Friendship
— A
Piece of Cake?
Together we stick; divided we're stuck. — Evon Hedley
In chapter one, we saw that we need to develop friendships in which we demand nothing in return. If we are out solely for our own interests, an authentic friendship with another will be impossible. Principle number two is another important brick in our "friendship house."
It was the day before Thanksgiving. My wife, Dorothy, was doing some last minute shopping. She had a short list: one jar of cranberries.
She parked the car, walked into the store, and marched directly to the shelf where she knew the cranberries would be displayed. To her surprise there was only one jar left, but one jar was all she needed.
Her hand went out to remove the lone jar from the shelf when she saw five other fingers grasps the same jar. It was another woman who also needed only one additional item to complete the things she needed for her Thanksgiving feast. That item? Cranberries.
In the spirit of the season, each insisted the other take the jar. Finally, the manager of the store intervened and said there were more cranberries in the back room. An innocent encounter with another shopper? Not really, because that is
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only the beginning of the story.
Dorothy proceeded to give her new friend, Bette, one of her favorite recipes for a pink and fluffy cranberry sherbet. After the holidays, the two women got together. Before long, even Bette's husband, Ned, would stop by the house just to talk.
During one of Ned's stopovers, he told Dorothy, "You know, like you, we've just moved to this area. I wonder if you'd help Bette get out and meet some new people. It would mean a great deal to me — and to both of us." Dorothy was delighted to be able to spend more time with Bette.
Dorothy invited Bette to join her at a fellowship group of Christian women in the neighborhood, for a time of neighborly friendship and Bible study. It was apparently just what Bette needed, because that one meeting made an indelible impression on her life.
Dorothy and Bette went back to our house afterward for coffee. That was when Dorothy started stalling. There was also to be a prayer meeting that afternoon, but Dorothy reasoned it would be a bit much to invite Bette to that too. It would just be too much gospel in one day.
Then Dorothy said, "Oh, come on. Why don't you join me for the entire afternoon?" It was surely the prompting of the Holy Spirit for Dorothy to extend that invitation, because at the close of that afternoon prayer meeting, Bette quietly slipped to her knees and, brushing back the tears that ran down her cheeks, asked Jesus Christ to take over her life.
That was more than twenty years ago. Today, Bette, Ned, and their five beautiful children have become some of our dearest friends. More important than that, each member of the Vessey family has invited that best friend of all into their hearts — Jesus Christ.
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It all started when two women reached for a lone jar of cranberries. I love to tell that story, because it proves that friendships can begin just about anywhere. Even in a busy supermarket the day before Thanksgiving.
How about you? Are you willing to step forward and be a friend to someone who doesn't have you? Your new friendships can be launched with a simple smile, perhaps with just a handshake after a business or civic meeting. Friendships can be started in a classroom, at a church outing, on the tennis court, or in doctor's waiting room. Often mutual pain or suffering — the really tough, hard times — brings people together. However it happens, people do become friends. Often special friends. At the same time, lapses of caring can be devastating.
During a memorable day in Sweden some years ago, my actions dealt a severe blow to my reputation. My good friend Jack Sonneveldt and I were traveling throughout Sweden on some speaking engagements. We had been graciously entertained and felt most welcome in that great country of my forefathers.
One day, however, we simply had a need to be on our own. We didn't want any guides, tours, cathedrals, or zoos. But guess what? We got them all. Our host in Stockholm insisted a kind gentleman be our guide and chauffeur one sleepy Swedish Sunday afternoon.
There was no way we could get out of this prearranged tour. Jack and I shrugged our shoulders, lethargically got into Sven's car, and began the tour. It was hot that day in Stockholm, which only made matters worse. During our four-hour journey throughout the city, I'm convinced we saw every park, every tree, every church, and every animal in the Stockholm zoo. To add to the boredom, Sven said absolutely nothing. Perhaps twice he grunted something in
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broken English; we knew he had no command of the language.
Jack and I started talking to each other. No response from Sven. We complained a bit more. Sven said nothing. Finally, I turned to Jack and said in a voice I now wish had not been so loud, "Man, how are we going to get rid of this cimice (pronounced "chimiche"?)" Suddenly Sven jerked his head around and gave me one of those looks I hope I never see again. I blustered something apologetically in English, only to feel the car make a sharp right turn in the direction of our hotel.
