A friend in my network is famous in our town.  Frank writes, speaks and his word carries weight.  He's earned his stripes, leading organizations for years.  His counsel comes out of experience, from a heart of service and through the filter of a man with nothing to lose.  People literally line up to meet with him.  He's wise. He's a connector. He's honest.  He's also a lot.  'Everybody wants a piece of Frank, but nobody wants a big piece,' noted a mutual friend.

Those that line up at his door for counsel want the truth, but they can only take so much of it at a time. There are those that use him for access to his connections and there are those that want his counsel, whatever it may be. And there are fewer still that want his friendship.  Seems lonely.

Then I wondered: who wants me for what I can do for them? Who only wants a piece of me? Who wants me for me?

While there will be some that come for some thing I can do for them, there are others that come simply to befriend me.  But I can't control why they come.  What I can control is how people experience me: where am I too much? When people leave me are they refreshed? Recharged? Exhausted? Beaten up? Resolute? 

As people, we want integrity and wholeness and to be loved for who we are.  My grandmother used to say 'I know it in my bones.' I thought she was talking about her arthritis, but I think she could sense when something was off.  Her tibia told her she was being used and her ulna noted, in southern twang, 'there's something not right 'bout that boy.'  While her mandible couldn't quite articulate what her clavicle knew, she knew how people needed her and who wanted something from her. 

My grandmother always had coffee going and you were always welcome on her carport to sit a minute.  My nearly famous friend may or may not have eternally available rocking chairs, but he is available and eager to help.  But when you get coffee or counsel, you get all of it.  You can't have Mamaw's coffee without the oppressive South Louisiana humidity any more than you can have Frank's counsel without the occasionally direct (and perhaps painful) question.  This is the whole package. 

We want the good parts; the parts that make us feel good or tell us what we want to hear.  Given my druthers, I'd take Frank's counsel and leave his critique -- that part's not fun, but when you get this man, you get all of him.  His friends know that and love him for all of him because their total experience of him is positive and they know that there are not two parts to him, but that the light shines on him differently at times. 

I wonder if this is what friendship really is: wanting all of me for me.  Nothing less or nothing in return.