To my church family:

First of all, I want to thank those of you who have been Jesus’ hands and feet to me, my family, and my mom while we journey through her cancer diagnosis and treatment. You’ve brought meals. You’ve donated funds. You’ve given rides to our kids. You’ve come over and been an adult with them while they do school. You’ve taken on our grocery runs. You’ve prayed. You’ve met me at the hospital. I know we’re far from done, but thank you for your presence and help thus far.

It’s a horrible existence. Feels very hell-ish. A roller coaster. We’re facing death head-on. Fear, grief, anguish, deep darkness, numbness, intense pain, exhaustion, anger: they’re all there and all part of our daily life. The emotional/mental side combined with the physical side makes this season tremendously difficult. I keep trying to put it into words. Probably partly to express it so I may process it, and partly to help others understand.

I want to help others understand, because, sadly, some of my church family has been hurtful and insensitive. I say this with all the grace Jesus has given me, because I know their intentions are good. I know those who have hurt me have been trying to help. I know this because I have also been that person. Many times. In my ignorance, in my thoughtlessness, in my immaturity, I have said and done things (or failed to say or do things) to grieving, suffering, hurting people which have added to their burden instead of sharing it. I can see and hear the loving intention, too, in the midst of them hurting me, and I need to continue to forgive and extend grace. I don’t want to end there, however. With this blog post, I also want to extend some loving truth to help others improve in bearing burdens. This is something I wish I sought out years ago. I need to grow in loving grieving people, and learning how to bear their burdens, and I want to help others grow in burden-bearing.

My experience isn’t unique. As I’ve tentatively shared my pain with others, I’ve been met with multiple people who have gone through the same thing. One angel God sent me in the ICU had also been there previously with a family member in dire circumstances. As we were talking about “miserable comforters”, she laughingly observed, “Christians were the worst comforters” (just so you know, she and I are both Christians). One of her most painful moments was when someone asked her if she’s prayed about her painful situation, implying it must be painful because she hasn’t prayed about it yet, or perhaps she hadn’t prayed properly. Another friend said that the silence of people in her world hurt the most. A horribly painful one is asking if my mom has any unconfessed sin in her life, causing this cancer to spread. If you’ve ever read Job, perhaps you can recognize some patterns of what Job calls “miserable comforters”. The messages implied are, “it’s your fault”, or “I don’t care”. There are also ways our pain is minimized. “God is with you, so don’t be so sad.” “God is using this for good.” “Remember Jesus.” All true things, but so unhelpful and unfitting. Unfitting because these truths, given to me in a dark place, act as an attempt to prematurely pull me out of processing my pain and grief. Look through the Psalms and you’ll see plenty of grief and questioning. Those truths are things I might need to hear, but you won’t know unless you’ve listened to me and know where I am for more than just a few minutes. As Proverbs 12:18 says,

“There is one whose rash words are like sword thrusts, but the tongue of the wise brings healing.”

Those are the more obviously hurtful statements, or sword thrusts. Not surprisingly, there are also some subtler ones. It’s getting pretty easy to forgive and laugh at the obvious ones. It’s harder for me to deal with the subtle ones. Perhaps because there are much more of them. It’s one of the reasons I don’t want to come back to church. It’s not possible for me to go yet, anyway, but to be fully honest, I’m dreading it. I feel out of place. I feel unsafe. I feel additionally burdened when I go. I don’t doubt anyone’s intentions, but there are sword thrusts waiting for me, nonetheless. And since my current burden is so heavy, I don’t have much left to deal with additional burdens and pokes. On Sundays, I would so much rather come and be present and meet with God, and if possible, be supported by his people. I still want to come meet with God, but I’m struggling with his people, because instead of support, I feel additionally burdened by many sweet, wonderful, well-meaning people.

I’m going to share some of the subtle sword thrusts, and then share some things which have been healing to me.

