The weather on Saturday was atrocious. The kind of weather where you don’t want to leave your house. You’d rather snuggle under a blanket and watch a movie or two. My wife and I had to put the pull of warmth and comfort aside to attend an event involving my extended family. It would take more effort because it involved a drive of over two hours. When I opened the garage door to get to my car, the wind caught my attention immediately. There were sheets of rain, making it even more blustery and miserable.
We were undaunted. We warmed up the car, I hung a sports coat up in the back seat, and we started our trip. After putting the address in the car’s GPS, we took to the road. I stopped to get a piping hot cup of Dunkin’ coffee to ensure I’d stay awake throughout the entire trip. The visibility was bleak. It was hard to see the road through the rain, and the road mist kicked up by the endless stream of semi trucks that flew past us on the highway.
We were travelling to a very small town in the center of the State – Thurston, Ohio. Neither of us had even been to this burg, but we were eager to get there. The road seemed to stretch endlessly with little to visually break up the miles. You felt like you were on a treadmill that kept spinning but never advanced. We made one pit stop to stretch our legs before venturing on. The entire trip to Thurston was uneventful, and we were grateful for that. We found that this little crossroads of a town was twenty-five minutes from any major highway.
We had to meander several miles of country roads until we came to the Thurston United Methodist Church. It was a very tiny church with an even smaller parking lot. There were cars taking up every possible space because everyone had come to celebrate the life of a family member who had passed. He was the father of my cousin. He’s technically a cousin-in-law. His wife and I are first cousins. My immediate family and the Thompsons are incredibly close. Not only are we related, but our kids grew up together. I babysat their four kids before Debbie and I had our own two kids. We wouldn’t miss this day.
The church was packed !! There wasn’t one open seat, and some people were standing in the back of the country church sanctuary. The service was traditional and filled with hymns I had sung throughout my youth. Ken “Fuzz” Thompson had lived a full life of 87 years on this planet. His daughter, Robin, and son (my cousin), Ken, shared words of remembrance. It was perfect.
A common thread that marked Ken’s life was that he was someone who instantly connected with other people. He would go out of his way to get to know you. He had an inviting demeanor, a quick wit, and was an attentive listener. You never felt like he was focused on himself. He was focused on you. During the service, he was described as a “people collector.” It was as if he were a magnet that attracted others while being humble and unassuming.
The packed church was evidence of this life well lived. When I paused to look around the room, I noticed Ken had passed on the art of collecting others to his son, who in turn had married a people collector. In fact, that describes the majority of people in my extended family. I have assumed this was a regular practice of people, but I know that it isn’t.
You see, the art of connecting with others isn’t to be self-serving or self-promoting. It’s an opportunity to make sure that people are seen, valued, heard, and encouraged. You invest your time and attention in them so they shine themselves. In fact, while Ken was nearing the end of his journey, he shared that the kids didn’t have to have a ceremony – he was fine. Then, he paused, thought about it, and said, “But you guys probably need one. You can do it if you’d like.”
The turnout of how his life impacted others in subtle, meaningful ways was evident. My hope is that you have a people collector in your life if you’re not one yourself. Life is more full, meaningful, and worthwhile when you do.
