I loved reading all your thoughts in the comment section of my last post. They inspired me to write a tad more, and the reasoning behind all this "ranting."
I have led a pretty good life. I grew up in a safe, loving, God-centered home with four brothers and sisters. My parents are still happily married after [nearly] 33 years. I have deep, good relationships with all my siblings. I went to college, loved my time, and got married afterwards. I've experienced no abnormal-timing of death or disaster.
Still, life is perfect for no one. Even though I would not classify myself as someone with the authority on which to speak about tragedy, two experiences come to mind in which I've grieved. And the grief has been real. These are: Bella's cleft issues and deployments/life in the military.
When we found out about Bella's cleft lip, we were stunned. I wept for an entire day, and then some. We were unprepared for this "change of events." We questioned if we ourselves were to blame? We feared, we battled anxiety, we grieved.
On the heels of Bella's birth, and amidst her first four surgeries, we dealt with three deployments. Again, we were unprepared. We grew apart. We struggled to make it through. We battled with feelings of being left behind [me], feelings of being a single man again [Trav], sin of bitterness, and a myriad of other unspoken battles. We grieved, or we tried to as best we knew how.
The hardest part... and I'm saying that having gone through it for a few years now... the hardest part was having people throw well-meaning, trite phrases our way. And standing there and taking them in stride with a smile on my face. Phrases like:
"She'll be fine! Be glad it's a 'fixable' thing. It's amazing what surgeries can be done nowadays."
"Only 3 months? Oh, that'll be over before you know it!"
"No one will even notice her lip! She's a bright little thing... you're lucky it's nothing more!"
"He's in Qatar? Well, be thankful he's somewhere 'safe' and not on the ground fighting!"
"So glad she can have surgery! Do you know how many children all over the world can't have that done??"
"Deployed? My husband goes on business trips all the time. You'll be okay!"
"It's amazing what can be done these days! Be glad she's little so she won't even remember it!"
ALL.THE.TIME.
And I get it. Everyone is well meaning. Everyone thinks that they're the first to offer that point of view (the positive one). But nothing can make you feel more alone than being unable to grieve. Heaven forbid I cry or have a downcast spirit... people don't want to hear it!!
Out of all the thousands of comments about our dear Bella, there were two that I will remember forever. To be fair, so many of you, my dear readers, were so so kind. Offered words of sadness and love. And many friends in real life did as well. But, two I will always remember. My dad's and my friend, Becky's responses. Both were separate times and in both cases, they wept with me. Nothing more than simply hugging me and weeping. They felt my grief and entered into it with me.
A precious book I'm reading now (A Loving Life, by Paul Miller) speaks on this very thing:
"...grief and anger unsettle us and open doors to unbelief in our own lives. We'd rather quiet [people] with good theology. We think we're comforting [them], but maybe we're trying to keep our own demons in place" (29).
He speaks on how we've lost the fine art of lamenting in our Greek-stoicized culture. "A lament grieves that the world is unbalanced. It grieves at the gap between reality and God's promise. It believes in a God who is there, who can act in time and space. ... A lament is a prayer, a plea for help" (31).
Friends, let's let people grieve. Let's hold them, weep with them, not belittle their sufferings. Be assured, if you're aiming in pumping them up with positivity, they've already tried those same words and tactics in their own minds 1,000 times over. What they need is not a mini-sermon, but someone to say yes, this sucks. And I love you. And I'm sorry you're hurting.
Whether it's a 3-year old who just had a 2-hour tantrum and the mother is a wreck. Or whether it's a husband who's deployed. Or whether someone's baby just died at 23-weeks gestation. Or whether infertility is overtaking a friend's life. Let them grieve. Better yet, let's learn to grieve alongside.
I have led a pretty good life. I grew up in a safe, loving, God-centered home with four brothers and sisters. My parents are still happily married after [nearly] 33 years. I have deep, good relationships with all my siblings. I went to college, loved my time, and got married afterwards. I've experienced no abnormal-timing of death or disaster.
Still, life is perfect for no one. Even though I would not classify myself as someone with the authority on which to speak about tragedy, two experiences come to mind in which I've grieved. And the grief has been real. These are: Bella's cleft issues and deployments/life in the military.
When we found out about Bella's cleft lip, we were stunned. I wept for an entire day, and then some. We were unprepared for this "change of events." We questioned if we ourselves were to blame? We feared, we battled anxiety, we grieved.
