My work phone rang. It was Pat, our receptionist at the front desk, on the other end.

“Sue, I have a Doc —- here to see you.” 

“Tell him I’ll be right up”.

Click. Doc? Of all the customers I had been helping during my banking career he was one of few I’d have expected to have stopped in to see me. 

I met Doc in the 80s. As part of my duties working in the administration department of Saginaw’s branch system for National Bank of Detroit, opening new accounts was a routine. Personal banking was catching on in promoting customer service ideals so when Doc’s letter came to our office it was given to me for follow up.

I met Doc who was living out of town at the time. He had a job that gave him some small earnings. He wanted to have his account in Saginaw where his mother, as a co-signer, could have easy access. So, thus began what resulted in several back and forth transactions which took place over the course of about a year. Doc would sometimes mail me a check to deposit. On occasion he phoned me to authorize a withdrawal. Each conversation was always pleasant, nothing out of the ordinary for someone taking care of a routine financial translation.  Our conversations weren’t very long, enough time to briefly catch up with one another merely exchanging pleasantries mingled in with the reason for his call. He was an out of town customer–we had others–so it never crossed my mind that we might meet one another face-to-face. Until Pat from the front desk called.

After hanging up her call, I walked to the receptionist desk. Standing there was a young black man dressed in athletic clothing, neatly groomed. He appeared to be in his 20s. 

“Doc?”

“Yes, ma’am”.

“Nice to meet you. Please come with me to a conference room where we can talk.”

As he followed me I caught a glimpse of Pat’s eyes and facial expression. She looked a bit concerned.

Doc sat across from me at the table.

“What can I do for you, Doc?”

“I just wanted to come meet you Mrs. Kretchman and say thank you.”

“Thank you for what?”

“For being so nice to me.”

“Nice to you? I try to be nice to all of our customers”.

“But it made me feel good you were nice to me, seeing’s as how I was in prison”.

Yes, Doc was in a state prison when he wrote his letter to us asking if he could open a savings account. After reading it I took it to my boss and remembered asking ‘do we open accounts for people who are in prison?’

‘Do they have money?’

His subtle correction to adjust my judgemental attitude was duly noted. Therefore, a banking relationship between a young white woman and a young black man was established, resulting in opportunities to provide him with banking services enjoyed by thousands of residents in our area.

I remember asking Doc what he had done that required him to serve time. “Breaking and entering” he told me, “But I’ve learned my lesson.”

We didn’t chat long. I escorted him to the front desk, said our goodbyes and turned around to see Pat’s lingering facial expression telling me she was in a mild form of shock.

“Sue, how could you take him to a conference room with no one else with you!”

“Pat, I wasn’t afraid”.

And, I hadn’t been afraid. I was too caught up in the wonder of why Doc was standing at the reception desk when I clearly thought “isn’t he in prison?”

Being kind to Doc was not second nature for me. It was–and remains to this day–common practice for me. Kindness was taught in our home; it was modeled by grandparents, numerous aunts and uncles, teachers and other adults who had been influential in my formative years. Kindness is a fruit of the spirit–not any spirit–but that which comes from God. It’s a fruit that is produced when a person is connected to Him as the master gardener. Yet, admittedly, sometimes like fruit that begins to spoil, my consistency in being kind has been challenged. Even when I fail, I don’t give up trying.

A lot of time has passed now since meeting Doc. He doesn’t come to mind now very often except on those occasions when a lesson of kindness is needed between two very different people. When he crosses my mind I wonder where he’s living. What kind of job or career did he land for himself? Have there been other people God put in his life to continue offering kindness along with being treated as one of God’s children?

I hope so. Moreso, since he had experienced being imprisoned by man for a short while, I pray he’s found complete freedom–the kind given by God through His Son Jesus Christ. 

“I love you.”

Meet Betty. She’s a woman in her 50s who had a deep love for Christ and a passion to mentor young people. When I first met her she was serving as a volunteer for Teen Challenge in Saginaw. Young men who had fallen into addictions and numerous encounters with the judicial system could enter their program for a last chance approach to finally be free from whatever chains were holding them back from being clean and productive members of society. The house wasn’t large, home to less than a dozen at a time, and the ministry’s rules kept everyone under one roof with strict guidelines for daily living. Everything that was taught or activities to rebuild broken emotions and bodies centered on the Gospel. 

