It’s How You Make Them Feel That Counts

This is the last of a five part series on my friends, Tom and Faye (read part 1, 2, 3, 4). If you haven’t been following, let me update you. Tom is enrolled in our hospice program with advanced Lou Gehrig’s disease (ALS). He is a retired minister and he and his wife, Faye, were partners in ministry in Wisconsin. After retiring to Scioto County, they dreamed about converting their home into a bed and breakfast, but illness has a way of foiling our best laid plans. Tom is literally imprisoned in his body now. His mind is sharp but he can barely move a finger. Tom admitted, “I have so much to say but so little time to say it.” His time has been shorter than even he expected. Verbal communication is extremely difficult now, nearing impossible.

I consider Tom one of my mentors. He’s taught me about humility; that, “In order to be humble we have to see who God is and who we are.” He’s taught me about patience, that it’s not something we have, but something we allow. Its perseverance under trials; believing in and caring enough about something to wait for it; “even an eternity for some things”. He’s taught me about integrity; the courage to lean into the wind; about being a song bird, not a parrot on its perch, dutifully repeating what it’s been told. I’m persuaded that when Tom sees God face-to-face, God will say to him, “Well done good and faithful servant”; not because he’s perfect but because his heart continues leaning towards God.

Faye made a statement last week that grabbed and shook me. I instantly knew I had to pass it on. My visit with Tom and Faye was my last stop for the day. My day started out on a sad and disturbing note. I’d spent some time with a married couple in crisis. On the outside the house appeared perfect. The yard was well trimmed, the house beautifully landscaped, the interior exquisitely decorated; a place for everything and everything in its place; a reflection of responsibility and discipline. But a cold mist had settled on their marriage. Warmth, intimacy, and affection were nowhere to be found. The wife confessed that she had never felt truly accepted and understood by her husband. She felt dominated and controlled. They’d lived their entire marriage together all alone. Instead of understanding, her husband fiercely defended himself, “But haven’t I done _________ for you?”

As I pulled up to Tom and Faye’s home I thought about how their marriage compared with the couple’s at the beginning of my day. Tom and Faye’s home was in need of repair and Faye had declared on numerous occasions, “Our house was never like this. One of these days I’m going to get this house organized.” But she puts first things first, Tom being the first. I reflected on the times Faye stood by Tom’s bed, holding his hand, talking about what a wonderful life they’ve had together, an adventure, a partnership.

Being careful to protect the first couple’s anonymity, I shared the tragic state of their marriage. I shared how the husband fiercely defended himself by telling his wife all the things he had done for her. Then Faye confidently commented, “That’s where he went wrong. It’s not what you do for somebody that counts, but how you make them feel.”

I asked Faye how Tom made her feel and she replied, “Like there was no one else in the world he would rather be with. Even if he was going to the hardware store he would ask me to go with him. I would drop whatever I was doing and go…We didn’t always like the same thing. He loved sports, but I didn’t. But I didn’t say, ‘Why are you watching another ballgame?’ I would sit in the room with him, doing something else, while he watched the ballgame."

Now I understand what Jesus was getting at when he said: “Many will say to Me in that day, ‘Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in Your name, cast out demons in Your name, and done many wonders in Your name? And then I will declare to them, ‘I never knew you; depart from Me…” (Matthew 7:22) It’s possible to live with someone, to do a thousand things for them, in their “name”, but never really know them. Does this unsettle you as much as it does me? I’m afraid I have some rethinking to do.