Jack and I sat there in stunned silence. Sven brought the car to a screeching halt in front of the hotel, and Jack and I got out. I extended my hand to Sven in thanks. The handshake he returned was the likes of a cold, limp Swedish sardine. Sven couldn't wait to get out of there.
Neither could I.
Later I asked our host if Sven could speak English. "Oh, yes," said our friend, "he's just rather shy. In fact, he speaks several languages fluently." I asked if Sven could speak Italian. "Oh, sure," said the host. "In fact, he travels regularly to Italy on business."
By now my face was ashen. My heart was stone gray too. In utter frustration and fatigue and in a voice loud and clear, I had insulted our gracious driver. Little did I know Sven would recognize cimice as the Italian word for "bedbug."! I hadn't meant to offend him, but I had. I had some terribly important explaining to do. For those few moments that Sunday afternoon I had made a terrible assumption, and in the process had forgotten principle number two for being a friend.
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| 2. It takes a conscious effort to nurture an authentic interest in others. |
I'm happy to say I feel I learned my lesson that hot, sultry, summer day in Stockholm, a lesson I hope I'll never forget. It was an embarrassing but nonetheless important turning point in showing me how I viewed people. I really wasn't the caring person I thought I was. I wasn't all that interested in others who weren't doing something I wanted. I had offended Sven terribly, and if he ever reads this book I want him to know that I am apologizing — albeit thirty years late. I will also tell him I've never called anyone a cimice since! If anything, that experience in Stockholm made me almost hypersensitive to the needs of others, particularly in a strange, unfamiliar environment.
I have had many experiences that have showed me how important it is to make a conscious effort to show sincere interest in someone else. One such occurrence happened in Calcutta, India.
Most international flights arrive in this legendary Indian city late at night or early dawn. As the pastor of Carey Memorial Church, my friend Walter Corlett, drove me to the Great Eastern Hotel, I once again looked out into the darkness at the mass of suffering humanity that makes Calcutta one of the most heart-breaking cities in the world.
It was almost 2:00 A.M. I was exhausted from the long transoceanic flight and could think only of the few hours of sleep I would get before a busy schedule that would begin in less than six hours. When I arrived at the door of the hotel,
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a teen-age boy grabbed my trouser leg and pleaded, "Shoeshine, mister? I give you good shoeshine."
Shoeshine! "You've got to be kidding," I said, looking at my watch. I said I was tired, but perhaps tomorrow. Well, tomorrow was only six hours away, and when I made my way out of the hotel those few hours later, the shoeshine boy was there again.
"Shoeshine, mister?"
"OK," I said, "but I want a good one."
"I give you best shoeshine in Calcutta," he said.
And he did. But he also gave me something else. During the next several days, that young boy gave me the opportunity to become his friend.
His name was Dwarka Das. He was fifteen years old, a Hindu, and he had recently been married. Every month he would send virtually all his earnings to his wife and parents who lived in the sacred city of Benares. He could get no work in Benares, so he had come for employment in Calcutta. During the next five days, Dwarka Das and I talked regularly over his shoeshine box. I've never had so many shoeshines in a week. (And he really did give me the best shine I've ever had!)
Dwarka Das would tell me about his faith in the ancient beliefs of Hinduism and its many gods. I would then speak of my love for Jesus Christ.
One day as I was leaving the hotel, Dwarka Das gave me a photo of himself, signed, "from your friend in Calcutta." I later gave him a Polaroid picture of me. For months we corresponded with each other, he with the help of a friend at the Carey Baptist Church.
Eighteen months later I once again found myself in Calcutta. Somehow Dwarka Das learned of my arrival and arranged for flowers to be placed in my room. Once again I
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treated myself to more shoeshines than my shoes needed. By then our friendship was blossoming. We had both taken a genuine interest in each other — a young, newly married shoeshine boy and a middle-aged executive with a large Christian organization. But there ware really no differences when it came to being a friend.
During the months that followed, I sent Dwarka Das books, letters, and photographs. I also asked Christian friends in Calcutta to give him a Bible in his own language.
One day I received a long letter from my young friend in which he told me he had decided to become a follower of Jesus. The letter went on talking about all our meetings together and how much he valued our friendship. The final sentence in the last letter I received is one I'll never forget. He wrote, "Mr. Ted, you give me many things. Books, letters, good tips for shoeshine. But one thing most good you give me is your are my friend. Thank you, Mr. Ted, for you be my friend."
