“I’m worried about you,” he whispered in my ear, not because it was a secret, but because that was the only way I was able to hear him. He could barely move his limbs. It took a mechanical sling to get him out of bed, and he could tolerate that for only a few minutes every day. His wife, 86, and a feisty five feet tall could handle everything about his healthcare except the sling, so that’s where I had come in. She and Marti were good friends so Marti volunteered me, and that’s how I became friends with someone whom I would otherwise have never known. And what a surprise it was.

Before his accident, he had been a high-rolling, political public relations man, one of the key figures in southern California politics. He was so smart, he played for both Democrats and Republicans, often pitting them against each other. He single-handedly brought some of the most important politicians and propositions in California to prominence. But here he was, pretty much forgotten, lying on his back staring at the ceiling, a feeding tube in his stomach and a catheter attached to him with little hope of recovery.

And he was worried about me?

I had many reasons to worry about him. Aside from his physical condition was the spiritual condition of his own soul, with the end so near. At 84, he had spent most of his adult life being an atheist, and attempting to shoot down the beliefs of the Christians he knew, including his wife. And yet here he was concerned about me.

When I asked him why, he said, “I’m worried about what you’re going to do when I’m gone.”

It was such a profound question that the answer took different forms depending on  the application. For me, it had personal application that only he knew because we had spent time sharing together. A powerful application came when I spoke at his memorial service attended by 250 of his friends and enemies. (He had plenty of both.) I was able to tell them that in the last few months of his life, he had become a believer in Jesus Christ and was assured of his place in heaven, but his real concern was for them, now that he was gone. Do they know Jesus? He got that settled, but do they? “I’m worried about you,” had special meaning for everyone there.

And now Marti and I see a new exciting application in our work with those who witnessed or were influenced by the Jesus Movement and the Millennials who have started coming around our door, and who are facing a daunting world with few tools. The real question for us is, are we really worried about what the Millennials will do when we’re gone? Do we even have any relationships with Millennials where we would be missed? And do we have a clue what we could be doing now to help prepare them for the new frontier?

Remember, we’re talking about relationships and relationships are always a two-way street. Let’s face it: Millennials are worried about us, too. They want us to know that we have much to learn from them. We need each other.

Which means it’s true for all of us. Someone’s worried about you. And isn’t that grand?