Tonight is a Christmas candlelight service at our church. Those who are grieving, gather in the darkness, remembering loved ones, present to the loss we’ve experienced, but also clinging to the hope Jesus offers. Emmanuel. God with us. Even in the dark.
It is quiet, and sacred, and to me, feels like a warm comforter on a snowy night.
But it brings to mind a conversation that I had in October with a friend who is mourning.
“I’m here! Yesterday I couldn’t get out of bed. I’ve lost my capacity to engage, concentrate or make decisions. It’s easier to succumb to the isolation than to fight to justify my pain out in the open. Let’s count today, sitting in a restaurant with you a win.”
I sit across the table from my friend of almost 30 years, autumnal salads with apples and craisins between us. I listen as she catches me up on the losses she’s experienced over the past year and a half since her husband died suddenly.
“I don’t know who I am anymore. Life and everyone in it is moving on. People wave goodbye from bright shiny trains, I no longer have a ticket to ride. All I can do is watch them go; disappear into a future I cannot see.”
Three hours later I feel like we’re both exhausted from trying to process the overwhelming pain she’s enduring.
“I know people mean well, but I’m tired of ‘How are you?’” she says as she dispiritedly picks at her salad.
“When I respond authentically, and say, ‘As bad as you imagine or maybe worse’, I watch their hope get swallowed up by disappointment.”
“Don’t ask if you don’t want to know. I’m angry that it feels like it’s not ok to not be ok. I’M NOT OK and my kids are not ok.”
Anne of Green Gables would say she’s “In the depths of despair.” Only Anne was being overly dramatic and this is real life trauma.
Even Jesus, when in the depths of despair, turns not only to His heavenly Father, but also His community. In the Garden of Gethsemane He’s very vulnerable. He says to those closest to Him, “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow.” and He names what He needs from His community.
“Stay here and keep watch with me.”
Notice He doesn’t ask them to fix or give advice, just sit with Him in His anguish. This is soooo hard for us isn’t it? We’re DO-ERS! We want to alleviate our friend’s pain, and doing something also makes us feel better about ourselves dontcha know!
“Christ came so that we might share in his resurrection life. But first, He invites us into a co-suffering relationship. This means death, and for us in this, death means releasing our right to have an answer and giving up our desire to be the hero.” Emily P. Freeman
One of the questions we can ask ourselves is “What does love require of me?”
- It may often require sitting with a friend and saying nothing, just listening deeply, nodding, or holding.
- Love may ask us to pray silently or outloud, leaning on the Holy Spirit to give words to our groans on behalf of the other.
- It may prompt us to validate the pain of our friend by echoing back what we’re hearing and acknowledging that everyone’s grief is unique.
- Love may lead us to affirm the courage, authenticity, perseverance or other godly qualities we see in our friend even in a season when they feel confused and out of control.
What is your experience walking with friends in pain? Are you afraid of saying the wrong thing? What have you found that’s helpful?
Remember, we’d all love to hear your thoughts! Just click on the title of this post if you receive this by email and it will take you to the place where you can just scroll down to leave a comment. (Don’t worry if your comment doesn’t show up immediately…it will!)
Also, I’d love to see you over on Instagram! It’s my favorite place to hang out.
Laura this was an excellent post. Someone told me recently if we could fix every thing for every one all the time where would that leave God? I’m a passionate fixer and I thank you for this post reminding me to be a loving listener.
Ohmygosh Leslie, I’m a fixer too! I think we are all desperate to DO anything to alleviate the pain of our friends, but we can’t bring back those who have died, and we can’t jump over the pain, so just being a prayerful companion as they walk through it seems to be what God calls us to. Thinking of you and Deborah this season.
Thank you for this post, Laura. Thank you for sitting with me and listening, too.
Laura, it’s so helpful to read posts like this where someone ‘gets it’ and can articulate in a manner that I can’t always put into words. Even almost three years out from loss, the waves continue to crash in at intermittent times and yet friends and family don’t always know how to respond. No one can take away the pain and loss (and yet everyone wants to and often tries with words that are hollow) Only the warmth of Jesus wrapping me in His arms can bring a sense of peace. At least for a while until the next wave comes crashing in. Thank you for your post.
I’m no expert, but I don’t think you ever “get over it”. Grief just looks different as time passes and seasons change.Maybe the waves look different or come a little less frequently?
It’s really hard, but one of the things I had to remind myself when I was in a really deep pit of despair was that when people asked, “How are you?”, what they meant was “I love you. I care and I don’t know what else to say.”