“A picture is worth a thousand words,” but in my case, a picture is also worth at least a thousand undone deeds. The picture I’m referencing was taken sometime in the late 1980s and featured four misfits, including me, at a Pentecostal youth camp in Redfield, Arkansas. Redfield, a small rural community, just about an hour or so south of Little Rock, featured a big orange restaurant as its main attraction, and it was always just a few degrees cooler than the surface of the sun in mid-July. Hot, dusty, and with little shade, the campground featured softball fields and basketball courts but little else to occupy our time. The main attraction was intended to be a large air-conditioned tabernacle where we were subjected to Bible teaching and preaching twice a day for upwards of three-hour stints that centered on the interpretations and perspectives of our small oneness Pentecostal holiness group. Most of the Bible campers were like me, white, as was the organization to which we belonged. But when I came across this picture in my social media memories last summer, it inspired me to reflect once again on my friendship with Roy Butler. Roy was Black, and that particular summer, he went with me to youth camp, where our friendship was an anomaly that garnered quite a bit of attention, but mostly for all the wrong reasons....