. All I will say about myself is that I always think I’m thinner until I see pictures of myself. And for some insane reason, I think I have more hair until I see pictures of myself. I hate that.
There is a fourth member of our squad: Billy Borre. Billy was the youth pastor for the church we all attended. When Billy and his family moved from Little Rock to Nashville, he made it part of his mission to keep the other three of us together. He encouraged TO, Gene, and I to set up a weekly meeting to study books we loved, including The Ragamuffin Gospel, Wild at Heart, and The Sacred Romance.
We met early every Wednesday morning. We ate a lot of doughnuts. We continued to meet through life changes, holding each other up; encouraging each other; sometimes addressing hard, uncomfortable issues; and keeping each other accountable. And we ate a lot of doughnuts.
We loved each other through it all. We understood—whether spoken or not—that we would always be there for each other. There have been periods of silence, as happens in most relationships in which time and distance fight against endurance.
Billy suffered from diabetes, and over several years, ministrokes went undiagnosed. Once discovered, the damage to his brain was irreversible. He has vestibular dementia, which will only get worse and will eventually take his life.
The three amigos decided we would not let Billy leave this planet without us being with him. It was our way of telling Billy that he mattered and that he’d made a difference in our lives, an eternal difference. We needed him to know he’d made an impact that would far outlive all of us.
TO, Gene, and I met in Little Rock and made the five-hour journey to Nashville with little silence. Memories of shared times together and where life and the Lord had taken us made the trip seem short.
We decided to visit Billy in the nursing home before checking into the hotel. We weren’t sure what Billy’s condition would be when we saw him. I spoke with his brother, Bobby, who is a champion brother, Billy’s biggest and most faithful advocate. He told us Billy had good days and bad days. His body had atrophied, with few core motor skills left. His mind, although intact, slipped almost daily. He remembered some things and people and not others. So we didn’t know what we would find.
When we located the nursing home, we silently, apprehensively walked the hallway and into Billy’s room. He was in his wheelchair, between two empty beds, with his head bowed to his chest. I was struck by how small and vulnerable he looked.
We stopped about five feet from him. I bent to eye level and waited. Billy opened his eyes and glanced toward us. He looked at me without recognition. I smiled and said, “What are you doin’?”
I will never, as long as I live, forget that moment.
Almost in slow motion, his eyes grew wide with recognition. He lifted his head and leaned forward as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He held out his arms. I raced to him and enveloped him in mine. He said, “I love you. I love you so much.” He knew.
I smiled. “Hey, I told you I was going to bring you a surprise. Look.”
TO and Gene stepped forward for their turn for hugs and love. It was a holy moment. For almost an hour, we felt the presence of the Spirit of God all over the room.
TO asked Billy if he could read a few verses from the Bible. Of course, Billy slowly said yes. TO opened his Bible to Revelation 21 (CSB) and read,
Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. I also saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared like a bride adorned for her husband. Then I heard a loud voice from the throne: Look, God’s dwelling is with humanity, and he will live with them. They will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them and will be their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; grief, crying, and pain will be no more, because the previous things have passed away. Then the one seated on the throne said, “Look, I am making everything new.” He also said, “Write, because these words are faithful and true.”
When TO finished reading, there was a moment of silence. Billy looked up at Gene and said, laboring with his words, “Gene, I will hug you now. God is going to make all things new.” Gene walked over to Billy, and they embraced in an eternal, life-affirming hug filled with declarations of “I love you” that I’m confident echoed through the halls and the promises of heaven.
Before leaving, we assured Billy we’d come back the next day. We asked what he liked to eat. Billy wanted Mexican and a Coke. Bobby, Billy’s brother, a taco addict who seriously needs a 12-step group, fully supported the idea. It was a plan.
Later that night, as we processed through our time with Billy, TO said, “The curtain was pulled back a little.” That summed it up. I learned that day that looking into the eyes of unimaginable hardship is where I get one of the most transparent pictures of eternity. We were reminded of 2 Corinthians 4:16–18 (MSG):
So we’re not giving up. How could we! Even though on the outside it often looks like things are falling apart on us, on the inside, where God is making new life, not a day goes by without his unfolding grace. These hard times are small potatoes compared to the coming good times, the lavish celebration prepared for us. There’s far more here than meets the eye. The things we see now are here today, gone tomorrow. But the things we can’t see now will last forever.
The next morning, TO was concentrating on a sermon outline he would be preaching at his home church the following Sunday. I’m in awe of this man. The Lord has redeemed his past and made him a conduit for knowledge and wisdom. His understanding and thirst for a relationship with the Lord are incredible. He remembers everything he studies. It’s incredibly annoying. Somehow, I didn’t get that genetic marker. Every time I read a scripture, it’s as if it’s the first time I’ve read it. Weird. I want to be there when the Lord hands him the “crown of exultation.” I can only imagine the believers who will be in heaven because TO spiritually invested in them.