On the heels of Bella's birth, and amidst her first four surgeries, we dealt with three deployments. Again, we were unprepared. We grew apart. We struggled to make it through. We battled with feelings of being left behind [me], feelings of being a single man again [Trav], sin of bitterness, and a myriad of other unspoken battles. We grieved, or we tried to as best we knew how.
The hardest part... and I'm saying that having gone through it for a few years now... the hardest part was having people throw well-meaning, trite phrases our way. And standing there and taking them in stride with a smile on my face. Phrases like:
"She'll be fine! Be glad it's a 'fixable' thing. It's amazing what surgeries can be done nowadays."
"Only 3 months? Oh, that'll be over before you know it!"
"No one will even notice her lip! She's a bright little thing... you're lucky it's nothing more!"
"He's in Qatar? Well, be thankful he's somewhere 'safe' and not on the ground fighting!"
"So glad she can have surgery! Do you know how many children all over the world can't have that done??"
"Deployed? My husband goes on business trips all the time. You'll be okay!"
"It's amazing what can be done these days! Be glad she's little so she won't even remember it!"
ALL.THE.TIME.
And I get it. Everyone is well meaning. Everyone thinks that they're the first to offer that point of view (the positive one). But nothing can make you feel more alone than being unable to grieve. Heaven forbid I cry or have a downcast spirit... people don't want to hear it!!
Out of all the thousands of comments about our dear Bella, there were two that I will remember forever. To be fair, so many of you, my dear readers, were so so kind. Offered words of sadness and love. And many friends in real life did as well. But, two I will always remember. My dad's and my friend, Becky's responses. Both were separate times and in both cases, they wept with me. Nothing more than simply hugging me and weeping. They felt my grief and entered into it with me.
A precious book I'm reading now (A Loving Life, by Paul Miller) speaks on this very thing:
"...grief and anger unsettle us and open doors to unbelief in our own lives. We'd rather quiet [people] with good theology. We think we're comforting [them], but maybe we're trying to keep our own demons in place" (29).
He speaks on how we've lost the fine art of lamenting in our Greek-stoicized culture. "A lament grieves that the world is unbalanced. It grieves at the gap between reality and God's promise. It believes in a God who is there, who can act in time and space. ... A lament is a prayer, a plea for help" (31).
Friends, let's let people grieve. Let's hold them, weep with them, not belittle their sufferings. Be assured, if you're aiming in pumping them up with positivity, they've already tried those same words and tactics in their own minds 1,000 times over. What they need is not a mini-sermon, but someone to say yes, this sucks. And I love you. And I'm sorry you're hurting.
Whether it's a 3-year old who just had a 2-hour tantrum and the mother is a wreck. Or whether it's a husband who's deployed. Or whether someone's baby just died at 23-weeks gestation. Or whether infertility is overtaking a friend's life. Let them grieve. Better yet, let's learn to grieve alongside.
6 comments:
This reminds me of the beautiful Jewish custom of "sitting shiva" with someone who is in morning. It's what your dad and Becky did. Look it up if you've never heard of it… we should all learn how to do this well. :)
So good. I really REALLY suck at this. Like big time. Honestly I have trouble even letting MYSELF mourn. I always compare it to some other thing like, "Oh, there is someone suffering with so and so, so I should just suck it up." I've always wanted to be more sympathetic...empathetic? I always confuse those. Anyways. I'm working on it...it's hard. I think the biggest thing I've learned is that sometimes it's just better, like you said, to say it how it is. "This really sucks" and leave it at that. So...deployment sucks. It really does. :)
I loved reading this! (as I always do when you post something). this is something that's on my mind really often too and you are so good at putting it into words :) I often feel like I have no right to complain when other people have it so much worse, and I would only get upset with myself for being too emotional as this world often told me. it was a great reminder to read this!
I just love both posts, Jenny! Thanks for writing them. I always love your honesty and your ability to put things in writing!
You touch on a tender spot here. I absolutely agree with you. We don't know how much damage an ill-timed Scripture verse can do. Ofen I think we offer these things because we are fearful. Afraid that grief and lament means we have dishonored God or that we lack faith. I think we can learn so much from other cultures about lament. Thanks for sharing.
Yes. Just yes.
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