I just Can't Stand To See Him That Way

I’d known Delbert since he was a teenager. He was a few years younger than me and was a friend of my younger brother. Delbert had a legitimate reputation as a rebel. I visited Delbert, as a fellow New Bostonian, at the hospital when he was first diagnosed with cancer. And Delbert, like most people with a terminal illness, was taking inventory of what he really believed. He was searching for God but ended up being the one who was found.

Over the next ten years I ran into Delbert here and there. He always greeted me with an enthusiastic, “How are you doing brother!” And before you knew it, he was testifying about how good God had been to him. He was never ashamed of the “Gospel of Christ” (Romans 1:15-18). You see, Delbert’s was a real transformation, a reformation, not a “fox hole” type of religion.

My last encounter with Delbert was a little more formal. He was referred to Hospice for colon cancer at age 39. But he was the same old Delbert, still talking about how good God had been to him. You know, it’s natural to praise God on the mountain tops, but it’s an altogether different climate and experience when walking in “the valley of the shadow of death” (Psalm 23). The most inspiring people I’ve known are the ones that claim, like Job, “Though He slay me yet will I trust Him”. (Job 13:15)

Delbert shared that the thing he missed the most because of being house bound was seeing his “buddies”. His wife commented, “The guys he was closest to haven’t even stopped to see him. They act like there’s nothing wrong.” Delbert added, “You know, I’m really surprised that my buddies haven’t stopped to see me yet. I thought for sure they would be here.” Delbert’s wife attempted to console him, “Honey, they said they just couldn’t stand to see you like this.” But the proffered consolation provided little relief for Delbert’s disappointment and sense of abandonment.

Delbert’s situation is all too familiar. How many times have we heard people contest, “I just can’t stand to see him that way”? As a matter of fact, three years earlier, Delbert’s father was a hospice patient. He was retired, and like many retirees, he met at the same restaurant every morning for coffee with his buddies. Eventually he also became house bound and admitted to me, “I really thought my buddies would have stopped to see me by now.” His wife added, “They never stop to see him. If they only knew how much it hurt him. The counter girl told me she always cries when she sees him come in the store. She says she just can’t stand to see him that way. But how does she think it makes him feel?” Delbert’s father concluded, “They’re shit heads, that’s the way I look at it!” I considered censoring his comment, but I decided it needs to be stated, unvarnished, with all its intensity. We need to hear it the way it is.

I’m reminded of what my old friend Loyal said when I asked him what it was like to have cancer. He replied, “I feel like I’m out of the stream of life.” During the construction of the Hoover Dam, the engineers temporarily redirected the Colorado River by dynamiting a new channel through solid rock. If they could redirect the Colorado River, surely we can redirect our lives so our friends and family don’t feel, “out of the stream of life”.

“Do nothing from rivalry or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. (Philippians 2:1-4)