While in Africa, sitting beside a campfire with Karim, one of our professional hunters guiding us on our safari, Doc said, “If I were to write a book about Africa, it would be because I had a story to tell, one that I would want to read as something would have to happen where I find myself in the story.”
We arrived back in Athens, Georgia tired and elated to be home. Doc decided that he wouldn’t write a book about the safari and I really didn’t see any reason that he should either. We had some incredible experiences, but there is no need to write about every incredible experience we have. He had gotten to hunt and that was a fantastic experience to be a part of for all of us, but I knew he would tell the truth about the struggles he had and I just wanted him to enjoy the fact that he hunted the gray ghost of Africa and performed with excellence as a hunter. So, the safari would be remembered through the video that Stuart was working on and the photos that Jim had taken and that was sufficient for all of us.
A few days after I got home, I got clobbered by falciparum malaria that I contracted in the bush and Doc also got sick from something. For several days, I fought the protozoans eating my red blood cells with every ounce of energy I had along with quinine and doxycycline. Little did I know, that it would take months to recover for the most part and still today there are things I experience because of the malaria. It’s funny looking back, as I had a group of buddies praying that I wouldn’t get bit by a lion, crocodile or leopard, but we left mosquitos off the prayer list.
As time passed, and the more conversations I had with Doc, the more we reminisced about our experience in the bush. Doc seemed to have a renewed enthusiasm for life and writing, and he had some time on his hands. Jim called me one morning and asked me what I was doing for lunch and I told him I would pick him up and we would go somewhere. I don’t remember where we went but I remember the conversation as it went like this.
Doc said, “Steve, I have something I need to tell you.” Immediately, I’m thinking that he is having some cancer related issues and I start feeling nauseated. He looks at me with big eyes and a big smile, and says,” I’m writing!” and I look up and said, “Awesome, about what?” He says, “About you and Africa.” And then the feeling starts coming back, as I initially didn’t want people to know some of the things we experienced and the way I handled some bad situations. Which, from my perspective, wasn’t good.
You would think someone would be excited and humbled to have a book written about them, but I was apprehensive. Jim said,” I want you to participate in the book with me but you will have no say in what I write as it is from my perspective and not yours.” I don’t know that I responded. I do remember that he allowed one editing suggestion as he wrote that I was 5’4” and I told him that he would lose total credibility if he didn’t tell the truth about my height being 5’2”. He laughed and said,” But you’re a big 5’2”.” I said, “No I’m not.” And he laughed and said, “You are in the book!”
For the next several months, Jim wrote, called me, and read to me either over the phone or I would go to his writing room and he would read his story to me. Jim’s writing room was unique to me as he had written healing scripture, and perseverance scripture, and praise scripture on the walls surrounding his desk. I would read his walls while he wrote about Africa. I was impressed with his memory, until he reminded me that he wrote every day in his journal while in Africa. And I was enthralled with his writing as he seemed to make Africa come alive again and I really felt like I was back in the bush. We had bonded to a degree that I can’t explain.
Maybe it has happened to you too, at some point in your life, but this was a first for me and it hasn’t happened since. When Jim wrote, he told the absolute truth, unless it would hurt someone other than himself. So he opened himself up to judgement by the peers who affectionately considered him somewhat of a nice hunter, whatever that is. From my perspective, killing is killing, but Jim made it sound so romantic in his writing and story-telling.
He had a heart for people that was extraordinarily rare, he really liked everyone and was always concerned for people’s circumstances and the condition of their heart. He or I would suggest someone to take to lunch on occasion, to see how they were doing. These were usually people we knew were in a situation that they wish they weren’t. This is where I learned how to appreciate people’s issues, especially being either overwhelmed by a life circumstance, or saturated in sin to the extent that the only thing they felt was judgement. Or maybe they were just wallowing in self-pity.
Jim could get people to talk about stuff that they wouldn’t tell a priest in a private confessional! He could be trusted and he taught me that I should be trustable. He along with the Holy Spirit, convicted me to just love people where they were at, don’t judge and rarely render an opinion as that wasn’t what they were looking for. They were looking for someone who would hear them out and still love them. The lunch conversations would go like this. Jim would ask basically the same questions.
After a conversation about life in general, Jim would ask, “So, how are you doing?” And, of course our friend would say that everything was going pretty good, and the conversation would continue along those lines. And, after all was said, Jim would ask, “So, tell me, how are you doing?”
Jim would ask the question with absolute sincerity and compassion and the response was usually the same every time. They would respond,” I’m struggling with this or hurting from that.” And we would listen, Jim would encourage and offer to pray with them and we did. I can’t remember everyone we met with but I do remember some and the experiences impacted me.
