That's a Good Boy

by Neil Gilliland

I was packing the last few things in my suitcase for the 2003 National Association of Free Will Baptists in Tampa, Florida, when the phone rang. A dear family friend told me my 93-year-old dad had fallen and broken his hip. Things were not looking good. Myfamily encouraged me to go on to the convention, promising to call if anything changed.

Each day, I called to check on my hero. On Thursday morning, as I packed to leave Tampa, my family called and said to come to Ohio immediately. Dad had taken a serious turn for the worse. His death seemed imminent.

I caught the quickest flight available. A kind friend picked me up at the airport and drove to the hospital. Dad was still alive, calling my name when I walked into the room. I was so tired. I needed rest and sleep, but I asked the family if I could spend the night with Dad. They were tired, too, and had been caring for him all week. I thought, “I can be with Dad and still get some much needed sleep.”

I was awake all night. It seemed he needed something every five minutes. He would whisper for me to move him, sometimes just a half-inch would do, rub his back and feet, scratch his head, or give him another shave. He had always had an aversion to whiskers.

He asked me to soak a little sponge attached to the end of a stick in some cold water so he could suck on it. It was the only way he could get a drink. I rubbed the sponge around his dry lips. Though my eyes were heavy, I wanted to do everything I could for my dad. He had done so many things for me. In that hospital bed, my hero looked extremely weak and vulnerable.

At one point in the wee hours of the morning, as I rubbed his back, Dad said the most powerful words he ever spoke to me. My hands, chilled by the air conditioning vent on the other side of the room, were cool against his hot back. In that moment he whispered, “Oh, that’s a good boy; that’s a real good boy.”

I don’t suppose those words will go down in the annals of great hero speeches, but as his son, I wouldn’t trade them for anything. You see, he identified two simple things: I was his son, and I had done something well. I didn’t have to hit a homerun, score a touchdown, or make the winning basket. I didn’t have to have a high-paying job, prestige, or popularity. I just had to rub his back in the middle of the night.

I have to be honest: I would miss a hundred nights’ sleep to hear those words. I would have walked from Florida to have those words echo in my mind. Not one day has passed that I have not thought about them.

Dad died a day later. As I stood in front of his casket with my wife, I whispered, “All I ever wanted was for him to be proud of me.” At that moment, I realized death emphasizes what little time we have to attend to things that really matter.

We spend much of our lives trying to accomplish something meaningful, to hear someone say we have done well. We all want affirmation. We all want to believe our lives matter, that we have done something significant.

We need to live. I don’t mean to be alive but to really live. I need to affirm my wife, my daughter, my friends, and anyone whose life intersects with mine. I need to be kinder and gentler. I need to be more pleasant and less surly. I wonder how many times each day I fail to say “good job” to people who do little things for me. Yet, I am always ready to point out when they don’t live up to my expectations.

When we wake each morning, perhaps we should ask ourselves, “Who needs a cool hand on a hot back in the middle of the night?” My guess is far more people need a cool hand than a sharp tongue.

One of the things of which I am most proud is that I work for International Missions, an organization with people across the globe armed with Truth, cool hands, and a wet sponge.

All of us who are true followers of the Lamb have spent our lives to hear our eternal Father say, “Well done.’’ You know, I think maybe—just maybe—He will say to me, “That’s a good boy…that’s a real good boy.”

About the Writer: Neil Gilliland is director of member care for Free Will Baptist International Missions: www.fwbgo.com.