I’m parked out back of St. Francis Hospital on the phone. It’s an important conversation. Let’s just say that an old friend is beginning the new year with a new outlook. He’s unsure. He has no idea where this will go. But he knows in his heart this is the right move for him.

That’s no little achievement. Trust me. I know. When a fella goes along in life on the same path for decades and decides on a new path, that’s a major accomplishment. Most of the world will not notice. Making this kind of decision will not make much of a ripple in the big picture, but it makes a huge splash in the life of the one who resolves to make a change.

The call ends and I step out of my truck. I’m celebrating this new day for my buddy as I step off the curb and cross the drive to the entrance doors. This is not the most direct route into the hospital. It’s like the back entrance to the medical building which is connected to the hospital.

My route is circuitous. I go up the elevator three floors, walk up the ramp then out into the parking deck, past the ER entrance, squeeze between two ambulances, and hit the sidewalk along Manchester Expressway. It’s a hundred yard walk around the corner and to the front doors.

I’m an idiot for parking out back.

The walk does me good though. I have a lot on my mind. It’s a new day for me, too. I’m not even sure where to begin, so I’ll try to brief.

I’ve been a member of my church for over 25 years. My kids came up through the youth group there. I’ve been engaged in that church’s ministry at multiple levels. Beth’s funeral was held there. Some of my closest friends, mentors, and true brothers all come from that church.

Back in November, I made a decision that was a long time coming.

You’ve heard me say before that mine and Marion’s marriage is not your typical arrangement. Two houses. Two communities. Two churches. We’ve done really well at navigating this approach to our life together. Most of the time we are content with how things are playing out.

But, for me, I was becoming increasingly discontent with us serving and worshipping in two different places. It just didn’t feel right anymore. I won’t go into all the factors that brought me to make my decision. It’s enough to know that I became absolutely convicted that I needed to be the one to make a change.

I haven’t thought of this as a new year’s resolution at all. But after my phone call, and somewhere along the walk to the front of the hospital, it occurred to me that this is a new year with a new opportunity. And as of this last Sunday, there’s a new congregation that I will now call my church.

This is a big deal for me. I’m walking away from the only place I’ve known for a long time. But I also know that I’m walking into a place where I already have good friends, not to mention I’ll be in church every week with Marion.

I’ve been torn about this, but I am resolved in my embrace of this new day.

Inside the lobby of the hospital, I stop at the visitor check-in station. I scan my driver’s license and smile for the camera. A black and white ticket with my mugshot on it spits out of the tiny printer. The two security guards are discussing how much it costs to go to Disney World.

“Am I supposed to wear this thing?” I ask.

“Yes sir. Turn it over and peel off the back,” he says.

I know this hospital. The hallways are familiar. Down the corridor by the gift shop and around to the left to the elevators. I’m headed up to the third floor to see some friends from my old church. She’s one of the sweetest ladies God ever put on this earth. He’s been a model, example, and friend to me since day one all those years ago.

There’s been a lot of times I’ve felt like I should have gone to see a friend in the hospital and never went. I always seem to have a good reason. An acceptable excuse. But I always seem to end up with regrets for not going.

Hospital visits were important to my dad. I can’t tell you how many times he took me with him to go see some buddy of his. It was just what he did.

I have to be a little more intentional, I guess. But I have learned the hard way. I keep reminding myself that if I go, I know that I won’t regret it, whereas if I don’t go, I know there’s a good chance I’ll regret not going. So, I go.

When I walk into the room, from the bed she reaches her arms up toward me. She is a hugger and a holy kisser, smack on the cheek. He’s standing by the end of the bed when we shake hands.

“I’m such a mess,” she says. “No makeup and this wild head of hair…I’m liable to scare you to death.”

“It’s good to see y’all,” I say. “Just wish it wasn’t here.”

“Good to see you, too. It was different not seeing you at church last Sunday.”

“Yeah, it’s been a big change. I went ahead and joined the new church on Sunday. Figured if I was gonna make the change, there’s no sense in messing around about it.”

“We saw that. We’re really glad for you and Marion to be together in church.”

I wouldn’t expect them to feel any other way. They have supported me through a lot of changes in my life. They’ve never been anything but loving and supportive through it all. And when Marion came along, they were among the ones who loved her from the beginning.

When our visit came to an end, I leaned over the bed for a good-bye hug. I got the hug and another holy smack on the cheek. I went there to cheer them up and to let them know I haven’t forgotten them. I left there reassured that no matter the change I’ve made, life is gonna be okay.

Good friends do that for you. They take you as you are and stand by you through every season of life. They don’t count the losses. They celebrate the wins. They don’t complain about what might have been. They see the blessing and the opportunity when something new comes along.

I am fortunate enough to have friends like that. They help me keep my perspective focused on the good things in my life. And that’s something I don’t take for granted.

I am resolved to make the most of this new season of life. I am also resolved not to forget those who helped me get here.

A new year. A new church. Good friends on both sides who don’t think I’ve lost my ever-loving mind.

I am a rich man.