“Stephen, this is Darrin Patrick. Matt gave me your number and I wanted to see if you would wanna fly up to St Louis and hang out for a couple days.”
To be completely honest, I didn’t have a clue who Darrin Patrick was, but the way he said it made me think I probably should. I was young, restless, and reformed, screaming to get out of Houston, TX, so I made some calls and did some research and a few weeks later, Amanda and I flew out.
At that point, I honestly didn’t realize ministry could be so fun. But the second I met him, after the shock of how much he looked like Dave Grohl wore off, we shared meals together, told our stories, and wept together over the goodness of God. We laughed and partied and had about as much of a blast as two people can have before flying home, ready to move to The Journey if Darrin ever asked. But it was 2008 and a collapsing economy hiring freeze caused us to stay put. Nonetheless, Darrin called almost every month to encourage me and just check in.
Then in 2010, after months of phone call dream sessions, we finally uprooted our entire fam and our entire band and moved to start a new life in the Midwest. The first couple years were painful and arduous, but so worth it. They gave way to more fruitful and fun years of ministry - and friendship - than I ever thought possible.
“You’re never gonna survive in St Louis if you don’t like baseball.” He told me as we climbed into his weathered Montero Sport to make our way across town for our first Cardinals game together. I had grown up obsessed with baseball, but lost it in the mix of life. However, when everyone in your town, regardless of color or creed, wears red on game day, it’s impossible not to fall back in love with it more each day. It was like I was hanging out with my older brother, learning the ropes of life all over.
We would sit at his favorite corner cafe, Stratton’s, and just dream up new ways to change the world. He knew I had always been at war with my own metabolism and yo-yo’d all over the place with my weight, so he would wake my butt up at 5:30am to jog around Webster Groves, where we both lived, and keep me accountable about my diet. I jumped at every chance to travel with him because I knew some new adventure awaited and that I could soak up so much wisdom from his experience in ministry and life. He knew I struggled with prayer, so he challenged me to sit in silence and practice spiritual disciplines.
Darrin called out the greatness and the leadership in me. He championed my dreams and my drive - my vision and my passion. He made me feel, for the first time in my life, like God designed me the way he designed me on purpose and gave me specific, unique spiritual gifts that weren’t a mistake. He understood me. Which meant he could tell me when I was getting off or if he felt my motives were alloyed. He got it, so he could see weaknesses I couldn’t and call me to repent in ways my stubborn heart wouldn’t hear from other people. And I listened because I knew I mattered to him. I trusted him. He had paid what he called the “relational rent” in my life. He was not just my mentor or my pastor - not just my boss - he was my friend.
Almost 5 years into doing ministry together, we moved back to Texas to be near family after Amanda gave birth to our 5th child, But Darrin never stopped texting or calling to encourage. When I would write a book or make an album, he was the first to say he would write the foreword or an endorsement or shoot out a tweet to promote it. While I didn’t deserve a lick of it, he believed in me.
This is the man he was. I know this because this is not just my story. This is the story of the countless other young men he poured his life into. He shared his very soul with so many. He taught us that failure isn’t final, modeled humble repentance, and reminded us to have thick skin and soft hearts. “Everyone has a plan until they get hit in the face, but it’s what you do after that that defines you. No one ever changed the world with what they were ‘going to do.’”
Over the years, every few months he would somehow butt dial me on accident again, in typical Darrin fashion, and it was always a fun reminder to catch up with him the second both our insane schedules allowed. To get to hear how God was healing his heart. To get to talk about our families and how proud of Amie and the kids he was and how much he was enjoying this season with them. To discuss enneagram or try and figure out when we would finally get to hang out again. Last month, I texted him early in the morning after having a dream that we were laughing our guts out at a Cardinals game in St Louis. It felt so real, and I woke up missing him a ton.
I honestly don’t know how to deal with this loss right now. I simply don’t. I am devastated. Heartbroken. I have collapsed to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably so many times since I heard late last night. But here’s what I know. Death is just a doorway. Jesus gets the last word. Glory is far better. And someday (hopefully sooner than later), Jesus will return to make all things right and all things new. He will wipe away every single tear from every eye and there will be no more sin or sickness, death or darkness. No more pain - only perfection. No more brokenness - only beauty. And I am begging God for that today.
Oh Lord, have mercy. Oh Christ, have mercy. Oh Lord, have mercy.
