"Being There"
Originality is simply a pair of fresh eyes.
— T.H. Higginson
In the preceding chapter we saw that taking the time to listen at great lengths is quite possibly one of the most powerful of all principles when it comes to being a friend. Some of that listening is active; much of it is listening without saying a word. But there's still another dimension to friendship that can be every bit as powerful. You've been there, and so have I.
In 1968 I had to enter a Boston hospital for a hip rehabilitation operation. My wife, Dorothy, my friends, and all my associates were in California. That was not a very comforting thought for me as I was preparing to enter surgery so many miles away from home.
Then the most amazing thing happened. Within twelve hours, not only was Dorothy at my side but so were two of our closest friends from home, Ned and Bette Vessey. This couple had taken time from their busy work schedule and other pressing obligations to be at my side during what was to be a serious operation.
I can still remember my feelings, and I can still feel those tears that streamed down my cheeks as I lay in my hospital bed looking into the faces of these precious people who loved me enough to travel the breadth of the nation to be at
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my side. But Ned and Bette did not care only about me! They checked into Boston's Parker House Hotel so they could be in close contact with Dorothy who had a room in that hotel. They took her to breakfast, lunch, and dinner. They sat with her for long hours in the hospital waiting room. They talked with her, prayed with her, and I wouldn't be surprised if Bette didn't do some occasional shopping with Dorothy.
I don't think I've had an experience before or since that has been a more precise definition of what it means to be there. You see, it wasn't what my friends said, the flowers they sent, or the messages of comfort they wrote. It was their physical presence. They cared enough to send their very best — themselves — to my side. My friendship with them was already deep. After that Boston experience, it became profound.
Being There When It Counts
Not long ago a prominent Christian leader and long-time friend called and said he needed to spend some time with me immediately. When would I be in Chicago? I told him I was planning to be there the day after next, and I agreed to meet him. My friend flew eight hundred miles for that meeting, and for three hours we talked and intimately shared in a secluded corner of the American Airlines Admiral Lounge at O'Hare Airport.
This man is much more well known than I, but for the purposes of our meeting that didn't matter. It was enough that we were friends. We had already been through many "acid tests" of our friendship in the past where we both
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took the kinds of risks that could have sent our relationship in any number of directions. Now, we were comfortable just being there and being friends.
As we talked, we commented on a television commercial for the phone company we had seen over and over. Each of us identified with it so closely that it became a long subject of conversation. It was about two men who in spite of the passage of many years were "still there" for each other.
Perhaps you've seen the spot. A portly monsignor is walking reverently through the solitude of his monastery, when a young priest rushes up and whispers to him that he has a phone call in his office. The caller's name is Will, he says, apparently "an old football buddy."
The senior priest does his best to maintain a dignified posture but obviously can hardly contain his delight as he hurries back to his office. The conversation between the two old friends is brief, but it's enough. After so many years, the two men are reliving the experiences of their youth. Will asks the monsignor if he thinks he can still catch a pass. The monsignor says, "Yes, Will, if you can still throw one." The two aging football players didn't need many more words than that. Those kinds of friendships seldom need words. All that mattered was that each was simply there for the other.
Then, as they finish their conversation appropriate music accompanies the moves of the camera as it pans old, faded football pictures on the monsignor's desk. The wry smile and hint of a tear on the monsignor's face say it all. The tag line is a reminder to the viewer to stay in touch with old friends. It was a beautiful moment, and a commercial I'm glad the phone company produced.
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Effective Rx for Friendship
Author, editor, and critic, Norman Cousins, now professor of medical humanities at the School of Medicine, the University of California at Los Angeles, tells his own story of being there that bears repeating here. It's about a group of men and women at a California VA hospital, all of whom were dying of cancer. Cousins had been invited by the doctors to speak to these patients in hopes of brightening their spirits. It's best to let Norman Cousins himself tell the story.
The patients sat in front of me in about seven rows. There were about 60 or 70 of them. I suggested ... what was known about the human brain and spoke about laughter, because some medical researchers believe that laughter helps to stimulate the endorphins and helps the brain to write its prescription.
Cousins went on to tell stories and jokes, and even had a laughter sound track to create an atmosphere of hilarity. "After about five or six minutes, it was difficult for the people to stay in their seats, and out of mercy I had to stop. Then I asked them how they felt. The interesting thing that happened was that while they were laughing, their pain had disappeared."
Cousins then suggested they accept the responsibility for creating their own programs by putting on one-act plays and other productions. He also said they might want to buy video- and audiocassettes of stand-up comics and other forms of uplifting entertainment. He then said his goodbyes and left. But Cousins later returned to this hospital where he found a different atmosphere from that of his first visit.
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When I came back seven weeks later, the doctors told me that they had noticed they were getting much better results. The atmosphere had changed. The people were hopeful, and they became partners in the enterprise. But equally important to me was the fact that the morale of the doctors had been boosted too.When I came back the second time, the patients were no longer sitting in rows, as they were the first time. They had devised a different format for their meetings. Now they sat in one large circle, so everyone could see everyone else. Also, sitting in a circle enabled them to be joined to one another. And the doctors were not sitting up here, the way they did before, on the platform, with the patients sitting out there. Now the doctors were interspersed in the group.
