In memory of a friend
Ilove it when God makes things plain for me. While it takes you two to three minutes to read a column, it often takes me days and hours to put together. Painstaking hours. Who or what will be the main topic? What angle should it be written from? Finding the answers to these two questions is the most difficult part of the process. Sometimes these answers don’t come until the eleventh hour. Then there are times like this week. God makes it plain.
Saying someone has Down syndrome is like saying someone is Baptist. From a macro point of view, there are more differences in Baptist churches than there are similarities. The beautiful people in our community who have or had Down syndrome, are as unique as the rest of the population. The late Mary Ann Sams was one I have written about. I was just a kid when I was around her. She was loving though I was too young to understand. I’ve written a few times about my friend with Down syndrome, Matthew Taylor. Matthew is an absolute ‘Rock Star.” If we all had his love for people, there wouldn’t be any more wars.
My friend, David Tinsley, passed away in 2008 at the age of 53. He was born with Down syndrome. Before writing this, I had the opportunity to speak with his sister, Earlene Chapman.
It only took a few minutes on the phone with her to know grace and kindness runs in their family. Kathy Dowda got me Mrs. Chapman’s phone number after telling me a few things about her and David. She told me what a dedicated caregiver Mrs. Chapman had been for David until his passing. This opinion comes from someone who knows what it takes. Kathy is “Matthew’s Mom.”
Mrs. Chapman talked to me about David’s life without taking credit for all she did for him. She told me about David’s jobs at Blair’s and McFarland’s grocery stores. She spoke of the kindness these business owners had for giving him and others a chance. I mentioned to her how sharp David always dressed when I saw him at church. She said he got a new suit every year just for that purpose. David never had a hair out of place. To say he was well groomed is an understatement. Mrs. Chapman said he loved Andy Roach, who was his barber.
I won’t pretend I know anything about why some people are born with Down syndrome and others aren’t. Stuff like that is above my intellectual ability. They do have something most of us don’t. An unconditional love for anyone and everyone willing to accept it. Can you imagine what the world would be like if we all had the heart of those “chosen” to be born with Down syndrome? There would be worldwide peace.
When David passed, the world lost one of God’s best. Our loss was heaven’s gain. There were many times David and I worshipped together on Sunday morning or a revival at many different churches. He never failed to hug me when he saw me while trying his best to say my name. Oftentimes, I was blessed to hear and feel David testify. He would stand with one hand over his heart and a finger pointed toward heaven. It didn’t matter I might not have understood what he said. With the tears rolling down his cheeks, if you couldn’t feel it, there was a good chance you needed to do a little praying yourself. If you knew David, you know his presence in a church service meant at least one person was praying. His life was a ministry. God and church were his life. I miss him. And I loved him.
When he passed, I wasn’t in church. It would be years before I would hear of his passing. Thus, the call to his sister, Mrs. Chapman. This is not something I usually do before writing a column. Kathy told me she thought I should, and I trust her judgment. While talking to Mrs. Chapman, it was my intent to get a little information and hopefully write something to honor David. I always hope it will be a blessing to somebody. She turned the tables on me. She reminded me I spoke at her father’s funeral in 1988. The she said something which made me tear up. She said, “Chris. My family has never had anything but grace and love for you.”
Only God knows who this column is for, if for anyone. But He left me no doubt this week who to write about. My friend David Tinsley. After hanging up with Mrs. Chapman, it was I who received the blessing.