Gene and I spent time reading and catching up on where we were in life. Gene, most times, refers to the Lord as Abba, one of the most significant names in how the Lord relates to people. It signifies a close, intimate relationship between a father and his child as well as the trust a child puts in his daddy.
That is how Gene relates to his life and present condition. His Parkinson’s disease has left him using a walking cane most of the time and sometimes a chair to move about. His body moves with uncertainty. But the light in his eyes screams of eternity and the joy of seeing Daddy for the first time face-to-face.
These are good men. We are three amigos who couldn’t possibly be more different, yet we are bonded together, a three-stranded cord that can’t easily be broken.
That afternoon, we made it to a Mexican restaurant and bought ten tacos, cheese dip, and guacamole. For three hours, we visited with Billy and his superhero brother, Bobby.
Bobby would say he’s only a regular brother, but he’s anything but ordinary. He has sacrificed and been there every time Billy needed him. Bobby makes sure Billy knows he’s loved.
As we sat at a picnic table, Billy continually touched us, held our hands, and affirmed his love for each of us. Later, we sat around Billy and watched as Bobby carefully, with sacrificial love and patience, trimmed Billy’s goatee. Billy reached up to hold Bobby’s arm and proudly look in his brother’s eyes.
Then, noticing signs that Billy was tired, we helped him into his bed. TO knelt next to Billy’s bed and asked him what his favorite psalm was. Without hesitating for a second, Billy said Psalm 1, and TO read those precious promises amid an occasional “Amen” from Billy.
Billy was tired. We knew he needed rest. I didn’t mention it to the other guys, but I believe we all recognized it was probably the last time we would see Billy on this side of the veil.
TO and Gene each took a turn bending down next to Billy’s bed and hugging him. When it came my time, I knelt beside him and took that courageous man in my arms. It was a fierce, life-affirming hug. He wouldn’t let go. He kissed me on my cheek and whispered, “I love you, Tim. I love you so much. I’ve always believed in you.”
When I let him go, tears streamed down my cheeks. Billy took my face in both his hands, and his eyes pierced into mine. At that pivotal moment, as Billy used his thumbs to wipe tears from my cheeks, the veil was pulled back, and my spirit gazed directly into eternity. I didn’t see a table of food or hear angels singing. I didn’t see a throne or seraphim. Those are surprises and delights yet to be unwrapped.
I felt the love and presence of Jesus, almost excruciatingly impossible for this frail human vessel to contain. Crystal pure. A prism of joy, hope, wonder, and expectancy. I pulled in one last time and kissed Billy on his cheek. Our eyes met once more, and I said, “Billy, if you happen to get home before I do, would you be standing there waiting for me?”
His whisper was almost a shout. “Yes. Yes, I will. And when my kids get there, we will all be together. And I’ll say, ‘See that man over there? He’s the reason we’re all here.’”
I said, “Yep, Jesus will be right there with us.”
Bobby walked us to our car and thanked us for coming. We hugged him goodbye and quietly made our way back to the hotel.
Gene lay on his bed, weeping. TO stood beside the bed, holding Gene’s arm. Gene thanked Abba for that time, and he affirmed both TO and me as men and as ministers. Then he said something I will never forget. As Gene lay there on that bed, his exhausted body racked with tremors, with tears flowing freely and bravely down his face, he said, “Parkinson’s has been one of the greatest blessings of my life. His plan has perfect purpose, and I am overflowing with love.” I don’t know that I’ve ever encountered such courage and determination. Through the storms he’s been swept through, he’s trusted the Lord wholly, determined.
Hardship is part of our path to eternity. Abba allows difficulty and loss in our lives so we’ll continue to lean on him, depend on him, and stay surrendered to him. And oh, how much sweeter heaven looks through that lens.
Here’s the passage of scripture, Psalm 1 (CSB), that TO read to Billy:
How happy is the one who does not
walk in the advice of the wicked
or stand in the pathway with sinners
or sit in the company of mockers!
Instead, his delight is in the Lord’s instruction,
and he meditates on it day and night.
He is like a tree planted beside flowing streams
that bears its fruit in its season
and whose leaf does not wither.
Whatever he does prospers.
The wicked are not like this;
instead, they are like chaff that the wind blows away.
Therefore the wicked will not stand up in the judgment,
nor sinners in the assembly of the righteous.
For the Lord watches over the way of the righteous,
but the way of the wicked leads to ruin.
We believed we were going to Nashville to make sure Billy knew he had made a difference in our lives, had made an eternal difference, and was loved.
Abba’s plans were far better.