No longer were these people seeing themselves as victims of a dreaded disease. Instead, they had energized and revitalized themselves to such a degree that virtually every day was nothing short of a celebration. Cousins continued, "When they began each meeting, each person had to say what it was that was good that had happened to him or her since the last meeting. And the dependence of the group on having something good happen to each of its members was so strong, no one wanted to turn up empty-handed."
One woman told her fellow patients her nephew had just been admitted to medical school. He had written a letter to her, saying, "Just hang in here, Auntie, and tell your friends to do the same. I'm going to come up with the answer."
A Korean War veteran reported he had received a telephone call from a buddy he hadn't seen since the end of the Korean War. The stories of "what was good" abounded as each patient told his or her story. Why? Because one day
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one man — Norman Cousins — had taken the time to spend a few hours in being a friend to people who had lost all hope. He had chosen simply to be there, and being there had made all the difference.1
Cousins reminded us the most profound things are profoundly simple. That's why this next principle of friendship is vital.
| 5. Simply be there to care, whether you know exactly what to do or not. |
Apostle to the Unwanted
Mother Teresa, that remarkable, tireless woman in Calcutta whose life and work reflect the epitome of caring for the destitute and the dying, is surely our greatest contemporary example of what it means to do something "beautiful for God." I am moved again and again when I read of what she does to touch people in need. Malcom Muggeridge wrote reflectively about the Calcutta he saw in the company of Mother Teresa.
The biggest disease today is not leprosy or tuberculosis, but rather the feeling of being unwanted, uncared for and deserted by everybody. The greatest evil is the lack of love and charity, the terrible indifference towards one's neighbor who lives at the roadside assaulted by exploitation, corruption, poverty and disease.2
Among the most profound human words ever spoken of what it means to be a friend are these from the lips of Mother Teresa herself — Calcutta's "Angel of Mercy":
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When I was homeless, you opened your doors,When I was naked, you gave me your coat,
When I was weary, you helped me find rest,
When I was anxious, you calmed all my fears,
When I was little, you taught me to read,
When I was lonely, you gave me your love,
When in a prison, you came to my cell,
When on a sick bed, you cared for my needs,
In a strange country, you made me at home,
Seeking employment, you found me a job,
Hurt in a battle, you bound up my wounds,
Searching for kindness, you held out your hand,
When I was Negro, or Chinese, or White,
Mocked and insulted you carried my cross,
When I was aged, you bothered to smile,
When I was restless, you listened and cared,
You saw me covered with spittle and blood,
You knew my features, though grimy with sweat,
When I was laughed at, you stood by my side,
When I was happy, you shared in my joy.3
Is there someone you can think of at this very moment who needs to know that you are willing to be there to care? Perhaps it's even as close to home as a spouse, a child, a parent; it could be an old classmate, your pastor, a colleague in the office. It doesn't need to be a person suffering on the streets of Calcutta. What is required of us is to put down our roots, grow, and blossom where we are planted. Pray for the spirit of friendship to take root and grow in your heart, right where you are.
One day a newspaper reporter took out his pad and pencil, looked fabulously wealthy J. Paul Getty in the eye,
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and asked, "Mr. Getty, what is it that money cannot buy?" Getty replied, "I don't think it can buy health, and I don't think it can buy a good time. Some of the best times I have ever had didn't cost any money."
Wouldn't you agree that some of the most effective and meaningful manifestations of friendship cost us little or nothing in money? There are hundreds, probably thousands of situations where our money is no good. And if money could buy them or fix them, we would be hard pressed to attach an appropriate price tag.
After twenty-five years of marriage a wife falls victim to a spreading, debilitating cancer. How much is a letter from a friend that's filled with sorrow and prayers worth to the grieving husband? $100? $5,000? $100,000? None of the above. "Being there" was all that mattered.
An elderly friend who lives alone loses her job, and for the first time in her life she is panic-stricken at the gut-wrenching awareness that she no longer has any means of support. What is it worth to her to know that you will remain her friend, standing by, helping, doing what you can for her as long as it's necessary? It probably means just about everything.
A young couple is filled with the pride and joy that come with the arrival of a first child. They have spared no expense for cuddly teddy bears, special clothes, ribbons, and bows. A rocking chair for the new mother is lovingly placed near the window. The parents' love for their precious baby is all-consuming. Then one night all is too silent in the crib. The child doesn't wake for her bottle. The worst has happened. Crib death has snatched their tiny treasure. At this terrible time in their lives, what value can be placed on a friend who comes to weep with them and remains available day or night? A friend who will simply be there? Obviously,
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the money in the banks of all the oil sheiks combined would not be enough. There are some things you and I cannot buy, because some things — and usually the best things — are not for sale. Friendship is one of those things. But some people won't risk friendship.
