The Summer of 1983

When I was 12, I had a genuine leather pro-regulation size football, with laces that were starting to come loose, and a persistent slow air leak I couldn't figure out how to patch. Despite its shortcomings, that ball was one of the few things my best friend Darryl Nelms and I played with often.
That summer, Darryl and I spent a lot of time tossing that ball back and forth in one of our front yards, or in the streets nearby. The last day was a Sunday, just before I went to Boy Scout camp. As we hurtled game-winning passes to each other, the only thing I remember talking about was each of us asking and reassuring one another that we each knew Jesus and were sure of heaven when we died.
While I was at camp Tuesday, Darryl was hit by a car while riding his bicycle. He died on Thursday, having not woken up.
Through different ways, God gave me peace about Darryl's death, though it took awhile. Thirty-three years later, I'm sure his parents still deal with the loss daily.
I don't know what the new year of 2017 holds. No one does, of course. But it will hold loss and sadness, gain and happiness, uncertainties and reassurances. There is a time for everything.