It has made me a lot more sensitive to the fact that life is hard.

And I recognize that for most of my life I was not as aware. Not that I wouldn’t know that people were dealing with life issues — cancer, death of a loved one, caring for a parent with Alzheimer’s, etc. But I was not in a position to know the details, to hear their stories. So I didn’t recognize how very hard what they were dealing with was.

You may be one of these people for whom life is hard right now. If so, then you know, and can empathize with others going through similar times.

If you’re not, then just be aware that there are folks all around you every day for whom life is hard. And that a gentle word, a gentle touch, can mean so much, even if you don’t know all the details.

This is not the result any of us wanted.

We have prayed with great faith for healing, knowing it was against the odds of nature all along. If pure willpower could win this fight, this man would have won. If being greatly loved by so many people could make a difference, it would have.

After he signed the paper and the witness and the hospice representative left the room, we didn’t have words to give each other in conversation that would make any of us feel better or deal better. So we prayed to the One who understands how we feel, the One who can carry us through these difficult times.

The prayer I spoke was one of lament, telling God that this was not the result we wanted, admitting our pain, our frustration. But I also found words to express our love and faith to God in spite of not getting what we wanted, our total trust in Him to provide for our best good. And I also uttered a number of requests — for His care and protection and love for this family as they continue down a most difficult road.

As people of faith, we frequently pray for healing even in the face of long odds. We are praying for a miracle, for an outcome that flies in the face of logic, of reason, of grim statistics of nature.

Sometimes, admittedly infrequently, God grants our deep desire. I rejoice, and my resolve to keep praying for divine intervention is strengthened.

More often, He doesn’t. Then I express my lament, my sadness at the pain of this life. My resolve to continue praying for divine intervention is not lessened, but I am reminded that I, like Job of old, don’t know the answers.

I was reminded of Job yesterday, that in spite of pain and frustration, that he didn’t lose his integrity.

And that it was time to give that helpful book a fresh read.

Young People Singing in M.D. Anderson Lobby

Visiting just one patient wasn’t why I went to the hospital this afternoon.  I went to visit six patients.

It wasn’t that I didn’t have enough time to visit six patients today, although sometimes situations arise where I can’t visit everyone on my list. But today wasn’t one of those days.

Today only one patient was available. The patients in the first two rooms had been released. The third person on the list was out of the room for a procedure. The fourth patient’s room was also vacant. I did get to say “Hi” to the fifth patient as he was being wheeled away for a test.

When I reached the sixth room, the patient was in! In fact, she, her husband, her son, and the nurse were apparently having a conversation about chaplains coming to visit. As I introduced myself, the nurse said, “See, I told you that we have people from all different groups that come!” I came as a representative of their faith tradition, and for many of us, that’s like having family show up. It was for them. It seemed like they had just been waiting my arrival.

As I got to know a little about them, the husband reached over and picked up a Bible. He wanted me to read the handwritten inscription signed by the elders of their home congregation. It was a message of honor and belonging. We talked about prayer, about moving from hopelessness by the physicians over her condition to hope that led to surgery with a hopeful report. We talked about the importance of faith in times like this. And we prayed about what was on her heart — getting well enough to be with family and church. Even so, it was a short visit — maybe 10 minutes total.

Later I was talking to a colleague who is much more experienced in hospital visitation than I, and he remarked about how unusual my day had been.

The day was unusual enough that I spent a little time reflecting on what I should take away from it. I decided it’s really just one thing. Numbers don’t matter. But being there to represent God and church does matter. A lot.

Fragile

My friend Virgil Fry, Executive Director of Lifeline Chaplaincy, wrote a really good post on here and now this week. I especially found his words about holding those we love vs. clinging to those we love helpful.

I hope you enjoy it!

Sometimes I forget that.  I get busy dealing with situations, trying to help others, and don’t work on Jim, or more accurately,  allow God to work on Jim.

That’s been happening lately.  What brings it to consciousness is usually a combination of emotional and physical symptoms: feeling tired, struggling to get things done, feeling overwhelmed, wanting to pull the sheets over my head, looking for things to keep my mind occupied.

When this alarm goes off and I become conscious of what’s going on, I know pretty quickly what the problem is and what I have to do to reverse course.

I have to very intentionally turn control of all of the things that are weighing me down over to God. It’s not that I haven’t prayed often about all of the situations and all of the people, or that I don’t have faith that God will provide exactly what’s needed. It’s just that I have unconsciously retained a portion of the responsibility for the outcome.  I haven’t completely given these things to God, robbing myself of the peace that comes from doing so.  And of the joy of watching how He works and allows me to participate.

So today I began the day intentionally by doing just that — naming names, and listing situations, verbalizing my trust in Him to provide and lead. And I feel more peaceful, more able to respond to His urges for these situations and these people.

I’m adding “Turn Over Control” to my daily calendar.  I need daily explicit recognition that I am not in control, but that the One I serve is.

That means I had several indepth conversations. They were each different — in substance, in emotional tone, in breadth. Each was driven by what that person wanted to talk about, though sometimes with gentle prompting.

I’ve learned that indepth conversations take me longer to post-process, and that’s true today. One in particular just keeps coming to mind. Partly it’s because he talked about the effects of his disease on so many different aspects of his life. And partly it’s because of the depth and at times rawness of his feelings.

It’s an honor to be entrusted with someone’s deepest thoughts and feelings. But sometimes they are also kind of heavy to carry around. I’m thankful for a God with infinite capacity to accept my burdens and those of the folks I minister to. Today there’s a lot to turn over.

