The Many Thoughts of Wanda Kidd

The other day, I watched a movie on Prime called Last Rights. It is a lovely story about random people coming together to offer meaning and value to an seemingly unremarkable man’s life.

When we finished watching the movie, my husband looked over at me and asked, “Does that story remind you of Tim?” Yes it did.

While serving on staff at a downtown church, I met a young man who was a faithful attendee, but the truth was I did not know much about him. I knew he worked odd jobs and had a room at the swim club in exchange for looking after the pool. Though socially awkward, he was always polite, helpful, and not off-putting. However, despite his regular attendance, Tim remained a mystery to me.

One day after church, Tim unexpectedly approached me and asked if I would meet him for lunch soon. He said he had something he wanted to talk to me about. “Sure,” I said because I thought this might be a chance to learn more about his story. We met later that week at a hangout close to the local university. We sat down after ordering, and he jumped right in because social cues were hard for him. “Wanda, why are you always so happy?” He asked. “I am not always happy,” I denied. “But you always seem so happy, and you laugh all the time.” Tim continued. “I don’t know, Tim. I just see the world through a lens of wonder, and it often makes me laugh.”  “I want to see the world that way,” he lamented.

Throughout lunch, so many interesting facts emerged. Surprisingly, this young man had a business administration degree from the University of Florida, and he also had epilepsy, which made him feel like an outsider all of his life. He said he always felt he was an embarrassment to his mother and did not remember his father. In addition, though he loved his sister, he had a complicated relationship with her and her family.

As the stories wound down, I asked him, “Tim, where do you hope to go from this place? Do you have goals you want to pursue if you had the chance?” Interestingly, he did. He said he wanted a college degree that would permit him to find a job with a future, and he wanted a friend. He said matter-of-factly, in that straightforward way he spoke.

I knew that, for so many reasons, he was not talking about wanting to be my friend. I was his minister. He wanted and needed a steady, calm person to respect and encourage him, and I knew just the person. I said, “I want to introduce you to my husband.” They both agreed, which began a twenty-five-year friendship. 

It turns out that when Tim had a plan, he was tenacious and capable of accomplishing it. With the help of several people, he returned to the local university, where the faculty and staff, particularly Dr. Bacon, embraced him and his idiosyncrasies. He graduated with a second degree in biology and began to work with the state and county to become a health inspector. Tim’s approach to his job was fair and absolute. He had the rules in hand, and without fear or favor, he carried out his assignment; his even-handedness made him great at his job. His persistent and consistent manner won him the respect of those served, and he saw what he did as a calling.

Through the years, Tim and Dan continued their friendship. Dan loaned him his “turning 40” red Eagle Talon to take a date to a local Music Festival. It was the only date I ever knew him to have. He worked his way up through the state system in several counties until he felt comfortable buying a modest home. He faithfully attended church and was always surprised when he reported he had made a friend through work or church.

Tim was terrified of not having enough money to survive once he retired. As his accountant, Dan continually assured him that he would be fine, but I guess once you have been virtually homeless, you never get over it. Sadly, or maybe not, Tim died three months before his retirement date. I was out of town, but Dan drove the two hours to his funeral, so afraid that he would be the only one there. However, there was no parking in the church lot when he arrived. Dan slid into the pew, and the person beside him asked how he knew Tim. They began to share Tim’s stories, and others joined in, saying they came because they feared there would be no one to show up for him.

Tim left his paid-off house to the church and made other contributions throughout the county and state, none of whom knew about the other. Tim left a legacy beyond himself, including seed money for a scholarship to students pursuing environmental health. He did not know they would name it after him. He would be amazed and seem annoyed to cover his embarrassment while simultaneously experiencing a sense of wonder. I am pretty sure, he never imagined we would remember him for long, much less still talking about him all these years later. There are people all around us who seem invisible yet are the hands and feet of faith and love.

When I think of Tim, I think of Hebrews 13:2 Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing; some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.

FYI, whenever you see a health department posting with large numbers that are visible from a distance, rather than the small ones that are hard to see, Tim persevered until that reporting was the norm.

Thanks for making a difference one person at a time, Tim.