Often I ask people who admit they are lonely and void of companionship why they feel they have no friend. The usual answer is, "I just don't feel I could measure up to what someone else might expect of me. I have too many limitations."
On a recent cross-country flight Harold Wilke of White Plains, New York, noticed the hostess giving him strange glances every time she walked by him. Finally, the young lady spoke up, "Sir, you're wearing your watch on your ankle!"
"It's the latest style," sailed Harold, smiling. She nodded and went on with her work only to turn a few minutes later to say, "I'm sorry. I didn't notice you were handicapped. I hope I didn't offend you." Harold assured her she had not. Instead Harold said, "In fact, I like to have my imagination noticed."
Harold was born with no arms, but his parents always taught him to make the best of what was available. Harold has his feet, so that is what he uses. He types with his feet, write with his feet, drives with his feet, and — to the hostess's surprise — wears his watch on his ankle.
Harold Wilke has refused to be curtailed by his limitations. Here's what Harold has to tell us:
1. Find underdeveloped resources. He reminds us that our minds, like our bodies, often produce only a trickle of their potential because we don't exercise them. (Harold can swim with the best of them.)
2. Focus on the solution, not the problem. He asks us to believe
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that a limitation or disability is not as important as what we do about it. Harold says, "God sees you and me, even with our limitations, as whole persons; we've been given power to overcome our predicaments. We have limitless resources to find different answers."
3. Wake up your "third eye." To Harold this means to use your imagination. In other words, if you don't have a wrist, wear your watch on your ankle. Harold has a word for us all: "Stuck with a limitation? Is something holding you back? Know what I've discovered? You can always find another way."4
When I read that story, I photocopied it and sent it with a short note to several of those people who had told me, "I'm afraid to make friends because of my limitations." Do you know what? It helped them.
One of those friendless people sent me a fast reply that read:
Dear Ted,Those two pages written by Harold Wilke made me ashamed of the attitude I've been carrying all these years. I've really missed out on the goldmine of friendship because I thought I'd have to be the "perfect" friend. Well I guess I don't want to believe that anymore, and as a result, my life's taken on a whole new excitement. I'm realizing for the fist time that I don't have to do anything special to be a friend. The most important thing is just "to be there" — just being available and accessible. Limitations? What limitations? Thanks for helping me get off dead center.
— ML
Are you paying too much heed to your limitations? If you are, take Harold Wilke's advice to heart. Focus on the solution, not the problem. You'll be pleasantly surprised to discover
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you have all you need inside yourself right now to develop the fine art of friendship. Don't worry about what you have to do. Instead, concentrate on being there. It will change your life.
A Permanent Friend in an Unstable World
For more than thirty-five years I've kept one special little poem in a file in my desk. It is my personal reminder of how easy it is to get sucked up in the speed, technology, and craziness of the age — all at the expense of relationships.
This is the ageOf the half-read page.
And the quick hash
And the mad dash.
The bright night
With the nerves tight.
The plane hop
With the brief stop.
The lamp tan
In a short span.
The Big Shot
In a good spot.
And the brain strain
And the heart pain.
And the cat naps
Till the spring snaps —
And the fun's done!
— Virginia Brasier5
Now, a third of a century after that poem was written, we live in a time when men and women know more about computers than they do about caring. It's an age when we are still more familiar with keeping up with the Joneses than we
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are with keeping up with Jesus. We seem to be more concerned about Big Brother than we are about the righteousness of God the Father.
For many of us the brain strain and the heart pain will finally force that spring to snap after which we'll be compelled to admit the fun's truly done. By then it will be too late, and we'll have to say in our heart of hearts that it really wasn't any fun after all. Where do we turn to get all this back in perspective?
Never has there been a greater model for friendship than Jesus Christ. Jesus was always there when He was needed. Strong, stable, caring, He touched everyone He met at his or her own private level of need — the woman at the well, Nicodemus, Zaccheus, the woman taken in adultery, the disciples with all their confused, misguided thinking. There was even a special word to the rich young ruler. To those who suffered physical affliction Jesus not only spoke but also healed. Jesus was a friend to all while He physically walked our earth. The miracle of all miracles is that the Incarnation continues in the lives of His people today. He is still that friend who sticks closer than a brother.
He is a permanent, unchanging friend in a world that steers itself on a wildly swerving collision course with the future. As we immerse ourselves in His boundless love, He gives us the thrill of being surprised by an unspeakable joy. He gives us the courage to re-examine our views. He somehow makes it easy for us to admit that we don't yet understand a thing. He upsets our tidy, carefully designed prisons and sets before us mansions of grace and beauty.
All the time He is saying, "I will never leave you nor forsake you." Right now He wants to help you and me turn our troubles into triumphs, our failures into faith, and our mental
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and spiritual paralysis into limitless possibilities for good. He also wants us to be His hands, His feet, His heart to men and women, boys and girls who don't have a friend... to be there to care when we're needed most. It's one of the most simple, yet most profound, principles of all when it comes to learning the fine art of friendship.