Please be mindful of the things you say or ask, when my children are present. They don’t always need to hear all of the facts. If you want me to be honest, don’t ask sensitive questions in front of my children. I may have to give you a false answer for their sake.

Please don’t share your views concerning my spouse’s final destination. You are not God. It causes even more heartache for me when you imply that he will pay for eternity for his choices. I still care about him.

Please don’t tell me that the death of my spouse has somehow made your life better in some way – by causing a positive change to occur, for example. Not yet. I’m happy that it has worked out that way for you, but I’m not ready to hear it – my life is falling apart. As wrong as it sounds, it is too early for me to hear how his death has made things better for you.

Forgive me when I seem cold ,or angry, or indifferent. My emotions change quickly. I can’t always identify them myself or understand them either. All I know is that sometimes I feel hurt, anger, sadness, confusion or nothing at all.

I feel hurt that we weren’t enough to keep him here. I feel hurt because I can’t erase the pain that my children feel.

I don’t expect you to have the “right” words to say. I don’t know the right words to say either. I am thankful for your effort and your willingness to try. Try not to avoid us. It’s noticeable… even when you don’t realize it.

If you have a good memory or a funny story about something he did, share it with us. If you have a picture of him, we’d love to see it. We still talk about him. Add to our memory bank.

We are just trying to survive suicide. We are going through the motions right now. We are surviving day by day. Sometimes hour by hour, moment by moment. Be patient with us.

Give me a hug. I need human touch. Tell me things will be okay someday in the distant future. I need to hear that there is hope. Remind me that God is near. Remind me that God does care about my family and me. I want to believe it.

Write me a letter to share your thoughts/experiences with me. I can read letters again and again until I understand. Don’t be offended if I screen my phone calls. I don’t always feel like talking. If you know I’m having a hard day, show up at my house. Just sit with me. We don’t have to talk. Just sit with me and remind me that you are there for support. Don’t ask me to tell you what I need you to do. Just find something, and do it. Take my children out for the day. Mow my yard. Help me clean out a closet or sort through his things.

Give me a call just to let me know you are still thinking about and praying for our family. Or send me an email. I think and can respond on my own time.

Send a card. At first, there were so many cards. Now, not so many. But…the cards I receive now mean that people still care. People are still praying for our family. I have a difficult time with prayer right now. It’s nice to know someone out there is praying for us.

Feel free to invite me to an activity. I will probably go – and be glad not to have to worry about planning/arranging it. It will allow me to forget for awhile. If I really don’t feel up to it, I’ll tell you.

Just be around. Be around, not to find out information – just to be a friend. If I share something personal, don’t share it with others. Don’t betray my trust or I will never share again.

———–

Continued tomorrow

I feel guilty all the time. I think about what I should have done differently all. the. time. It’s like a movie that plays again and again. I keep trying to re-write the ending. Don’t add to my guilt and ask me why I didn’t (fill in the blank)? I don’t know why I didn’t do things differently. I wish I had done things differently. I wish I had been able to. I wish I could have stopped him. I think about the what ifs all the time. I constantly wish for a do-over. But wishes don’t bring him back. I can’t have a do-over. Don’t add to my guilt please. Hindsight is 20/20.

I know my husband wasn’t perfect. I know you may have heard about some of the things that happened before he died. I am torn. You can tell me how it makes you feel, that’s fine. I’ve felt just as angry, believe me. But, he was a human being, with a life, a soul. I loved him. I plan to emphasize the positive aspects of my husband’s life to my children. It does them no good to hear the negative. They are a part of him too. I don’t want them to think that a part of each one of them is “bad”. So keep the comments about my deceased spouse positive in front of my children. They only have memories now. Let’s make the memories good ones. (Sometimes, I might want to share some of the difficult memories with you privately. Don’t act shocked. Don’t judge me for the things I say or the way I feel.)

I am fearful about the future. Can I do it alone? What if I try and I fall on my face? Who will help me then? My whole future changed in one instant. I mourn the life I once imagined. The advice that I need to “get on with my life” usually comes from people who are still married to their spouse of 30+ years. I resent that advice. Don’t tell me to “move on” or “get over it”. Don’t tell me how I should feel. Tell me that you will be willing to listen to me when things are tough. Make no judgements.

————–

Continued tomorrow.

The patient has something they want to say, something he has been working through for some time.  He needs someone who will appreciate what he has to say to sit and listen, to help make it real.

Interestingly, what he has to say is often something I need to hear for where I am in life.

Yesterday one of those times happened.  I walked into a room, introduced myself, and the patient just started in.  It was quickly obvious that he was delivering a well thought out philosophy about his life.  Sprinkled in were facts about his life, good stuff and bad.  But mostly he was telling me about attitudes and deeply held beliefs that he had developed to help him navigate life, especially in those times of great uncertainty such as he is currently facing.

One of his life principles is to live with the anticipation that each day is going to be a great day.  He told me that when he did, that it was amazing how often it was a great day, no matter what might be happening.  He said that it made tomorrow so much easier, like rolling on a round tire, rather than a square one.

He talked about the abundance of blessings in his life, physical and relational.  He also talked about rock-bottom times.  He said that if he wanted to accept the good things, he also needed to be able to accept the difficult.

He and his wife both exuded joy, in abundance.

What he had to say was important to him.  It turns out that it was really good stuff, helpful to me.  But even if it hadn’t been, even if I hadn’t agreed with what he had to say, it would have been important to listen just as intently to validate him as a person, to be an appreciative audience as he rehearsed his strongest inner beliefs and feelings.

That’s how important listening is.  I was again taught that talking is a highly over-rated ministry tool, and that listening is highly under-rated.