Thank you, too, Dwarka Das, for being mine and for reminding me that the honest-to-goodness interest we have in each other is the stuff real friendships are made of. But it takes a singleness of purpose and a strong commitment to make it happen.
Early Nightingale in his helpful and practical audiocasette series, Insight, tells a fascinating story of the American team of mountain climbers who conquered Mount Everest. I've paraphrased his account here.
It seems that before the team of climbers left the United States, each of the skilled mountaineers was questioned at length by a psychiatrist. During the session the doctor asked each of them this question: "Will you get to the top of Everest?"
The interviewer received a wide assortment of responses.
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Some said, "Well, doctor, I'm going to do my best," or "I'm sure going to try," or "I'm going to work at it." Of course every climber knew of Everest's formidable reputation and its almost impossible peak. But one of the men, a slightly built person, had a totally different answer. When the psychiatrist asked him the question, he thought for a moment and then quietly answered, "Yes, I will." Not surprisingly, he was the first one who made it to the peak of Mount Everest.
Yes, I will — three of the most potent words in our language. Whether spoken quietly, loudly, or silently, those three words have propelled more people to success and have been responsible for more human achievement than all other words in the English language combined.
They are also good words for people who feel they don't have the built-in desire to make friends. Let me say this to you. Right now, you can make a conscious choice to develop genuine, authentic friendships with people you would not naturally seek out — friendships that can begin by your affirming those three words that put a slightly built climber on the top of the Mount Everest: Yes, I will!
Nothing in the world can take the place of that kind of persistence. The possibilities for personal joy and fulfillment are endless when you take the initiative and decide to be a friend.
Have you ever read Zane Grey's books that chronicle the life and times of both heroes and ne'er-do-wells in the Wild West? If you have you'll remember that the books invariably open with the scene of a tall, lean stranger who saunters into town. His eyes are usually a cool, steel gray, his jaw is firmly set, and his body is covered with the alkali residue borne of days and weeks in the saddle. As he pushes his way through
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the swinging doors of the two-story town saloon, everyone in the room is well aware his weathered hands are never far from the two gleaming six-shooters strapped to his thighs.
This stranger has no friends or acquaintances and seems perfectly content to keep it that way. This stereotyped cowpoke is the epitome of the loner. He is portrayed as an individual who has no one and needs no one.
Such people make good characters for interesting stories of the Old West, but in real life it's an unrealistically lonely way to live. Who wants to live as a law unto himself or herself with absolutely no concern for others? You probably don't live on the open plains like Grey's lonely cowboy, but you may know all about the personal pain of isolation and loneliness. How can you start to make contact with others? What do you do to get out of your well-formed rut, which is really nothing more than a grave with the ends knocked out of it? Well, consider this:
1. Work at being a helpful, considerate person. Regardless of your age, sex, physical ability, or I.Q., you can be helpful, considerate, and kind to those around you. It might be no more than helping a neighbor work on his or her car. Perhaps your school or church needs volunteers for special project. If you're a grandmother or grandfather, you may want to make yourself available at a day care center a few hours each week to read and tell stories to children who have no grandparents. The ways in which you can be helpful — break out of your isolation cycle — are endless. In the process, you will also discover you are learning how to be a friend.
Yet at the same time you will want to be careful not to make yourself a nuisance to people who are perhaps not ready for your help. I like the J.B. Phillips paraphrase of
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1 Corinthians 13, which reads, in part,
[Love] is not possessive: it is neither anxious to impress nor does it cherish inflated ideas of its own importance. Love has good manners and does not pursue selfish advantage. It is not touchy.... Love knows no limit to its endurance, no end to its trust, no fading of its hope.
This marvelous treatise on love continues to explore the full-ranged magnitude of what a love based on a relationship with Jesus Christ can do to a person's life. Such a love cannot exist when turned inward. When this happens, it becomes narcissism, a greedy form of self-love, and the church fathers, almost with one voice, called self-love, "the mother of all sins." When we seek the best in and for others, and when we give their interests priority, we soon discover there is absolutely no reason in the world to be like that lonely stranger in Grey's Western novels who loved only himself and perhaps his horse. In the process of our "new thinking," we move a step closer to learning the fine art of friendship.
2. Start believing in people. Undoubtedly you can come up with literally thousands of reasons why you shouldn't believe in people. After all, you've been disappointed, hurt, frustrated, put down, turned down, and let down — just like I have. That always hurts, does it not? I am reminded of the sad-sack businessman who had a reason every single month why business was bad. His list of people-problems bears repeating:
January — People spent all their cash for the holidays.February — All the best customers have gone South.
