tears don't care who cries them

Anytime I feel sick, I don't want to eat. 

 

Anytime I'm feeling depressed, I don't want loads of happy news. 

 

These are related, and I'll explain why.

That's not just me. When you're feeling nasty ill, you don't want a giant meal. Think about the last time you got over a stomach virus. What did you eat? Probably not much.

When people learn that I once worked as a hospital chaplain in the ICU (Intensive Care Unit), and also in the Emergency Dept, they'll say something like 'I could never do that ... I wouldn't know what to say, and I'd just say something dumb.'

I admit: I didn't know what to say in many situations. Each family was facing teeth-clenching stress and heart-splitting pain. If every patient there had their way, they'd be anywhere else. No one wants to be there.

So it's a small grace that we are created to receive -- within every interaction -- immeasurably more nonverbal than verbal communication. This is good news for us.

There's an Old Testament story about a person named Job, and Job endured some hard times (understatement). This story includes loads of awful, horrible advice given by Job's friends. His friends stink at providing verbal comfort. You probably know people who aren't the best at showing verbal empathy. Perhaps you yourself are not the best at knowing what to say (and what not to say) in sad or tough situations.

But ... Job's friends weren't totally clueless. 

 

And in this, there's hope for those of us awkward types who feel lost for what to say in these moments.

 

"Now when Job's three friends heard of all this evil that had come upon Job, they each came from his own place...to come to show him sympathy and comfort him. And they sat with him on the ground seven days and seven nights, and no one spoke a word to him, for they saw that his suffering was very great." -Job 2:11-13 (underlining mine)

 

Job's friends understood that no words they could say would diminish Job's pain. But still they were there, seven days and nights. Sitting in silence. Job couldn't digest any over-talking, asking questions, trying to fix his problems. So they didn't bother.

 

When our loved ones face such heartache, we often feel like we have to say just the

EXACT.

CORRECT.

PRECISE.

CONCISE. 

THING to show we care.

 

And we think that if we say anything wrong or awkward, it's the worst.

 

And it'll never be forgotten. 

But trust me: that's not true.

 

That's a grace for us, and for our hurting loved ones. We can be there, sitting, Silently. If we say anything, saying 'I love you' or 'I'm sorry you're going through this.' Or we can write this in a note, or a text. If they ask how or why such a thing could be allowed to happen to them, it's OK -- and truthful! to say 'I don't know.'

 

Our words are less helpful than we imagine. Our presence is more helpful than we imagine.

 

Providing this sort of care to a friend is a morsel of soul nutrition. And that's something. Remember when you're sick with a stomach virus...a heaping plate of spaghetti or a hamburger with fries sounds nauseating to attempt to eat. But that tiny sip of ginger ale, or a small bite of cracker? For a wracked system, it's so delicious, is it not?

 

When we give or receive these little graces, it reminds us that bigger graces exist. It reminds us that the present awful situation and sadness isn't all there is. It kindly reminds us of these truths in a way that our hearts and souls can digest in that time.

 

Don't just do something; be there. 

 

It'll feel to you like you're doing nothing. But nothing could be further from the truth.