The other day my friend John called. He calls about two to three times a year to check in and...well see if I want to buy any furniture. "Hi Leslee. This is John. We have a great sale going on this weekend. Everything in the store is 30% off and I thought I'd let you know."
John is the manager at Badcock Furniture in Troy, NC. We have become friends because my family has bought a LOT of furniture over the past twenty years...in particular, beds... from these nice folks. I'm not sure why we became so enamored with beds other than we kept trying to figure out how to help two little girls, then two elementary age girls, then two middle school girls, and then two high school girls have the right beds for the small room they shared. Should you need or want a bed for your kids, from Badcock Furniture, we can recommend quite a few. However, if it's not beds you're looking for but instead someone who will take an interest in you, check-in, and not forget about you when there's a good sale going on, these kind folks in Troy will more than do.
I realize John's calls to me could be chalked up to nothing more than a good marketing technique but they never feel that way. It feels more like someone who knows something of my dis-functional history with beds and space and wants to see how I'm coping now. It always feels like a call of care. I imagine it sounds crazy to think this way about a sales call. But the way I see it, you can't have folks come into your home 7-8 times, assemble beds, and take the old beds away without them becoming friends or at the very least have them become folks you're more than happy to support for all the good they've shared your way. So, I'm always happy to hear from John even if he's hoping to sell me one more bed.
Yet more than this, John's call has me thinking about how I connect and disconnect from the people around me, those I care for, and the ones I once did. I've found myself thinking who are the people I've lost touch with, let slip away or completely lost for disinterest, lack of intention, and care. I've thought too how we can do this with church people. One day we're together, sharing in the blessings of Church, then something happens, and nothing is the same. The next thing we know those we've knelt with at the altar, served with at the nearby shelter, laughed with while washing dishes in the church kitchen, prayed with for healing and peace, worked hard with for fruitful ministry, and cried with over the death of loved ones are no longer there. They're gone. And while we may initially be concerned and reach out, as time goes by we let them slip from our care, lose our intention and forget what we once shared. That is, until we perhaps need something from them; their vote on an important matter, money to fund a new building or renovation, or their expertise and skill with a special project. I'm not sure we spend a lot time reflecting upon the harm we cause by reaching out to people only because we want something from them, in place of offering some care for them.
I realize John's call may seem just like this, manipulative and insincere, as only wanting something from me. And maybe it is but with this exception. He continues to call, ever hopeful, yes, that my family might buy yet one more piece of furniture but also with the acknowledgment of a shared history and story that he doesn't want to dismiss. I welcome his call because it means we've not been forgotten and that regardless if we ever buy another piece of furniture from him, we matter. I find myself wondering if I could somehow harness John's intention into those relationships I've lost or allowed to slip away. Could his consistent reaching out be something the church might embrace? What if in place of asking for something we needed from those we haven't seen at church in a while, we called them up and asked, "Is there anything you need?" "Is there anything I or the church can do that might encourage you to come back?" "Would you let me take you to lunch or could we have coffee?" "I would love to hear how you are and the story for why you left."
I realize that such questions may not have any impact on restoring a lost relationship or encourage someone to come back to church who has left. But what I do believe such questions can do is show someone they are not forgotten, they matter, and are genuinely cared for. And that in itself is transforming. Having someone see us, genuinely care for us, and sincerely desire our well-being can heal what is hurting, restore what has been lost, and lift us up from the bent over, broken places where we sometimes find ourselves. It helps us know we're not forgotten and that our lives matter. And if it makes us feel this way, it must surely make others feel this way too. All that's needed is some faithful intention to reach out and care and... maybe a really nice bed for a good night's sleep... or at the very least a thoughtful sales manager who won't forget you matter. For all the ways each of you so dearly matter, I give God thanks.
Blessings, Leslee
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