It is prescient that Alan Loy McGinnis, the man who wrote the book on friendship, grew up in a happy, friendly family among the Society of Friends (also known as Quakers), in Friendswood, Texas. Accepting Christ at age eleven during a 1944 camp meeting, McGinnis initially hoped to pursue a business career like his father. But as he matured in the faith he felt the call of God, and consequently enrolled in Bible school. He first attended Bob Jones University, then transferred to Pacific Bible College (now called Asuza Pacific), then moved to Wheaton College, completing his undergraduate courses in 1955. Pacific’s president, Dr. Cornelius Haggard, comments in a 1952 letter to Wheaton’s registrar, Dr. Enock Dyrness, that this bright chap “…is an unusually fine Christian gentleman, thoroughly dependable and trustworthy. Intellectually, he is far above the average…his social abilities indicate outstanding leadership.”

McGinnis continued his studies at Princeton University, Fuller Theological Seminary and Columbia University, acquiring degrees in theology and psychology. Ordained as a pastor in the United Presbyterian denomination, he was also a licensed marriage, child and family counselor. Tragedy erupted for him in 1974 when, after serving congregations in New Jersey, Illinois and California, his twenty-year marriage ended. Shattered, he lent serious consideration to his own emotions. “After that experience,” he recalls, “I wanted to learn more about love…I found that the basic principles of friendship were at work in all intimate relationships: children, mate, parents.” His research led to The Friendship Factor (1979), which received the 1980 Campus Life Award as Best Book of the Year in the General Interest Category. Shortly after, McGinnis, certain that everyone has the ability to cultivate meaningful relationships, embarked on the lecture circuit, appearing regularly on radio and television, while also conducting workshops for large churches and motivational seminars for Merrill Lynch, General Motors, IBM, Metropolitan Life and the Marine Corps. Exploring similar themes, he followed-up with The Romance Factor (1982), Bringing Out the Best in People (1985), Confidence (1987), The Power of Optimism (1990) and The Balanced Life (1997), all written within a Christian context, but not explicitly religious in approach. His articles were published in The Saturday Evening Post, Cosmopolitan, Good Housekeeping, Guideposts and Christian Herald.

The first edition of The Friendship Factor (revised 2004) sold more than 350,000 copies, and has been translated into Finnish, German, Spanish, Dutch, Chinese and Afrikaans.

In addition to speaking and writing, Dr. Alan Loy McGinnis co-founded and directed Valley Christian Counseling Center in Glendale, California. The clinic attempts to combine the procedures of medicine with the principles of the Christian faith, desiring to heal the whole person, employing techniques pioneered by Dr. Paul Tournier. At the time of his death in 2005 at 72, McGinnis had been married to his second wife, Diane, for 31 years.

One of my most memorable experiences of the power of our Lord’s prayer [in John 17] happened on a county road in Colorado. Olena Mae and I seldom pick up hitchhikers. We’ve heard too many sad reports of strangers doing harm. But like many rules, we sometimes make exceptions. The night before we had finished an intensive Bible conference at Winding River Ranch near Grand Lake. It had been a good week, a full one, and we were both anxious to be on our way for a few days of vacation. We left a little later than planned, but at last we were rolling down the highway–just at the right moment to spot a man thumbing a ride. He was in his middle years, clean shaven, wearing tattered jeans and carrying only a brown paper sack. Both of us felt we should stop, so I pulled the car over and invited him to ride with us. Olena Mae slid over to make room.

“What is your name, sir?” I asked, “and where are you from?” Without hesitating, the stranger answered, “I’m Orville Pratt, from Carmel, Indiana, near Indianapolis.” “Do you have a family?” “Oh yes, a wife and two married children. My son lives in Indianapolis, and my daughter in Wheaton, Illinois.” “Wheaton! Did you say Wheaton?” “Yes,” the man continued. “Her name is Mary Wilson, just north of Wheaton in Carol Stream.” We were amazed to find our hometown mentioned by this traveler in Colorado. “But where are you headed?” I asked him. “Can’t tell you, ’cause I don’t know myself,” Orville answered. “Maybe Steamboat Springs, maybe Australia.” Our curiosity obviously aroused, we pressed for more of his story. “Does your family know about this?” I asked. “No. I walked off my job last week and didn’t tell anyone where I was going. I’m part owner of a manufacturing business. We make outdoor tool sheds. It’s a good business. . . ,” he said, and his voice trailed off. Olena Mae and I sat quietly for a moment. Gently I proceeded. “Do you have a church home in Carmel?” “I did. A good church, too. I’ve been a deacon and an elder there–but I’m not fit to go to church anymore.” With care I ventured, “Why do you say that?”

