Tim Wildmon
AFA president
March 1998 – One evening in January I was at home with the family when the phone rang. I rarely pick it up because it’s rarely for me, and nine times out of ten it’s someone wanting you to do something for them. Have you noticed this? Do your own survey at home and see if what I’m saying isn’t true. But when our phone rings it’s usually for Alison or our 10-year-old daughter Wriley. For some reason this has become the magic year for Wriley and phone calls. Thankfully, no boys are calling yet but her giggly little girlfriends are letting their fingers do the walking a lot lately.
I must admit I am amused at the things 10-year-old girls talk about. Teachers, clothes, toys, boys, homework, what she said about what he said, and, of course, other friends, are the favorite topics. Imagine that. This is when females learn the fine art of gossip. My boys, Wesley (8) and Walker (4), and I stay away from all that gossip by doing something productive like watching football or basketball.
But this time when the phone rang, I picked it up.
“Is this Timothy Wildmon?” asked the voice on the other end.
This sent up red flags immediately because nobody calls me Timothy. I only use this name when I sign really important papers like at the bank or somewhere else. Times when I think my full name sounds better. The likelihood of someone named Timothy defaulting on a loan is much less than someone known as Tim is the way I see it. That’s redneck logic, isn’t it?
“Well, I go by Tim,” I said.
“Mr. Wildmon, this is Donna from United Blood Services and we are in a severe shortage of blood. It’s so serious some operations at the hospital are going to be postponed if we don’t have some donors. We show that you gave last September and were hoping you could come in and give again.”
“Are you going to stick my finger again?”
“Well...”
“I’m just kiddin’. Sure I’ll be glad to come down there tomorrow.”
“When can I schedule you for?”
“Oh, put me down for two a.m. Ya’ll are open after the bars close aren’t you?”
“Actually....”
“Donna, I’m kiddin’ again. I’ll stop.”
“That’s fine, Mr. Wildmon.”
“I’ll be there at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”
The next day I ate a good lunch and headed on down to United Blood Services. I walked in, signed the register and took a seat. Then I began reading a May, 1979, edition of Bassmasters. Funny thing, bass looked exactly the same back then.
“Timothy Wildmon,” the nurse said, looking to see which one of the three of us was me.
As I got up she escorted me back to the interview booth. This is where they check your blood pressure, stick your finger, and draw blood ostensibly to check your iron. I think they just do it for fun. Then she asked me all manner of bizarre and very personal questions.
“Did you travel to Angola between 1973 and 1975 and if so did you use unclean needles to inject illegal drugs while drinking Gatorade and wearing a Tommy Hilfiger T-shirt and how did that affect your long-term memory?”
“Well, that’s a lot of question, ma’am. Where do you want me to start? It seems to me I was playing a whole lot of “kick the can” in 1973 and probably wouldn’t have even had time to travel to Angola. So, I am gonna say no to all the above.”
Well, I made it through all that and went back down the hall to the room where they take your blood. I’m sorry. That’s the room where you donate your blood. It took about 20 minutes, I guess. When it was all over, the nurse removed the syringe, put a band-aid on my arm and told me to drink plenty of liquids and not to skip a meal. Then I left, feeling pretty good about myself. “Maybe my donation saved somebody’s life,” I thought.
Driving back to the office I remembered all those personal questions the nurse asked me. She wanted to find out what the chances were that I could have some sort of disease that would taint my blood. It didn’t occur to me at the time, but I should have answered, “Yes, my blood is contaminated. You see, I was born with a serious disease. It’s called sin and we all have it.”
Then I thought about the One who came to Earth who had perfect blood – pure and undefiled. You see, Jesus Christ was the only man who ever lived who was born without the disease of sin. And yet, Jesus gave his life – spilled his blood – for my sins. He gave his blood for Tim Wildmon. Why? So that I could have forgiveness of sin and fellowship with Almighty God. So that I could spend eternity with Him in heaven.
As we Christians enter the season of Lent leading up to Palm Sunday, Good Friday and Easter, let’s take time to recall the great and awesome sacrifice of our Lord and Savior as he laid down his life for His children. For His friends. Praise God in the highest! 
