(Read Psalm 84)
Scott, one of my best friends since childhood, has always been one of the most genuinely generous people I know. Every time I see him, he’s giving me something — not to buy favor, and not out of obligation. It’s simply who he is. And whatever he gives is always meaningful. Over the years he’s handed me countless t-shirts, custom-logo frisbees, an expensive paddleboard, and even a surfboard. But here’s what I love most about him: he never wants anything in return.
And I also know this — what Scott values most isn’t the act of giving. What he cherishes, what he most loves to receive, is shared time. Being together. Talking. Laughing. Simply being present. We don’t see each other often, but recently I had the chance to stay at his house, grab dinner, and fall into one of those hilarious nights of reminiscing that true friends do so well. That’s the beauty of long friendships — you don’t have to start over. You pick up exactly where you left off.
After dinner he said, “We have to stop at this dive bar.” I won’t name it, but let’s just say it’s a one-beer sort of place. You wouldn’t order water there, much less food, and the bathroom is a place of character-building faith. Even the owners call it “the worst dive bar at the beach.” It’s a very deep dive.
I share this not to imply we have a drinking problem, but to show the kind of relationship we’ve had for 52 years. I was exhausted from a 12-hour drive and ready to crash, but this mattered to him — or at least, it was an experience he wanted to share with me. For most of our lives we’ve been sharing experiences like that. We grew up surfing together every summer from childhood into college. And being a PK — a pastor’s kid — Scott lived out that role admirably. I’m not selling him out; he admitted this himself. And for honesty’s sake, even though I’m a dentist’s kid, I joined him in that mischief equally.
I’ve heard many of his dad’s sermons over the years. As kids and teenagers we didn’t exactly take church seriously — it was more a time to giggle and fidget than worship. As we got older, life and distance naturally separated us from those shared Sundays.
Yet something from Psalm 84 echoes through friendships like ours:
“Better is one day in your courts than a thousand elsewhere.”
Psalm 84:10
That verse isn’t only about being in a temple. It’s about being in God’s presence, wherever that may be. Sometimes the “courts of the Lord” look like a sanctuary. But sometimes they look like a long dinner with a friend. Or a car ride filled with laughter. Or even the worst dive bar at the beach.
The psalmist wasn’t longing for a building; he was longing for the God who fills moments with meaning. One hour lived with Him — in awareness, gratitude, and connection — is better than a thousand hours lived anywhere else.
Since I began writing devotionals about eight years ago, Scott was the one person I earnestly wanted to interview. You might wonder why I waited so long. Why wouldn’t I ask my friend of five decades the most important questions about life and eternity?
Honestly, I was afraid.
Not of him — but of the possibility that talking openly about faith might disturb the equilibrium of our friendship. Would he think I’d become a fanatical Christian? Would I misjudge him in return? These were exaggerated thoughts, but they exposed something real inside me.
There’s too much at stake with the people we love. Even Jesus understood this dynamic:
“And they took offense at him.
But Jesus said to them, ‘A prophet is not without honor except in his hometown and among his relatives and in his own household.’”
Mark 6:3–4
The people who know us best often have the hardest time hearing spiritual truth from us. If Jesus Himself experienced this tension — being misunderstood, dismissed, or taken for granted by those closest to Him — then it’s no surprise that we feel timid with our own friends.
And still, Scripture nudges us forward with grace:
“Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt…”
Colossians 4:6
Not forceful. Not argumentative. Not intrusive. Just gracious, thoughtful, gentle — the way love speaks when it genuinely cares. And that’s exactly how the conversation with Scott unfolded. “When I pray,” he said, “I don’t pray for myself. I don’t ask for things to happen for me. I pray for other people’s wants and needs. I mention them by name.” He didn’t say it outright, but he made it clear: he believes God has a plan.
I told him he carries himself like someone grounded — a follower of Jesus who sees the big picture. When I asked about the core of his faith, he responded without hesitation:
“I don’t think of myself as belonging to a specific denomination, but I’ve always believed the truth in the stories of the Bible. My dad’s sermons were stories, and they connected with people. I’d hear them talk about them afterward.” His father was a gifted storyteller — whether in the pulpit, grilling burgers, or sitting on the beach — he taught through stories.
Scott then added, “It always interests me when people say they’re Christians or churchgoers, but their behavior doesn’t match. Our neighbors across the street are the kindest, most generous people you’ll ever meet, and I know it comes from their faith.”
He also shared a memory that made me laugh. Once, as a kid, he called my dad “Mr. Wilkins,” and my mom corrected him: “His name is Dr. Wilkins, Scotty. He worked very hard for that degree.” Scott chuckled and said he feels the same way about pastors — “When I see someone wearing a t-shirt in church claiming to be a pastor, I like to dig deeper. Did they dedicate themselves at Seminary to learn and serve? Like doctors, they’ve earned respect.”
There’s something I didn’t get to share with Scott that day, but I’ll share it here: Followers of Jesus might be the only Bible some people ever see, especially those who don’t attend church or even believe in God. What they witness should be authentic, sincere, and loving. My friend Scott embodies all three.
People can sometimes smell fakeness.
Dogs, on the other hand, can sense it from a mile away. And as everyone knows — a dog’s tail never lies.