“My daughter Mary lost her boy, a four-year-old lad. I loved him. He had a heart problem, and the specialist made a mistake. I cannot forgive that doctor, so I’m in no condition to go to church any more. It’s too much, I can’t face it.” Our hitchhiker friend was crying now. I assured him of our deep concern and more important, of God’s great love for him. We urged him to return to his wife and home, but Orville chose to get out of the car when we turned south for the Redstone Inn. We left him there–a lonely, heartbroken man–thumbing for another ride west. Our drive to the Inn was filled with prayer. Within minutes of our arrival, Olena Mae was on the phone. “You don’t know me,” she told the voice on the other end, “but my husband and I are traveling in Colorado. Earlier this afternoon we picked up your father… “Yes, yes, I know,” Mary Wilson interrupted. “He called an hour ago. He’s coming home!” Not long after we returned to Wheaton, Orville called to thank us for our simple advice and reminders of God’s care. He wanted us to visit him, and since I was to speak in Indianapolis at an alumni chapter in the next few weeks, we arranged to spend an evening in the Pratt home. They welcomed us warmly. The next morning, a Sunday, the four of us attended their church, a warm, evangelical fellowship. After church and a delightful dinner together, Orville and I went to the cemetery where his little grandson was buried. I prayed there for Orville and his loved one, and assured him of the promised resurrection and reunion. God was there with arms around us. Later, back at his home, we all thanked God that our paths had crossed on that Colorado highway. A chance meeting? “Holy Father,” Jesus prayed, “keep through thine own name those whom thou hast given me, that they may be one, as we are.” Excerpt from Evan Welsh, first chaplain of Wheaton College, A Touch of Heaven Here (Tyndale: Wheaton), 1985.

Erwin Paul (Zeke) Rudoph II was a relaxed, vibrant young man of twenty, a student of English literature who also adored sports, particularly baseball. He possessed many friends and much promise. In 1967, after experiencing persistent vision impairment, fatigue and unsteady balance, he consulted his doctor. Enduring one exam after another, Zeke at last received the shocking prognosis. He had developed multiple sclerosis, an incurable disease. In this case, terminal.

A fiercely competitive athlete, he now faced opposition far more threatening than any he had ever encountered on the field. But Zeke held a steady course as he tackled his relentless stalker, first with a measure of frustration and apprehension, then with thanksgiving and confidence, and finally with tranquility, resting faithfully in the triumphant Savior “who hath abolished death” (II Tim 1:10). As Zeke’s stamina steadily diminished, his spiritual strength increased, allowing him to offer comfort to his comforters. With each day moving him closer to eternity, he inspired his family and Wheaton College classmates to deepen their communion with Christ, to assess values and align priorities for the uncertain path ahead.

Surrounded by love and abiding peace, he died quietly at age 21 in Central DuPage Hospital. His pastor, Allyn Sloat of Wheaton Bible Church, performed the funeral. Chaplain Evan Welsh, whose brief visits and wise counsels to the dying boy were like “gentle zephyrs from heaven,” read scripture and commented on the brevity of other sanctified lives: Borden of Yale at 24; Robert Murray M’Cheyne at 29; and Christ himself at 33. The story of Zeke’s brief life and ultimate victory over death is eloquently chronicled by his father, Dr. Erwin Rudolph, in Good-by, My Son (1971). Rudolph, former Professor of English and Chairman of the Division of Languages and Literature at Wheaton College, offers hard-won observations on the nature of affliction. “We do not pretend to understand why God’s time-table differs so markedly from our own. But it was ours which was out of adjustment, not His…I strongly affirm that belief in Divine Providence affords the Christian an undergirding he can ill afford to lose. I also discover that God may personally allow suffering to come upon us for reasons which please Him. When He does, we ought not to demur, for God knows what is best for us.” Rudolph approached his son’s illness as a unique opportunity to serve rather than a hindrance.

John Piper, a student of Erwin Rudolph’s, was struck by the quote, “Zeke called death sweet names.” Underlining that phrase, Piper determined to live life seriously so that when death came upon him he could echo those words, knowing that he had lived well unto Christ.

Rudolph concludes, “To the Christian there is always tomorrow. This hope is based on Christ’s resurrection…Zeke has gone ahead to those green fields of glad service, while we remain to work here a little longer.”