SOCHEWS

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“A Supportive Ally increases your strength, decreases your flexibility, and threatens your privacy.” - Tim Goh

Ten years ago, my pastor and mentor Tim started a series on the kinds of leaders who we would meet along our journey. One of them, he suggested, would be the Supportive Ally.

The word “ally”, he said, comes from the same word as alloy, and literally means “to bind”. An alloy is when two metals come together to form a new compound - a stronger, harder substance, one that broke the properties of two separate elements to form a completely new form.

One day, he said, you will meet an ally. Someone who will give of him or herself to you, who because of the faith and love inside, would bind themselves to you, and make you stronger. But even in the toughest of times, this someone will not bend when it was convenient. Someone who would not allow you to live a life of comfort, but would push you, prod you, provoke you in the name of growth and honesty. When we do find someone like that, hold on to them. For they are as rare as gold. One day, you may even be called to become an ally to one who is crying out in the streets for strength.

Ten years later, and 2011 has proven the above statement to be true. Painful, but true. And as I’ve sought to become a supportive ally to friends who are walking through the fire, the heat has bonded us, yes, but also tested the cords that hold our relationships together. It’s been a hard edict to follow, but the result, hopefully, is something altogether stronger and more ready to face the flames.

I remember writing the above letter to G many years back. Recently, he found this letter and reminded me of the lesson we first heard ten years ago.

May I always learn to be a Supportive Ally to others, as others have dared to become an Ally with me.

curiositycounts:

“Keep hoping machine running.” Woody Guthrie’s 1942 New Year’s Resolution list, an absolute treasure

Death is unnerving. Because it makes you realise what things are important, and how little time we spend on them.

At the funeral of an old friend’s father, a man who was clearly mentally disabled stepped forward. His English wasn’t good. You couldn’t make out what he was saying. But halfway through his eulogy, he broke down and cried. And even though you still couldn’t hear his words, it was pretty clear what he was trying to say. He cared. He spent time. With someone like me.

For me, funerals tend to render words like “legacy” and “accomplishments” into something quite trite. Instead, it’s those little conversations, those little carved-out times you share with your family, your loved ones, those who need it the most, that make funerals so poignant. It’s how big you are in the small moments that people seem to connect with. That’s what I connected with.

Death. Life’s gentle reminder.

katweenah:

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Awww.

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