When I started up my blog again after almost a two-year absence, I offered to explain the various characteristics of my late husband Allen that made him a wonderful, wonderful human being, and an enduring partner to me for almost 50 years. A few short weeks ago, I started explaining “husband” to you, my readers. Now I will tackle how Allen became a “friend” – in fact, the best friend I ever had.
Of course, some people will protest right away that a man can never be a best friend to a woman. I heard this misinformation in college, before I married Allen. Back in the Day of Power for feminists, the propaganda stated that “a woman did not need a man” – which I never believed. My own experience was that all my women acquaintances were eager for the attention of males around them. I had already loved Allen from my junior year of high school, and as I entered senior year, I found that my female friends were occupied with their dreams of college, careers, and marriage. They had no time to be anyone’s best friend, much less mine.
But Allen did.
From the beginning of our courtship (yes, courtship!), he asked questions. And then he listened. And then he shared his insights. And he never criticized my own perspectives – even about religion. But more on that later.
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My family had two girls and a boy. Some families were blessed with an harmonious and caring atmosphere; apart from my Granny’s presence (3 – 6 months out of every year), mine wasn’t. My father worked two jobs and was rarely home for dinner at 6. My sister did as little around the house as she could. My brother considered all chores within the house to be “women’s work” – and said so repeatedly. All this was understandable, because my mother had passed away when I was 12, and Dad just didn’t know how to provide support for us grieving children.
But Allen did.
He had two sisters: one older than he was (and married when he was 10), and one younger. Although he readily confessed that his younger sister and he had conflicts, he would not go into detail on anything. He considered that personal, and not something to be shared outside the home. But he listened when I delved into my own family’s conflicts. He never condemned anyone involved; he seemed to be dedicated to defusing any explosive situation, trying to cheer me up with tales about antics at school and church. He often made me laugh when I felt like crying.
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I was brought up a Catholic, and I considered my faith to be a marvelous part of my existence. I was not born again at the time (a transformative experience, which I will share with you at a later date), but Allen wanted to know more about my beliefs. Fifty years ago, Catholics and Protestants never attended each other’s churches.
But Allen did.
Frequently, he would attend his own church’s early Sunday service, then meet me at my parish church and attend Mass with me. He would refrain from taking Communion, out of respect for Catholic teaching at the time, but in every other respect, he would participate in the prayers and motions (standing, sitting, kneeling) of that ritual. He continued attending with me right up to the time when I had an encounter with the living Christ, and decided that the Mass was too heavily focused on Mary, not Jesus. For the rest of our married life, we chose one Bible-preaching church to attend, and attended that one exclusively.
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My own family never seemed to do things together, except for three road trips in the summers after my mother’s death. Allen made it a point to invite me into his family’s weekly / monthly Red Cross and Boy Scout activities (there were a lot of family campfires in those days), and I soon got to know his parents better than I knew my own father and siblings. In fact, after we were married and Allen was assigned to Alaska for a year (unaccompanied), the Honakers welcomed me into their house rent free for that year. I rarely knew any support from my own family in our early years of marriage.
But Allen did.
Allen made it a point to encourage me to call my father from time to time when we were overseas (in Spain, then England). His mother sent us care packages and checks – some were critically timed, as if Mom Honaker knew all the stresses and strains of living overseas and handling two currencies. After our financial situation settled down, Allen would often suggest other people to help or secretly support. He was always practical, but he was also very generous.
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As our two children grew into teens, they would often clash with each other. Trying to keep the peace was a hard thing to do, and I often did not know how to do it.
But Allen did.
He never took sides. He worked his magic with delicious dinners and family camping trips. He assigned chores equally, and while I was at weekend college classes, studying to become a certified high school English teacher, he led the way by tackling half of the chores (including vacuuming, dusting, kitchen work) himself.
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As I experienced some of the many struggles with educational theories that just didn’t work (see my blog “To a Degree”), I felt frustrated that my fellow educators did not seem to use logic and Christian discernment to root out the falsehoods and blunders that were so evident. I simply could not reconcile what I saw with what I knew to be true. I didn’t know how to cope.
But Allen did.
Back in 1976, Allen had accepted a government job that required utmost discretion and secrecy. He not only accepted his responsibilities, but he lived them every day of his life until his untimely death. Instead of letting these heavy responsibilities weigh him down and crush his spirit (don’t be surprised that there would be such pressures on an honorable, patriotic American), he actively encouraged me to unload my own burdens and crushing experiences on him. He would ask me “how [my] day went,” and then patiently listen until the whole litany had been unleashed. And then, as appropriate, he would share his perspective on my ordeal, injecting the wisdom and insight he had acquired in his own job. No details about his struggles came out until many years after his retirement – and even then he was judicious and righteous in what he revealed about them – but the way he framed his advice was liberating. I often felt that he had lifted an enormous weight off of my shoulders just by listening.
***
Death almost interrupted our friendship in 1992. Allen had a devastating heart attack, which led to an operation to insert a pacemaker. In turn, the procedure led to a life-threatening infection, which almost took him to Heaven. In all the heart-stopping panic, I didn’t know how to hold on to God.
But Allen did.
Several months after he was healed and back at work, he told me about a dream / vision he had in which he spoke to Jesus and asked for more time on earth, so that he could finish what he saw as an unfinished task: being my friend and mate. That insight stayed with me a long, long time – right up to the night when I discovered that my friend and mate had, indeed, finished this task and been called to Heaven. Shortly before Allen passed, he reminded me – quite out of the blue – that people should remember that Jesus was Allen’s Lord and Savior. It startled me that he was thinking of such things, but, in hindsight, it was timely and appropriate.
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In summary, if you want to be or to have a friend, examine what Allen did:
He started by loving the person he befriended, even though he knew she wasn’t perfect.
He consciously decided to make me his best friend.
He ignored what the world had to say about friendship, concentrating on what he had learned from Christ.
He demonstrated Jesus’ love to his best friend in practical ways.
He listened to his best friend.
He shared wisdom, not opinion, with his best friend.
He cooked and cleaned for his best friend.
He kept confidences about his best friend that would have been “fun” to reveal.
He was Jesus’ hands and feet to a hurting world, and he enabled his best friend to do the same.
“Go and do likewise” (Luke 10:37).
