Words gather then scatter to the winds and I wonder what in the world is worth saying.
For a homeschool writing assignment, I will sometimes
ready the kids with a prompt,
set a timer and "
GO!" There's no stopping the pen for ten minutes or so, just write, write, write until the timer dings. My girls usually beg for more time, the rush of words blowing strong so that they don't want to stop. They can lift their eyes brave and proud to read out loud because I don't look, just listen, and hear them, see
them, not their mistakes. Later, we will choose which freewrite to revise and edit. At that point, their spelling and grammar will be tackled but by then their ideas have heart. They are invested and much happier to hammer it out.
Anyway, I am assigning myself similarly. My prompt is a real e-mail I received recently with "What not to say" (when a beloved friend is suffering) in the subject line. Specifically, as our mutual friends tred through the minefield of cancer with their teen son, Thomas.
The last line of my response to her follows:
"The truth is, as long as we are motivated by love, I think it is all we can do. And it is enough."
During our family's trials, we have received such an outpouring of love and grace that to mention the few things that might not have been helpful seems downright irrelevant. Not to mention that I have walked away kicking myself more than a few times for my rather obtuse insensitivity to the pain of others over the years. I certainly am no authority on what not to say! More convinced than ever that love overwhelms all things and covers a multitude of thoughtlessness, I believe love redeems the offenses that curiously accompany greater afflictions.
Still, there is something to note in the fact that Job's friends initially did well to sit silently with him in his sorrow. It was when they opened their mouths that they went askew. Miserable comforters they are called. They compounded the pain, multiplied it even, with their opinions too freely shared. It is enough warning to clasp my hand over my mouth and cry, "Please, Lord, have mercy and
shut my mouth!"
It is my experience that loss begets loss. In other words, there are ripple loss effects to the heavyweights. Relational casualties are a sad reality. Perhaps if expectations are harnessed, naivety to pain acknowledged, opinions stemmed, maybe, just maybe there will be one less.
Looking back, aside from Steve and our other two children, who were too young to understand, I struggled to manage the expectations or relational needs around me well, once our son started showing signs of bone marrow failure. We prized the days together like pearls in the hand. I would allow little else to distract the eyes of my heart, apart from the battles that waged upon the soil of my soul. In the hospital and at home, I needed to be fully present with my own. However, with a sick child I dared not leave, a man to hold, children twirling, tugging at my legs, there was never enough of me. Time to myself was also scarce but afforded a safe place to fall apart. The Spirit of God soothed and fed me, strengthening me continually. In the seven months that Caleb endured on a bone marrow unit, I was rarely undivided. Grateful that my parents were with our babies, I still found there to be a pulling -- such a tendency to guilt. One of the greatest gifts others could give me was time and space, void of guilt. Having said that, I don’t mean that I did not genuinely need or want anyone around me. I did! The hard truth is, at times I wanted a particular person present, but not others. It wasn’t a reflection on them and I felt it a kindness when my dear friends could be thankful that there was someone that I wanted or needed, a confidant that was a comfort in the situation --even if it wasn’t them.
Does this sound hard? It is. It all is.
Please hear me, sweet friends. Faith, hope and love. The greatest of these is love. It is more than enough.
