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Top Ten Things I Will Always Miss About Mr. Jim


Top Ten Things I Will Always Miss About Mr. Jim

I’ve been thinking about our friend, Mr. Jim, who died a little over 3 months ago. Don’t know why that is. Maybe it’s all the leaf raking that I see going on right now in St. Louis. Mr. Jim loved to rake leaves. He was such a dear man.

So, I came up with this list of things that I’ll miss about him. Of course, this list isn’t exhaustive. There are many more things that I’ll always miss about him. There are many things that his death affirmed for me, in a way, and I’ll always be grateful for that, as well.

Here it is:

1. Seeing him standing on the sidelines of the Fellowship Hall with a coffee cup in his hand. That space will never be the same, for me.

2. His stories. I liked all of them. The one in which he was looking for the bus with a bowling ball bag in one hand and his blind man cane in his other hand was classic and hilarious. You have to love helpful, occasionally profane strangers who have hearts of gold. I wish that I could hear him tell me that story again.

3. The way he ate my food.

4. The way he put up with my crazy boys.

5. His generosity. What an understatement.

6. His sense of humor. The man could sum things up so very well and make you laugh in the process.

7. The way he told everyone about my driving. Mr. Jim seemed to think that I had some sort of kinship with Mario Andretti. When people I’d known for years suddenly became interested in the speedy nature of my driving I would know that Mr. Jim had told them all about it. This comes from the time when I drove Mr. Jim to church and he seriously didn’t believe that we were there yet because it should have been impossible. I know that he wanted to tell me that I drove like a bat out of hell but he didn’t.

8. How he could humorously rib you about something that had happened years earlier. He never let me live down forgetting to tell him that asparagus soup was on the menu at the Bread Co. Never.

9. Talking about a prayer warrior. He was one.

10. How he would fall out laughing when Jon started doing his mouth trumpet in the van. Every single time.

In a lot of ways, I think that you never get over the loss of a friend. Would you say that this is true?


  1. I think that in a lot of ways, we never get over ANY real loss. And I am not sure we should…isn’t that what loss is for? To remind us of the time when all that we’ve lost will become “unlost?”

    Thanks for that post. It was very sweet and made me tear up thinking about the same things. I loved all his stories, too. For some reason all the Gideon Bible ones stick in my head. I loved his simplicity…

  2. sweet annie, you always make me wish i had known him better. every time i ever had the privilege of spending time with him, he talked about you. i know he loved you all as much as y’all love him.

  3. He sounds very sweet.

    I think it is true–the loss is always there.

  4. Thanks for this post, Annie. I’ve thought about Jim every morning since his passing when I am making coffee because he spent his last afternoon at our house, and he complimented the coffee.

  5. Thanks Annie for wanting to remember our beloved Jim. I miss him too–his stories, his blindness, his riding in my truck, talking, laughing, joking, praying–a beloved saint. Can you imagine what heaven must be like with Jim there? Thanks for the memories. I also loved Jon’s tribute to him. Hope Jon still keeps that on his blog. Joanie

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