I care but I don’t know how

Funerals can be daunting.  But so can an unexpected rendezvous in a shopping aisle.  Or awkward silences in any environment.

Times when we clamour for the right thing to say or do when we encounter a person grieving a deep loss.  It’s that social awkwardness we have all faced — if we are honest.  This is because we don’t know how to manage that moment of a person before us grieving their loss, imagining that we must do or say something/anything to redeem or honour the moment.  

We don’t know how to communicate with someone who is enduring deep pain we cannot connect with.

The truth is, none of us when we are honest
knows how to master that kind of moment.

We feel betwixt and between, as if doing something or not doing something will both be wrong.  We feel paralysed for a response.  It is all because we care.  It isn’t because we don’t care.  It’s so often we fail in giving care because we are fearful of saying or doing the wrong thing, whether saying or doing the wrong thing is even the thing.  The thing is, we care. 

Because we care, we may appear not to care.

Many times in life we are challenged by emotions we don’t know what to do with.  Or how to deal with them.  

It isn’t a sin to care that much that we don’t know how to show it.  Being able to show we care does not necessarily mean we care more.  It just means we bear more competence and confidence in the realm of the grieving.  

My life has taught me that experiencing and facing the pain of one’s grief has been the best teacher for understanding another’s grief.  It isn’t a person’s fault if they haven’t experienced what another person has experienced: the rawness of facing a grief that cannot be denied.  

Grief teaches that there are NO words,
there is only presence.  

Through presence there are words and actions that help — few words and meaningful actions.  Being comfortable when a thing cannot be fixed.  Knowing that the ‘fix’ is in simply being present and perhaps doing something useful that is welcomed.

In awkward situations, we don’t need to do or say anything.  We understand and accept this the moment we face that there are no words to placate a person or situation.  

This is how we show we care:
we face the unspeakable reality
with the grieving person encountered.  

We don’t try to deny their reality.

“Rejoice with those who rejoice,
mourn with those who mourn.”

ROMANS 12:15

It all takes time

Whenever we track back in our lives and reflect over what’s happened to us, we may be amazed at the things we worried about that ended up working out.  

It just took a little time.
At the time it seems like forever,
but afterwards it doesn’t seem as long. 

Life can seem overwhelming.  Do you notice that if you have more than about 6-7 concerns you feel overwhelmed?  This is because the human mind can’t take any more than 6-7 things.  This is where a checklist comes in handy.  Get it onto a page and forget about those worries, tasks, and concerns. 

Psychologically, most of us stress about things beyond our control, yet when we simply focus on what is in front of us, and being ready for that, and simply doing our best, stress ebbs away.

With grief and adjustment and change, it all takes time.

If only we have the patience to let go of the concern we can’t resolve, we prosper.  We look into a mirror and mouth the words, “I cannot control this, I cannot bring it to pass any quicker or better…”  That kind of acceptance helps.

Promotions in our career take time. 
Savings take time.  Paying off the car/home takes time.
Our emotions take time to settle when we’re upset. 
Things we ordered are at times delayed. 
All these things are beyond our control. 
There are so many things outside our control. 
Stressing about them has only a negative impact.

In the moment of overwhelm it’s freeing to simply pull away and get ten minutes to breathe, to look at the sky, to take a shower, to sit and read something, and then to breathe… slowly.  

If it’s hard to ‘park’ the anxious thought, we simply must ask ourselves, “How much control do I have here?”  Reminding ourselves of the power we have to let go is a practice of wisdom. 

I know this seems easier in theory than in practice, but the truth is practice is what makes the difference.  We cannot attain any sense of mastery over the concepts of anxiety and control without entering that arena.

There is wisdom in accepting that all change, all adjustment, all of life for that matter, including travelling through grief, involves accepting that it all takes time.  To know this and to learn to relax and enjoy the moment, no matter how hard that sounds, is helpful.  

It’s the common lot of humanity
to struggle through this.  

You are not alone, and you are not
the only one who struggles in this way.

Learning to stay with what we can personally control is wisdom.  It means letting go of the many things we worry about and coming back into what’s in our domain.  There is no shortcut to learning these things, and each of us finds different ways work best for them.  

Counsellors, psychologists, pastors, chaplains et cetera can certainly help us negotiate our way through, but in the end we all have agency for learning and power through finding what works for us.

It all takes time.  Nobody is expected to master their mental, emotional, and spiritual health journey.  With time, a growing sense of mastery comes without ever mastering it.

One of the best pieces of advice I ever got from helpers and mentors when I was at my depths was simply to go gently with myself.  The Desiderata poem was key for me twenty years ago when I was enduring much brokenness.  That, and one Bible verse (among many): Galatians 6:9, which says, “Do not grow weary in doing good, for at the proper time you will reap a harvest if you do not give up.”

We never reconcile that suffering
teaches us patience.  But it does.

Suffering teaches us empathy and humility as well, but in this context, suffering teaches us to be patient when we cannot change our circumstances.