Some Conversations Are More Important Than Others.

Anyone who spent any time with Mars Webster knew he liked to talk. Favorite topics included President Reagan, politics, motorcycles, his niece, and Jesus. On any given meal or cigar, he would easily cover all five.

One day, he cut to the chase and dropped the first four.

Mars and I were at City of Hope. He had been battling cancer for a little over a year. Done radiation and chemo. He had completed a round of immunotherapy and was hoping to begin a new treatment plan that was being developed. On the morning of his appointment, several men from our Monday morning prayer group rallied in the dark hours of the day to meet at Mars’ custom-built home in Manhattan Beach to pray for a home for him.

We all sensed that this appointment was significant. It was.

After reviewing his blood work, lab results, and scans…the doctor gave Mars the news. He had between 12-14 days to live. All the air left the room. I am sure my mouth dropped. Mars’ jaw tightened. I don’t know how long the silence lasted. Not as long as I imagined it was, I’m pretty sure.

Having just given Mars the news no one ever expects to hear, his doctor requested that he stay overnight to run another battery of tests and formulate a game plan for hospice care. Seeing that I could not get home and Mars needed some company, I stayed overnight with him. Frankly, I didn’t want to leave him. His beloved niece, Kimberly, lived in Michigan, and I knew I wouldn’t want to be alone in this moment.

In the morning, the nurse doing vitals came into the room with a cheery, yet authentic, “How are you this morning, Mr. Webster?”

Typically this would call for some form of sarcasm from Mars. He enjoyed not much more than a robust round of banter with waitresses, baristas and medical personnel. I was expecting him to say something like, “My pillow was too soft!” or “You need more channels on this TV!” Of course, all stated loudly and in jest.

Nor was it beyond Mars to, how shall I say, be critical of the care he was receiving. I had been party to a number of occasions when food was sent back to the kitchen, the coffee was brewed again, and the cable company wasn’t featuring the channels he wanted. Mr. Mars Webster spoke his mind!

So I wondered how Mars would react to this query from the newly arrived nurse, full of sincere enthusiasm. Was she about to get a full blast of vitriol? I almost closed my eyes in anticipation.

Not today. No sarcasm. No raised voice. Not this morning. Mars very calmly and assertively made direct eye contact with his nurse and asked, “Do you know the Lord Jesus?”

I think I was more surprised than the nurse. I didn’t know how serious he was…yet this was the time for it. Mars was facing his mortality, and he was going to make the most of the two weeks he had been allotted.

Visibly surprised with our being shocked, she cheerfully answered, “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do! Why do you ask?” I will never forget his answer. And this answer will be, and has been, one of the enduring gifts Mars left me.

“Some conversations are more important than others.”

That was it. He said it once. And I knew that the next two weeks would be unlike any other I had spent with Mars.

Yes…Mars was right. In the world of endless opinions and frivolous opining, some conversations are indeed more important, timely and significant than others. As Solomon writes in Ecclesiastes, there is a time for every activity under heaven. And a time for certain conversations that are more important than others. And over the following 12 days, Mars had many “important conversations.” He was reconciled to a long, lost family member. He forgave a debt. He gave away possessions. He had closure, and gave hope. And among the many, many deposits Mars made in his lifetime, one of them was the statement I heard with my own ears.

“Some conversations ARE more important than others.”

Have one today.