The Gift of Your Presence
Blessed be the God and Father of our
Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts
us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in
any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.
–
2 Corinthians 1:3-4
The gift of your presence. That’s how one sweet friend
explained it. She found comfort in the friends who had traveled more than two
hours to be with her and her family as they said goodbye to her 8-year-old
grandson.
No words could restore Connor’s life on this earth.
Nothing anyone could say or do would change the bitter reality. It was the
silent support, the tight hugs, the being there that provided the strength to
get through the days and all those to come.
As I write this, I am just back from a visitation at
church. A dear older woman, a pillar in this church I love, died. She was 90.
Age doesn’t lessen the grief of her family.
Sadness clouded the eyes of her daughter-in-law. “You
understand,” she said, as she grabbed me in a hug. I nodded. It’s been almost a
year since my own Mother died. It’s not something you get over. Grief is
something to be endured until we are reunited again in heaven. That promise is
something to cling to in the moments when the grief feels fresh and comfort far
away.
I went because that dear family needed something I
could give: The gift of my presence. Honestly, I didn’t want to go. I
considered staying home. It’s still hard to be surrounded by mourners clothed in
black and heavy-laden with sadness.
Why go? Because my understanding lets me reach out in
a way others who haven’t walked this path can’t comprehend. It’s not that they
don’t care. They do. It’s that they’ve never felt that depth of grief, that
emptiness, that overwhelming sorrow.
So often people hang back because they don’t know what
to say. You really don’t have to say anything. “I’m sorry,” carries more weight
than a thousand words. True compassion
comes from the heart and carries a strength that lifts us up.
But first, before we can offer up mercy, we have to
get beyond ourselves. We must truly consider others first. We must reach out in
genuine love and not self-serving grandiose gestures. That type of comfort
comes from God.
He is ever present with us and will meet our every
need. Frequently, God uses people – you and I – to minister to those He loves.
We are the hands and feet of Jesus. I’m sure you’ve heard that before. It’s
true. It really is true.
In my own season of grief, I can’t remember all the
details. Numbness has a way of dulling that which doesn’t matter. What I
remember are the people who showed up. I am forever bound in gratitude to those
who cared enough to bring food, place the call, give me a hug. I found comfort
in the presence of those who cared enough to come and sit with me during this
season of grief.
If you’re hesitant about stepping forward, do it
anyway. When you don’t know what to say, just show up. And in the days and
weeks that follow, remember that grief isn’t something that goes away when the
last casserole dish is returned. Grief lingers and haunts our days. Be
vigilant. Reach out. Give the gift of your presence.
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