The closest I’ve every personally been to death was when my grandfather died in 1985. He died in Indiana while I was a ten year old in California.
And then when my grandmother died ten years later, I struggled to feel healthy grief when that happened because I’d had such a complicated relationship with her. Even so, I wish she was here to see my girls.
I know this makes me a bit of an anomaly, having skirted grief and loss like I have. Most of us have lost someone or something dear. Very dear.
Maybe we’ve miscarried.
Or lost a father.
Or we’ve seen a sister die unexpectedly.
Or maybe we’ve survived a spouse.
I know. I’m odd. I’ve not had someone close to me, very close to me, die.
But in the past few months I’ve had people very close to me lose someone very close to them. {And we’ve all lost a dear sister.} I’ve grieved by proxy and I’ve grieved from afar. I have made phone calls and sent cards and baked bread. Tears still fall. Wounds still smart.
But in general, my daily, mini-van life is, in a long-term way, unaffected by the losses of others.
Of this I’m certain: One reason why God allows us to travel through difficulty is so that we can truly say,
“I’ve been there. I have walked in those same shoes.”
But what about all of the grief, pain and injustice in the world that I have NOT experienced firsthand but nevertheless come face to face with in a personal way?
I believe we are to feel as deeply as we possibly can. For others, for ourselves, and for a world that is bereft of hope. And in order to do that, our hearts must stay soft and malleable.
I will not say to one who has buried a mother, “I know what you are going through.” Because I do not. But I can hold my own mother more precious than I have and let the pain of another family affect the way I conduct myself presently. The grace I give her and the grace I extend to my mother-in-law.
I have not miscarried. But I can hold a woman in my arms and let her weep. I can watch her toddler while she naps. I can love her in the way that I know how and I can weep because of her pain.
I have not lost a father yet, but I can call the friend that has and show her love thorough my presence. I can text her without needing a reply. I can simply say, “I love you,” and do the things I know to do well (sweep a floor, fold a basket of laundry) without asking her,
What can I do to help?
{She doesn’t want one more thing to decide. But she would love her dishes washed. I know that because, like her, I am a woman.}
So how do I help someone who is grieving when I don’t even understand the same kind of grief?
Feel as deeply as possible. Carry as much as I can. And be as much Jesus as I can possibly be.
{He bore our griefs and our sorrows.}
I know empathy cannot go the furthest places of pain. It cannot be there at breakfast when that person who should be across the table simply is not. It cannot fill an empty womb.
But it can come to run along side, to encourage and to love.
What can we do to show real empathy to others? What have others done for you in grief that has helped? Have you been able to assist others because of pain you’ve gone through?
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