An Old Friend and a Lesson in Grace
By Bob Lively
Teacher/Counselor at Riverbend Church, Austin, Texas
Editor`s Note: Bob Lively writes a bi-weekly column in the Austin-American Statesman, where this article first appeared September 30, 2000.
I first met Bobby Wayne Graham as he passed me on a sidewalk at the liberal arts college in Arkansas where I was campus minister. My initial impression on that September morning in `73 was that this kid was scarcely taller than a fence post and possessed a face as round as a pie tin. His chestnut hair and full, bushy beard gave him the appearance of a mountain man from some bygone era. But he was no more mountain man than the Ozarks were real mountains.
Bobby Graham was born with the soul of a poet and the heart of a prophet. His creator gifted him with an uncommon sensitivity to the pain in this world. He hid a deep sadness behind an easy smile that rolled into contagious laughter. But more times than I found comfortable, I witnessed pain in his dark eyes.
Only two students attended the last worship service I conducted at that little college-Frank Ehman and Bobby Graham. After the benediction, the three of us piled into my beat-up Chevrolet and drove to a greasy spoon, where we chased enchiladas with chocolate pie and laughter. The next morning I would move to Dallas to begin a new chapter of my life, and the last person in Batesville, Arkansas, to bid me farewell was Bobby Graham.
Both Frank and Bobby went on to Austin Seminary, where in three years they earned degrees and completed the requirements for ordination in the Presbyterian Church. Frank served with distinction for more than a decade in Austin, while Bobby moved to Little Rock, where he founded a soup kitchen.
In time, alcoholism ravaged Bobby. Eventually, he left his parish and did his best to make peace with his myriad demons, but the pain persisted. There was a disappointing pastoral stint in Oklahoma followed by a time of healing again in Little Rock.
Early one-morning years ago my phone rang and I picked it up to hear a vaguely familiar voice. This caller was eager to inform me that he was sober. All I recall saying was that I`d had people call in the past to tell me that they were drunk but never before had anyone interrupted my sleep to declare sobriety.
A laugh revealed the caller as Bobby Graham. He then surprised me with a tale that I later recorded in a book. This story concerned his first experience with Alcoholics Anonymous. He told me that he had stumbled into his first meeting drunk. He bumped into a man who seemingly possessed the power to stare a hole through his soul. Months later, he asked that same gentleman to be his sponsor. This recovering alcoholic was quick to inform my friend that he had once been a regular at Bobby`s soup kitchen. He followed that announcement with words that knocked my friend`s legs out from under him: "I`ll sponsor you, but you don`t know God. You think you do, but you don`t." Years later, Bobby would say those were some of the most healing words he would ever hear.
Three years ago my telephone rang again. The voice said, "If you`re not too important, you can drive downtown right now and pick me up and buy me a cup of coffee." Within minutes I had Bobby Graham in the cab of my pickup, and for the next two hours we laughed as we marveled at the power of grace to heal both of us.
It was during that brief visit that I experienced this man at peace for the first time in 25 years. His demons had been accepted and even blessed by an inner grace that had taught him an attitude of gratitude.
Last Sunday evening, my friend, Bob Shelton, president of Austin Seminary, preached at a Presbyterian church in Helena, Arkansas, where Bobby was installed as pastor. Bobby Graham had been discovered by some "salt of the earth" folks who were willing to give him another chance. At the conclusion of the worship, he stood and turned to face his new congregation. He raised his hands and pronounced a blessing over people he was not only willing but now also able to love. As he stepped toward the congregation to kiss him mother, he collapsed and died.
Upon receiving word of his death, I hung up the phone, wiped tears from my eyes, and thanked God for allowing my good friend Bobby Graham to exit this life in much the same way he came into it-on the wings of a prayer.