It was game night. Probably a Friday. The boys were scattered around the living room playing a variety of board games. Betty was there to help serve snacks and supervise. She loved taking on the role of “mom” or “grandmother” to these young men and getting to know them through conversations was important to her time with them every week. It didn’t take her long to get acquainted with the boys’ personalities and how to communicate on their level. Except for John.

No matter how hard Betty tried to connect with John she often failed. He wasn’t like the others. Her corny jokes or inquiries about his week didn’t penetrate his sameness and cold exterior. She felt as though she was letting John down. That’s when she turned to God and prayed “let me reach John, Lord. What can I do?”

Not knowing if God had been silent to answer her prayer and still feeling desperate on a usual Friday evening of games, as she scurried past John heading to the kitchen, she tapped his shoulder and whispered softly “I love you.”

John didn’t flinch. His posture didn’t change from being touched. He remained sullen and non-emotional after the brief encounter. Betty went about her duties serving snacks. At the end of her “shift” she went home.

I met Betty when I was new in my own faith walk. Sadly, I don’t recall all the details of our meeting but I recall it was centered around Teen Challenge and an invitation from a co-worker to learn about their ministry. It was during one of our times together that Betty relayed the story about John. Betty’s story with John didn’t end when she left her shift the evening she spoke those tender words  “I love you”. John finished out his time at Teen Challenge, graduated and reentered life to find a career. As with most of the boys, she’d never hear from or see them again.

Until one evening, several years later, Betty was home, sitting and reading. That’s when the telephone rang.

“Hello?”

“Betty?”

“Yes, this is Betty.”

“Hi, Betty. I don’t know if you’ll remember me. It’s John. From Teen Challenge.”

Betty searched her memories. John? It was easy to remember the boys who were vivacious and easy. Was John one of those?

“It’s okay if you don’t remember me,” the voice said quietly. “I remember you. And I’ve never forgotten the night you told me you ‘loved me’.

Now it was coming back to Betty. John. The John who she thought she had failed. The John who had a hard time being happy or capable of carrying on any form of conversation. Was this the John she had often worried about?

“Betty, I want you to know I’m doing great. I’m married and I have a family. And, Betty? You want to know something? I’m a pastor. And Betty? There’s something else. Before I met you no one had ever told me they loved me. But you did. I’ve never forgotten that or you. So, Betty? I just wanted you to know, ok?”

Betty hung up the receiver and allowed herself to be swallowed up by quiet and awe which now filled her living room. Tears streamed down her face as she recounted her experience with me. It had been several years between John’s phone call and making our acquaintance. She could recall every detail with beautiful clarity. She may have forgotten about John for awhile but God’s providence reconnected them, giving her another testimony to stand in the test of time.

Why did Betty share this story with me and others who were making a commitment to join a prayer group for Teen Challenge in Saginaw? Because, in her own words, “don’t ever underestimate the smallest of gestures to bring Christ’s love and hope to a young person who is hurting”. 

Having Betty cross my path happened over 40 years ago. I’m sure she’s no longer with us, enjoying heaven now and celebrating the fruits of her labors and the powerful effects of her three small words “I love you.”

And, John? Only the Lord knows where he may be today. Hopefully, his ministry thrived and he helped fill up heaven a bit more because of a changed life that heard a call to become God’s servant behind a pulpit and in the communities he lived. 

John had experienced a touch from the Master through a middle aged woman who didn’t let her fear of failure stop her from trying to reach a quiet, sullen unhappy young man. John took  his “I love you” and turned it into “Jesus loves you” with each sermon he wrote. 

Our world is full of “Johns”. We need more “Bettys.”  I’m thankful I met Betty and that I learned about John. Her testimony of simply speaking “love” into someone’s life helped me to focus on becoming an encouragement too, especially to those who appear lonely, sad, or not interested in “life”. 

—-

Betty’s story about John in Teen Challenge is true. Her love and passion for young people along with her ability to be kind in all situations helped inspire me years later when I began writing a weekly blog “The Art of Nyce”. I don’t recall exactly when, but my husband and I coined the phrase “how hard is it to be nice?” We came up with this question after witnessing how our own small gestures of kindness were received, especially in awkward or tense situations. So, Betty, “thank you”. Your example launched a young woman’s own desire to give kindness and not worry about the weight behind the measure of love carrying it along. 

