The “Words” Behind the Words

“Johnny!” That word possibly holds little significance to most folks. Almost anyone can tell you it’s a nickname for John. However, few can grasp what it means to me. My kids are now all grown and no longer part of our visits to our (my bride and I grew up in the same area) hometown. I vividly remember the bemused expressions on my kid’s faces when some seasoned lady or gent from my childhood referred to their Dad as “Johnny.” They hadn’t had the opportunity to share that part of my life and the relevance behind what was being said. Unfortunately, they each are sharp enough to perceive from the twinkle in some of these oldster’s eyes that their Dad wasn’t a perfect child.



Yes, there are a few other folks who weren’t part of my “Johnny” days that take the liberty to call me Johnny. Quite frankly, I much prefer they call me John but try to be gracious about it. It’s just that I don’t have the connection and history with those folks that I have with the dwindling number of precious folks from my past. I wish many of them were still here to call me “Johnny.”






Perhaps the most significant person who has ever called me Johnny hasn’t called me that name for ages even though I talk to her frequently. In my mind, I can still hear her voice echoing through my childhood neighborhood at dusk. I will never forget that voice. I not only could distinguish that voice from all others but special tones and inflections had special meaning and significance. I knew that there were progressive signs of urgency (building to something just short of anger) in those calls of “Johnny.” I usually could accurately gauge the tones but occasionally I underestimated them. That could lead to a painful meeting of certain lower parts of my anatomy with certain parts of our sour cherry tree to reinforce a clearer understanding.






We have a son named John Daniel whom we, for reasons we have difficulty explaining, call “Dan” (previously “Danny”). When he started school we knew that his school name would be significant and lasting. We asked what he’d like to be called and he chose “John.” When we ask if we too should call him “John” he said with tears in his eyes “no I want to be your Danny.”






My bride has never called me Johnny. For well over fifty years, I have been John to her. There is something about the way that she says John (or anything else) that can and does still melt my heart. We treasure our long relationship and have a lengthy and precious investment in each other. Perhaps because of that we both have learned to be selective in the words we speak to (and into) each other. In addition, we trust what is in the other’s heart. Oh, we sometimes still suffer minor miscues but it seems it’s not the actual words where we are vulnerable. You see we both have become seemingly skilled (and many times wrongly) at hearing something not necessarily spoken in words through the tones and nuances of what is being conveyed. If I can impart the wrong nuances to “the love of my life” after over fifty years of practice then I shouldn’t rely exclusively on mere words with others who don’t know my heart nearly as well. I have learned that my massive size, my facial expressions (or lack of them), my deep voice, or any number of other nuances sometimes “trump” and invalidate even well chosen words. That doesn’t even take into consideration written words hastily scattered through cyberspace in emails or on Face book without benefit of other discerning clues to my true heartfelt feelings.






I think I recall reading the phrase “my sheep hear my voice” not “my sheep hear my words.” In reflecting on that simple wisdom from long ago, I now realize how important investments in true heart-felt relational communications beyond the words really are.