March 13, 2018

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.

Saturday, June 15, 2012

Pray For Hurting Children Everywhere

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God. -- 2 Corinthians 1:3-4

They meant well. They did. The person(s) who lamented the sorrow and hurt that John Edwards’ children have endured because of his actions and the death of their mother meant well. But to say that “no children” have endured worse was just such an exaggeration. Because many children have and do endure much worse.

I don’t want to belittle what the Edwards’ children have been through. They’ve suffered hurt, no doubt about it. But they also have lived without worrying about food or shelter. They’ve been loved by family and friends. Their uncertain lives have had many certainties other children don’t have.

Like the little boy mentioned in People magazine. His mother lost her job and now she and her children are living in a motel also inhabited with prostitutes and drug addicts. That eight-year-old helps feed his family by bringing home a backpack filled with food from school each Friday afternoon. He misses his old home and the basketball hoop that was at the end of the driveway. He’s suffering, too, through no fault of his own.

Or what about the grandchildren of a dear, sweet woman who lives in a neighboring community? This woman and her husband took the children in many years ago because their mother -- the couple’s daughter -- couldn’t stay off drugs and care for herself and her children. The older woman suffers from diabetes and congestive heart failure. She recently had a stroke and is now paralyzed on one side.

While the woman was hospitalized, the daughter returned to “care” for her children. Or so the world thought. Until the day she fell in the door and her daughter called 911. The woman was still on drugs -- and had stolen her mother’s jewelry and other items to feed her habit.

The children are now with their grandmother’s sister in a town 80 miles away. Their lives are uncertain and tragic. They didn’t ask for a drug-addicted mother. And they certain didn’t ask that their grandmother, the one person who has loved and cared for them no matter what, would now be unable to care for anyone, including herself.

This doesn’t even touch on the children around the world who are starving, dying from preventable diseases, sold into slavery, and abused on every level. Have the Edwards’ children suffered? Absolutely. But the saddest thing is that so many children suffer so much more every single day.

Paul tells us that God comforts us in our times of trouble so that we can then comfort others. I pray that these children will feel God’s Presence in their lives and that they will turn their tragedies into hope for other children around the world.