Admittedly, I’m below being considered as “new” when it comes to using AI for fast answers to questions that pop into my head. I’ve tested its abilities and haven’t had any too far fetched responses.  Take for instance, during a day where I was curious about how AI worked, I typed in “create a strength training routine for a female age 72”. Low and behold the results that filled my screen were quite impressive. Now, the real question is “have I applied the suggestions into my desire to exercise?” Not, 100%, but that’s another day, another story.

Today, after reading some scripture, making some notes in my journal and praying for our children, grandchildren in school, and their teachers, my thoughts turned to how grateful I am that God is a good, good father. I found out, once again, by asking through my search engine for scriptures on the topic, that at least 30 references in the Bible describe Him as such. One of my favorites is found in 1 John 3: 1 “See how very much our Father loves us, for He calls us His children, and that is what we are! But the people who belong to this world don’t recognize that we are God’s children because they don’t know Him.”

Good parenting requires a lot and doesn’t guarantee bragging rights or shameful admissions.  Too much discipline and a child may rebel. Not enough love and a child may turn to the wrong people or things to find acceptance and value….”looking for love in all the wrong places….” (Johnny Lee’s song lyrics)

As my curiosity continued to build,  I asked AI to create a list of parenting terms using the example “Lawnmower Parent”. Quickly, a list popped up showing me 16 different titles given to how a person parents. “Helicopter Parent” was at the top and “Slow Parenting” was at the bottom. The Helicopter parent closely monitors a child’s movement and intervenes frequently, contrasting sharply to the Slower style which keeps a child’s schedule loose and less hurried. As I glanced at other terms in the list I looked for the ones that would best describe my own parents as they guided me to adulthood. It didn’t take long to realize that I was raised under two styles, “Free Range” and “Gentle Parenting”. Don’t get me wrong, my mom or dad didn’t open the door every day and kick me out to fend for myself until it was time to come back home. Rather, I was free to roam our neighborhood to play with countless friends, ride bikes up and down our city block, and come home when I knew it was lunch or supper time. Street lights clicking on was our signal “time to go home”.

My dad fit the description of being a “gentle” father. He exhibited qualities such as empathy, respect, connecting with me and my brothers, setting reasonable boundaries to protect us. Physical punishment was not his norm, nor did he intimidate us with harsh words. In turn, my brothers and I loved and respected our parents. Our boundaries were verbal requests and a warning if needed. Mom and Dad trusted that we would be where we’d said we’d be…the park, a friend’s house, sports field for a game. Our promise to obey was the location indicator as we moved through our day. In the 50s and 60s there was no GPS signal for mom to watch our every movement. Now, parents have smartphones with apps that allow frequent–if not constant–surveillance of children. Whether this technology is good or bad, well, I’ll leave it up to you to form an opinion.

I’m one to exercise caution catching myself saying “Boy, if only we could return to the good ole days…” yet, I admit a level of sadness creeps in when I compare my childhood to what I observe now. No matter the season or weather, my neighborhood had over 40 kids outside. We rode bikes. Played make believe games. Arranged snowball fights or pickup games on empty lots behind the row of homes on Zauel Street. Our neighborhood park was overrun with kids of all ages to engage in games or play on playground equipment. 

Today, I seldom see kids riding bikes. Often, until most recently with the renovation of our community park, it’s been empty and quiet. Factor in, too, that the majority of homes today are now cooled with air conditioning, most likely keeping us inside rather than “suffering” under the heat of the day.

Yup, AI says there’s 16 different parenting styles. We aren’t given any guarantees with what kind of adults we’ll raise. We do our best. By turning to God who is a good, good father we are offered the opportunity to declare “Joyful are those you discipline, Lord, those You teach with your instructions.” (Psalm 94: 12)

How does God discipline? With boundaries to guide and protect us while allowing freedom. How does He teach? By encouraging us to read scripture so we can be a person of great love, respect, and joy. Does He need GPS to keep track of us? Not the kind we might imagine. He has the Holy Spirit to keep a faithful eye on every one of us.

I think that’s a pretty good tracking system!