Are there relationships in your life that feel like untended gardens? Opportunities pass one after the next until one day you aren’t sure if the relationship can be saved, too much water under the bridge, time failed to heal, etc. I think about relationships a good bit. Recently, I came to an important conclusion about saving dying relationships.

Hubby Guy and I just returned from an epic road trip across the deep south. We traveled approximately 2000 miles on our 12-day excursion. Four states hosted visits with family, friends, nostalgic locales, an HGTV town, and a giant aquarium, where I stood and watched beluga whales dance. We vacationed hard and made memories.

Our trip, crafted as a vacation, served multiple purposes. The most significant purpose, for me, revolved around seeing family. I moved away after college. I’ve been gone for almost as long as I lived there. The older I get, the more problematic that fact becomes. I long for those easy days of childhood, filled with family togetherness and common stomping grounds.

I ran willingly, willfully even, from that place as soon as I could. Though I have never missed the terrain, I miss living close to family. The easy common knowledge shared between family members becomes enviable when you no longer have it. My family drifted, seemingly into entirely different worlds. We hardly know one another anymore. For too many years I remained unbothered by that. 

Now, funerals double as family reunions. With each one, I feel heavier with loss. Somehow the distance I fought so hard to put between me and my earliest baggage serves up a kind of unexpected longing for what was once so comfortably familiar. I find myself wanting to be the family hen and gather up those remaining under my wings for protection. Unfortunately, we are all adults, vastly different in preferences of every kind. What we had all those years ago cannot be recreated. Those bonds feel tenuous, like an abandoned house falling in on itself. Eventually, the whole lot of us will be history.

That’s pretty dark. I know. It is, however, the mental terrain from which what I want to share with you sprang. 

I shared that I moved away on purpose. When I left, creating distance was the actual goal. My reasons for leaving were not at all altruistic. I craved space. I needed control of my own life. One of my favorite movie scenes of all time is from the romantic comedy Monster-In Law. Wanda Sykes’ character says to the character played by Jane Fonda, “I am sick. I am sick, sick, sick of your sh**!” I felt exactly that when I moved far, far away. 

Here’s the thing: decisions like the one I made create collateral damage. Sure, I achieved my goal. Now, 27 years later, I realize my biggest error. I let important relationships crumble. The drama occurring in my family of origin that caused my need to escape ultimately sent all five of us spinning in different directions. We all let relationships crumble, with each other as well as extended family. We all bear equal responsibility for how things have turned out.

Can you relate? What happened no longer matters, but some of the relationships do, right?  I think the solution comes down to intentionality. 

Joel Schmidgall, Executive Pastor of National Community Church in Washington D.C. recently preached three sermons on being intentional. He said in the first message these words that have stuck with me: “When you are intentional in a relationship, you earn the right to be heard.” 

When I consider all the moving parts that led to the near demise of so many relationships in my life, I realize I am guilty of leaving those relationships untended. My own agenda held my attention. It must be human nature to wait around for the other person to do the tending. Does that sound familiar? I want to soak in all the attention but am terrible at offering that needed attention to others.

Adulting requires work. Some of the hardest work comes from tending relationships, especially with those that live in other towns or states. We have our own lives. We think, live, believe, and act differently. Missing context rules the day when tending these relationships. That we spent every day together for 18 or more years no longer matters. 

What matters now is our intentional efforts to build something new, something appropriate to now. Getting to know someone you have known for lots and lots of years, perhaps your whole life, has challenges. 

We have to spend the energy, do the work, and make the time if we want to have an impact on another person’s life. Whether a person is family, a friend, or a complete stranger to us, we have to intentionally cultivate a relationship to earn the right to be heard.