Some subtle sword thrusts:

• Other people’s cancer stories. While this may seem like you’re trying to relate to me, in reality it distracts and takes away from our personal journey through cancer. As my mom said, though there are always similarities in cancer stories, every person’s journey through it is unique. Hearing about yours is an added burden at the time. I know you mean it to be encouraging, but it seems to make it about you, and I don’t have the capacity for that. It’s human nature to relate, but please understand it’s very unhelpful and adds to the already heavy burden I’m carrying.
• Telling me what worked for you in your hard season. Again, this relates to the previous point. You’re taking away from my personal journey and making it about you. You and I are completely different people. If we’re only talking on a Sunday morning, chances are we don’t know each other well at all. You don’t know my story, and I don’t know yours. What worked for you may not at all work for me, because we are unique individuals with unique stories. Perhaps there is a time to hear what worked for you, but now is not the time. Now I need a listening ear, or silent, empathetic presence. I need people who can pray for me, because I often don’t have the strength to pray. However, there is an exception to this. When this is offered from a trusted person who has listened, been present, acknowledged the difficulty, empathized with me, and knows me, this is very welcome. A family friend modeled this for me in letter form, sending me exactly what I needed to hear. It was from a place of seeking to help, from being present, listening and empathizing with me, and it was God-given encouragement. When given more randomly, from someone I don’t know well, it’s well-intended and burdensome.
• Asking questions about how I am doing or how Mom is doing. I’m glad you want to know how I am. If our relationship isn’t super close and we mainly interact on Sunday mornings, however, these questions add to my burden. Usually there are usually 10-15 people asking me the same thing in a very short time period. If I could walk into church, sit and be present just as I am, with tears running down my face, sitting down for worship because I don’t have the strength to stand, knowing I’m free not to sing because I don’t have the strength to, then I’d be fine. Sadly, that’s not been my experience yet. One Sunday there was a line of people waiting to see me and talk with me. While I appreciate that you care, and I could tell you did, answering how I am multiple times over to people who are not deeply invested in my life and grief adds to my burden. The deeply invested people are the ones who will be supporting me through this season. They’re the ones who have already been with me through hard seasons, through the ups and downs of life. They’re the ones who will ask me how I’m doing because they are already caring and supporting me.
• Giving advice. Copy and paste what I said above, but put in “giving advice” in place of “asking questions”. Usually my Sunday morning line-ups were mixed with both questions and well-meaning advice. Both of which tired me out immensely, and weren’t useful. As I write this, I’m reminded of something I read in “The Road Back to You” by Ian Morgan Cron and Suzanne Stabile. They write about the Enneagram, a tool used to help understand the various types of people in our world and how we think, process, operate well and poorly, etc. It was in the chapter about Fours (which I am). One of the strengths of a Four is that they are empathetic. On page 161, the author states, “Fours instinctively know how to honor and bear witness to the pain of others. They know there’s nothing they can do to help other than be in solidarity with you until whatever afflictive emotion you’re experiencing has finished its work in you. So when your dog needs to be put to sleep and you can’t bear the idea of going to the vet alone, don’t call a Two. They’ll show up with a casserole and a new puppy. Fours will drive you to the vet’s, stand alongside you and help hold the dog during those final moments, and give you nothing other than the ministry of their presence.” With that said, what I’ve been realizing is that many people with their strengths and weaknesses have been seeking to help us. We need help in many ways. If we only had casseroles, we’d be missing the emotional support. If we only had Fours coming over to cry with us and listen to us, we’d be starving and really dirty. In my current experience, church family seems to be really heavy on the casserole side, and really light on the “weep with those who weep” side. I don’t expect everyone to have the strength of a Four. However, we desperately need to grow as a church to learn how to better bear each other’s burdens and make a way for grieving, suffering people.
• Ignoring me. I have had people who I thought would be there, but have been silent. No texts, no words, no calls, no meals, nothing. Perhaps they react on social media to a post or a picture, but that’s it. Even hearing, “I don’t have any capacity to help, but please know I’m thinking of you” is better than silence. Or, “I don’t know what to say”, is a great thing to say. Doing or saying nothing is an additional sword thrust.

It’s not been all burdensome, though. Below are the few ways I’ve been helped emotionally by church family. Words and actions of healing. If these were more common, I would feel much more comfortable coming to church while I’m hurting.