March — Unseasonably cold and too rainy.
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April — Everybody is preoccupied with income taxes.
May — Too much rain, farmers distressed.
June — Too little rain, farmers distressed.
July — Heat has everyone down.
August — Everybody away on vacation.
September — Everybody is back, broke.
October — Customers waiting to see how fall clearance sales turn out.
November — People upset over election results.
December — Customers need money for the holidays.
Frankly, I wonder how he could stay in business long enough to put his analysis into printed form!
Look what happens to you — yes, to you — when you adopt the reverse attitude that says, "Today, it's going to be different. Today, I'm going to start believing in people! I'm going to take a chance on trusting." When you do, stand back, because the results are going to be earthshattering.
In fact, think with me for a moment of a creative alternative to solve our business friend's problems. What about something like this:
January — Post-holiday sales — free 30-day creditFebruary — Florida vacation specials
March — End-of-the-season sale on energy-efficient space heaters
April — Free income tax guide with $20 purchase
May — 50 percent off special shipment of umbrellas
June — Free seminar: Ten Secrets to More Efficient Farming
July — Sale on air conditioners and floor fans.
August — 25 percent off on camping equipment and free road maps
September — Back-to-school sales; drawings for football tickets
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October — Pre-fall clearance specialsNovember — Rollback of prices to Election Day four years ago
December — Holiday sale; no payments until March 1
The difference is attitude! You've heard the lines of poetry that read, "Two men looked out from prison bars; one saw mud, the other stars." It can be the same for you, and it can begin right now.
It's amazing, isn't it, that we feel some people have a so-called "Midas touch"? Upon closer investigation we discover their positive, never-take-no-for-an-answer attitude was far superior to that of anyone within miles, and it helped them accomplish their goals. Attitude is the magical word. Salesmen know it. Politicians know it. People who get ahead in life know that attitude is their secret weapon.
When you eliminate domination by the negative and believe in those around you, you are going to make some amazing discoveries. You'll find out that folks aren't as bad as you thought. Before long, you'll be echoing the words of that great, gifted humanitarian, Albert Schweitzer, who said,
It is not enough merely to exist. It's not enough to say, "I'm earning enough to live and to support my family. I do my work well. I'm a good father. I'm a good husband. I'm a churchgoer." That's all very well. But you must do something more. Seek always to do some good, somewhere. Every man has to seek in his own way to make his own self more noble and to realize his own true worth. You must give some time to your fellowman.1
How do you start believing in people? Start at home. Instead of telling your sons and daughters how poorly they are
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doing in school or scolding them for forgetting to take out the trash, do something to gain their affection. Give them a hug, and tell them you are proud of them. Find something you can honestly say you like about them. Say it with enthusiasm. Don't nag. Encourage. Do the same thing with your neighbors, preacher, fellow employees and spouse. The list of people to believe in is endless. You'll not only start feeling better about your own ability to maintain relationships at virtually every level, but you'll also discover that developing a real interest in people is your amazing secret in learning the fine art of friendship.
3. Keep the lines of communication open with people you care about. It's almost a cliche to say we need open communication in marriage or any intimate relationship, but still, I don't think we can say it enough. Judson Swihart writes,
Some people are like medieval castles. Their high walls keep them safe from being hurt. They protect themselves emotionally by permitting no exchange of feelings with others. No one can enter. They are secure from attack. However, inspection of the occupant finds him or her lonely, rattling around his castle alone. The castle dweller is a self-made prisoner. He or she needs to feel loved by someone, but the walls are so high that it is difficult to reach out or for anyone else to reach in.2
It is impossible to be a friend when you spend your time building walls. I know something of this from painful personal experience, because for too many years I took what I thought was legitimate cover under my "stubborn Nordic personality" or "work schedule" or "travel plans" or "the Lord's work." You name it. Often what I was really doing
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was building high, unfriendly walls of rejection, of exclusion, and of judgment. I know I still have a long way to go before I will have removed completely some of the remaining barriers, but I'm thankful to a gracious God that I'm making progress.
Easy? No. One day at a time, one step at a time, we must begin to dismantle those frightening fortresses of isolation and loneliness one brick at a time — starting now. You may have to swallow some of your pride, but it won't be all that difficult. Once you decide to make the effort to develop an authentic interest in others, you will have tapped one of the most powerful sources available in learning to become a friend.
