Justin Sundays
14 months ago, I got a text from a childhood friend. That text has had (and continues to have) a profound impact on both of our lives. At the time of that text I had known my friend for two decades already. We went to the same middle school, high school, and even briefly, college. He Even replaced me at a summer job when I went back to school. Shortly after that, he joined the military and subsequently lived in a few places away from home. When he moved back to Texas a few years ago, we started running into each other here and there through our shared/mutual/ childhood friends. A small majority of the people in my adult life are people I grew up with, and i am so grateful for that.
When this friend and I would see each other, we’d talk and enjoy the moment. So while him sending me a text wasn’t routine to our friendship at the time, it also wasn’t received as a shock. In his text, he asked if he could go to church with me the following sunday. I said yes. I have to admit, THAT was the last thing I thought he would ask me. My faith is known to anyone in my life, but it wasn’t something him and I had ever spent time really discussing. The days leading up to that sunday, I was curious as to why the text was sent. Sunday came and he met me at church. Afterwards I asked him if he wanted to go grab brunch with me. If you know me, you know I love a good mimosa! At brunch I could tell something was on his mind so I asked what was going on. He explained that he was going through a rough season in his life and he knew I went to church so that’s why he reached out.
He was in the midst of a painful breakup and was experiencing extreme heartache. We kept talking. Very quickly, Sunday afternoon hangs became the norm for me and this old friend of mine. As he realized that the world he created crumbled around him, I saw him allow himself to feel the full weight of it, to break openly, and to seek help. I was there for him through the late-night conversations, the silent moments when words weren’t needed, and the occasional reminders that he was still worthy of love. I admired his vulnerability, his courage to confront his pain instead of running from it. It was in this time of witnessing him heal that I saw something deeper in our friendship—something beyond what words like “friendship” could capture.
What I discovered in those first few months of our Sunday hangouts was how much I didn’t really know about him. There was so much history, so many experiences, that I had never been aware of—missing pieces that shaped who he is today. I realized that to truly understand him in the present, I needed to learn about the full scope of his life. And he had to do the same for mine. It’s a strange feeling, knowing someone for twenty years and suddenly realizing how much of their story you’ve never known, beyond the surface moments.
So, week by week, we journeyed back through time. As we shared about our current lives, we also traced the paths that led us here. The good, the bad, and the things we once thought were unspeakable. We opened up about childhood wounds, traumas, hopes, regrets, and unfulfilled dreams. The most interesting part was that as we worked through our present, we also began to piece together each other’s pasts, filling in the gaps. It allowed us to see one another with new eyes, understanding how all those fragmented memories and experiences shaped the person sitting across the table.
Ten months down the road, the roles reversed. I found myself heartbroken in a way that left me doubting everything I thought I knew about love and trust. I was lost, but without hesitation, he was there for me. He didn’t just offer advice or try to fix things; he sat with me in the discomfort, in the confusion. He reminded me that love, at its core, can still be pure, selfless, and genuine. In my darkest moments, he showed me that not all connections are fragile. He was a constant source of reassurance, embodying the kind of safe love that I had almost forgotten could exist.
Over time, I’ve grown to admire him in ways that go far beyond our initial friendship. The word “friend” doesn’t do justice to what we’ve built. Yes, we’re very different people—our personalities, our outlooks, even our approaches to life—but somehow, in his presence, I feel the most myself. He’s reminded me that people can change and grow, no matter how rare that kind of transformation seems. He’s shown me that there’s still hope for connection, for relationships that don’t demand perfection but instead thrive on authenticity and trust.
What’s perhaps most surprising is the peace I feel when I think about the future with him in it. Normally, I’d be anxious about what’s to come—whether distance, time, or life’s inevitable changes might erode what we have. But with him, there’s just a calm certainty, a quiet knowing that whatever happens, our connection will remain. And in a world where so much feels uncertain, that peace is something I never take for granted.
In him, I’ve found not just a friend, but someone who has redefined what it means to love and be loved—purely, selflessly, and without fear. And for that, I am deeply, endlessly grateful. Cheers to many more Sundays, Justin.
