WWW.CITYGATENETWORK.ORG MAY/JUNE 2019 41 The difference, I surmised, was not the staff’s lack of effort, but the absence of effectiveness. The funeral director and staff were not engaged in any relation- ship of any kind with the widow until they were hired to provide a service for a monetary fee because of the spouse’s death. Their relationship, if any, was purely professional. The funeral home was a business, and because of the serv- ice it provided actually profited from the family’s loss. Their condolences were viewed as a professional courtesy. The funeral home’s effectiveness peaked when they functioned within the perimeters and confines of their contracted relationship. The friends and family effectively provided comfort because of their love for the widow and her love for them. They were born or grafted into a relationship that grew over time. Their relationship was underwritten by love and reinforced by deep emotional attachments. Relationships increase our effectiveness, and our effectiveness mat- ters more than our effort. My relationship with Jesus increases my effectiveness. A Different Ending M y secretary, Wanda, informed me that a guest was waiting for me in the conference room. As I reached for the doorknob, I glanced back at her and whispered, “Does he have a hammer with him?” She shrugged her shoulders in confusion, which meant, “I’m sorry. Did you want me to read his referral before he got here? Anything I should know?” John Conner stood to shake my hand and introduced himself. I reciprocated and the relationship that changed us both forever began. John’s reputation preceded him, so I was well aware he was considered dan- gerous and posed a potential threat to the community. He had been released from an NYS prison after serving a lengthy sentence for hitting his girlfriend in the head multiple times with a ham- mer. She suffered a mild traumatic brain injury (TBI) but did not succumb to her injuries. John had a long rap sheet and an even longer mental health history. He also suffered a TBI and, as if that wasn’t enough, he was an alcoholic. Fresh out of prison, he was already homeless. Someone thought I might be a good resource to help him find adequate housing as required by his parole board. Needless to say, there were very few, if any, county residential providers who were willing to look at his referral. There was something about this guy— he didn’t strike me as dangerous or a potential threat to anyone. John’s repu- tation fit him like a glove…if he wore it on his foot. He was tall, thin, and long- legged. His long, graying hair was neatly combed and pulled back into a ponytail. His voice was deep, like the Sam Elliot kind of deep, and his words came slowly because of the TBI. After using all my professional persuasions, I resorted to bribery with chocolate, and eventually a residential provider agreed to work with John. It didn’t take him long to move in, and he did really well in the program. I saw him around town from time to time or when he dropped by to say hello. He sobered up for a while, put on some weight, and started looking for handy- man work. And yes, he had a hammer. On one particular visit, John teared up as he reached to give me a two-handed hand shake. He thanked me for always being honest and for trusting him. He said I was the only one who ever believed in him enough to give him a second chance. It was that trust and his respect for me that gave him the desire to stop drinking. John said he had no family anywhere. The closest thing to family was the girl- friend he had before he went to prison. But, he quickly added, she was always a mean drunk. I had known John for over a year, so he felt safe enough to share with me and know that I wouldn’t judge him. “Is that why you hit her with your hammer?” I asked. “No, I hit her ‘cause she kept beatin’ me in the head with her damn cast-iron skil- let! She hit me so hard she knocked me