For some reason, I knew my time with Jim would be limited and I wanted to spend as much time as I could with him. I remember a time when we were riding together in my truck and I said something derogatory about one of his retired professor friends that I knew fairly well and differed in views in many things. The friend complained about student housing being built near her neighborhood and I asked her, whom I had recently been on a mission trip with, what was wrong with the students. And Jim’s friend said something like, “not near my neighborhood.” So, in talking to Jim about his friend while going about 45 mph, I said,” Ain’t that like a liberal?” and Jim said,” Let me out of the truck, you’re not going to insult a friend of mine.” I laughed and said,” Are you crazy? Your friend made a living off the tuition of the students that she doesn’t want near her neighborhood!” he said,” Pull over now!” And, for a second, I thought about it, but then he began to cough and I knew I had gone too far and he was actually hurting.” I took him home without speaking. The next day, convicted about my trespass, I wrote him a note apologizing and mailed it. He called a few days later thanking me for sending the letter. I was learning, and he was dying, but no one knew it.
Jim had wrapped up the book, titled “Colors of Africa” and gave me a copy of the manuscript to read and make comments. And I couldn’t wait to read it! I was overwhelmed with his generosity about what he wrote about me and unsettled about what he had written about himself. He was way too hard on himself in my opinion. Jim used to tell me that he would love to know that he had written one sentence that Hemingway would write. I have read Green Hills of Africa a few times and I know for a fact that Doc wrote as good or better than Hemingway!
Jim’s health was sinking fast, faster than anyone thought, as he had been sick while writing and came out of the hospital appearing totally recovered. But, it didn’t last. Jim went back into the hospital just as the promotion for his book came out, and one afternoon while visiting him in the hospital he showed me a big print board of the book cover and a write up about the book. He said, “Boy, I’m going to make you famous! We are going on a book tour together.” I stood there thinking that I really didn’t want to go on a book tour. But I didn’t want to rain on his parade as I was so proud of him for seeing it through. He had completed his dream; he traveled to dark Africa, hunted the elusive kudu, and lived to write about it. He said, “Rub my feet, boy, they’re sore.” I rubbed his feet as one of his writer friends sat in the window sill reading a book, with Jim apologizing for not introducing her. It was surreal. I have thought about that moment many times, as I thought it was the beginning of an adventure. And, it was, the beginning of an eternal adventure. Three days later, as I walked down the hallway of the ICU to visit my friend, I felt something very odd and I described it when I entered Jim’s room to Jane, Jim’s wife. I told Jane that the hallway was full of angels and it was so crowded that I struggled walking to the room. Jane smiled and told me that she knew as, Ken, Jim’s Pastor, had told her the same thing about a half hour before I got there. I was elated and sick at the same time as my friend was about to enter the Kingdom and I was going to lose my mentor before his book would go to press. I walked Jane to her car and told her to let me know when Jim’s condition changed. A couple hours later, Jane called and asked if I wanted to see him before they moved him as he had passed away while a crowd from his church stood outside his door singing praise songs.
I went to see Jim, and thanked God for how He blessed me in such a unique friendship that became a piece of the puzzle to develop my compassion for His people. We only knew each other for two years, yet we knew each other deeper than most who had known each other for fifty years as we shared absolutely everything about our lives because we trusted each other, emphatically, and that set us free.
And, we are two of His favorites, with Jim at His feet in Heaven and me at His feet on earth!
THOUGHTS FROM THE HUNTER KIND
I may never have another friendship like the deep and unique one that Jim and I had, and maybe you have had a similar experience with a special friend. That kind of friendship that speaks to us on every level is a reminder of how close the Holy Spirit wants to be with us every day.
Proverbs 18:24 says, “A man who has friends must himself be friendly. But there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother.” And that friend is Jesus! The Bible calls Jesus the “Friend of sinners” (Matthew 11:19), and He can be your friend too. Trust Him to be your savior and your best friend, and you will be on your way to becoming the Hunter Kind…
Prayer of the Hunter Kind:
God, we come to you with our hearts full of thankfulness for being so interested in every part of our lives. You always know just the right people and circumstances to put in our lives to teach us things that we desperately need to learn. We praise you for loving us, even in our darkest places and for allowing us to grow more and more into being the Hunter Kind of Christian. Give us a heart for people so that we can show them the unconditional love of our best friend, Jesus. Help us keep learning and growing as the Hunter Kind.
In Jesus’ name…
Amen.
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