When I was in high school, my friend Judy's mother died of cancer. I never mentioned it. I didn't send a card, go to the funeral or give her my condolence. I pretended it didn't happen. Why? It wasn't that I didn't care. I thought it was horrible and spent sleepless nights wondering about Judy and her little brother and how they would manage without a mom.
I just couldn't go there. I couldn't enter into that pain. I was afraid that if I mentioned it Judy would suddenly remember, "Oh yeah. I forgot. My mom died." How ridiculous of me. Who could ever forget that her mom is no longer in the house, doing laundry, on the phone, or just there?
I may have been able to go my whole life without showing sympathy, without lending a hand, without listening to a heart but God had other plans.
Amy was in kindergarten so I just had Erica with me when I went over to Susan's house* to get the organic eggs and free-range chickens I had ordered from Mr. Rehmer. I'd never met Susan so introduced myself and Erica as we entered. Susan gathered my chickens and eggs and said, looking at Erica, "How old is she?" I told that her that she was three. Susan pointed to the mantle. "That's a picture of my daughter Bethany when she was three. I thought they were the same age." I admired the photo and asked Susan how old Bethany was now and if she were in school.
"Bethany died of cancer the year after this picture was taken." There was no place I could go to get out of that pain. It was staring me in the face. I couldn't change the subject, walk away or make a joke (my usual way of dealing with unpleasantries.) I sat down and asked her about her daughter.
Susan's face filled with rage. "I did EVERYTHING I knew to do! I ate healthy foods during pregnancy, took no medications, nursed. I fed her only organic foods. There is NOTHING I did wrong and Bethany died! What does your faith have to say about that?"
Apparently word had gotten around that I was a believer. Actually my faith was quite new at the time. I had accepted Jesus as my Savior when Erica was a year old. Instead of telling her about my faith, however, I asked her about her daughter. I asked to see photos, to hear about cute things she did. I simply listened and entered into Susan's life. I entered her pain by listening to her tell me about the life of her child.
I got ready to leave feeling that I failed in offering a word of faith to the grieving mom. Susan stopped me and touched my arm. "I wish that I just could touch the hem of your garment! I wish that I just had a shred of your faith!"
My faith? I didn't share my faith. I just listened. I was simply a friend. I learned that day how to enter the door of pain. No one SUDDENLY remembers her loved one died when we ask about things they did in the past. They don't forget; not for a minute. It is my experience that people love talking about that dear one, love getting out pictures and going over anecdotes.
I went back several times to visit Susan and to talk about Bethany. It was a blessing to me and a huge lesson that has kept me all these years since. I can enter the pain of another and it will never be a burden to me but a precious blessing to both of us.
*not her real name
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