Healing words & actions:

• Letting me walk into church without asking me any questions. Perhaps if we are not really close, leaving me alone on Sunday and helping in practical ways like meals or rides would be the best way you could support me.
• Telling me you’re praying for me. This doesn’t ask anything of me, but gives me something.
• Actually praying for me (please ask first!). And be sensitive. If there’s a line of people surrounding me, know that I’m most likely overwhelmed and wanting to escape. Stop and pray about whether to approach me. Ask God to search your heart. Are you approaching me because He’s leading you to, or are you seeking to do it for yourself? Satisfy curiosity? Make yourself feel better that you’re doing something? If so, that’s not what I need.
• Reading my mom’s caringbridge website if you are interested in how she is doing instead of asking me or Greg. Imagine needing to answer, “How is your mom doing?” 20 times before leaving the church building. Another friend of mine simply stopped going to church because she was continually asked about a traumatic event in her life, and reliving it multiple times in a morning was too much. If you read my mom’s updates, then you can say, “I read _________ and I’m praying for ___________.” This doesn’t ask anything from me and lets me know you care. https://www.caringbridge.org/visit/laurieshealthjourney2
• Listening. God wasn’t kidding when he said to be slow to speak and quick to listen. Some may assume this means asking me lots of questions, but you probably understand that I don’t mean that! Those who are already invested in my life have given me this space, and are listening to me. One friend in particular comes to mind who is out of state. She doesn’t ask anything of me, understands I’ll call when I can, and she listens without loading me up with advice. This takes strength. This requires taking on discomfort or pain on yourself. She doesn’t load me up with platitudes to relieve herself from that discomfort. She just bears it. That lifts a load off me.
• Empathy. This first requires listening (See my bullet point above). Putting yourself in my shoes and feeling some of my pain. Some wonderful people have done this for me. I have no idea what their belief system is, but they’ve been such a gift. One such person was my neighbor I happened to meet on a walk. She had lost her mother, and knew a friend with a similar cancer, and that knowledge and experience somehow didn’t lead into advice or questions, but empathy. She told me she knew how hard this season was. She cried. She hugged me. She said to reach out if I needed anything. The sweet dog she was walking actually gave me a hug from the back while she hugged me from the front. Hugely healing.
• Asking nothing of me. Reaching out to Greg if you have additional questions about how to help.
• Don’t expect me to respond to texts, phone calls or emails. Since I’m full to the brim, my spare time is usually spent sleeping, resting, eating, showering, or other life basics. I appreciate hearing from you, and I appreciate that you know I’ll reply when I can. Understanding that about me helps tremendously.
• Read some books about grief if you want to learn more. I’m currently walking through “Dark Waters, Deep Mercy” by Mark Vroegop. Greg recommends “Someone I Know is Grieving” by Ed Welch. In order to become a person who grieves with others well, it means doing a good amount of personal work.

We Christians can be miserable comforters. We can also grow to become wonderful, empathetic comforters. Don’t take it as any condemnation if you’re terrible at it. I certainly was. Yet by God’s grace, he’s making me more like him. In this season, he’s taking me through a crash course on grieving with my mom. The real trouble is if we self-protect, if we ignore, if we resist him, if we are prideful and don’t see any need for change or growth in us. Then that’s cause for concern.

If you are terribly brave, ask people who know you, particularly people who are suffering or have suffered, what has helped them in their pain, and what has made it worse. Listen. Be open to God pointing out where you are weak and need to grow. And please, for the sake of the gospel, and for the sake of hurting people, please seek to learn how to grieve well and bear each other’s burdens well.

Of course, I am speaking to my own experience. It’s very likely this isn’t every grieving person’s story. It’s only one. However, enough stories have come my way that makes me think I’m not alone. I have a feeling many hurting people would come out of the woodwork and come to know Jesus through his church if we grew in empathy. I have a feeling there are more hurting people who haven’t felt comfortable in church or welcome to come as they are. Not because they lack faith in God, but because sometimes his people bring sword thrusts instead of healing. Or sometimes, because there isn’t space made for them. I firmly believe Jesus loves his church. I’m not going to leave because I’ve gotten hurt. Family doesn’t do that. Family sticks it out through the pain and insensitivity. Family gives grace to one another and seeks to build each other up. I’m going to stick with my family and go the more difficult and more rewarding route, and try to be part of the growth. Jesus said, “Come to me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.” I hope and pray the church becomes more and more of a place where the heavy-laden can experience God’s rest through his people.

If Mom’s health allows, I hope to see my church family in March. If I sneak in and sneak out, you’ll know why 🙂