There are certain things that cannot be described in words, only lived, possibly just survived. Moments when you've sat in the darkest corners of your soul, of humanity, and lived to see the dawn. We have friends- dear, wonderful friends who took their four month old, their first, into an ER because they thought she was dehydrated. She was immediately seen, and then immediately taken by helicopter to a specialty hospital, one that could care for her better... give her better chances.
When Todd and I got the email from these friends, telling us what they knew, which was very little at that point, I experienced something I'd never really understood before. I'd always heard that the Body of Christ was messy, but I honestly thought that meant church politics and people complaining about the air-freshener in the bathroom being the wrong scent. This was not that type of situation, and yet, half a world away, this crisis moment in friends' lives was messy... but we entered as best we could.
Over the last five years, I've made some incredible friendships. And as we've grown together: as friends, as moms, as women. I've learned many of their giftings. I have one friend who is the organizer. When we found out we were leaving, I sent out an email and in no time she came back with a day, a time, and a venue for having a group farewell for the whole crew and I thought for the hundredth time, "Where were you when I had to plan my wedding?" I have another friend who is the foodie. I think she has a hidden freezer of wonderfulness for 'just in case' because she seems to always have a freezer meal, or five, ready for a new baby, a friend who is sick the exact week their husband is away and everyone in between. I have one who is an encourager. She always seems to know when to be righteously indignant on your behalf, when to encourage and when to get goosebumps with you. It is fabulous, I promise. And on, and on the giftings go.
When our friends' little baby went into hospital, I immediately started cooking. I was the foodie in that group. I'm terrible with encouraging words. I always say the wrong thing like, "don't cry sweetie." I'm not so good about the 'effectual, fervent prayers' either because of my ADOSS (Attention Deficit... Oh Something Shiny!) but I can make you a mean brownie, with chicken noodle soup on the side. Halfway through cooking, though, I realized that they still lived in Chicagoland. My soup wasn't going to make it that far. And that's where it got really messy. You see, I couldn't do what comes natural to me in those situations- drop off food, tell them to call if they needed anything, and then walk away. I couldn't cook, couldn't go do a few loads of their laundry, couldn't go scrub their floors. And the entire ordeal, 4 heart surgeries and countless other procedures over 67 agonizing hospital days felt so helpless because what they were up against was monumental and I couldn't do anything. I could only pray.
Only. I remember sitting one day, after Em was napping, to check my emails and we got this desperate cry for prayers because their baby girl wasn't responding well. I was pregnant with Cooper and totally hormonal so I naturally fell apart weeping. I remember emailing back saying that I'd sit and listen if they needed an ear, I'd sit in silence if they just needed company, and if they found themselves in a place where they had no words, I'd pray for them. It sounded good at the time, and I meant it with all my feeble heart, but writing it seemed so weak, so small, in the face of the giant they were up against.
A little over a year ago we had a bit of a hiccup. Thankfully, by the mercies of God, everything was sorted out, but as we were facing a period of uncertainty, I emailed. This same friend whom I felt I had completely let down because I could only pray, because I could only send a few measly words to, wrote me back. I was stunned by what she wrote, because she literally sent me back my own email from years before. Suddenly, what seemed like months of helplessness and crippling unknowns on my part and a total disconnect because I couldn't give a hug, couldn't nourish them physically, became the words my heart needed to hear.
I had a friend.
I had a friend who didn't exactly understand but understood enough to pray.
I had a friend praying because she could form words at that moment and I simply couldn't.
My heart had been stunned silent. I had entered a space and I had friends who had been before me there, a place where there are no words, only the groans of your soul crying out in a deep, primal language you don't understand. And in that place, I had friends who spoke that language and to them my groans and cries made perfect sense. They knew they couldn't 'fix' because for some things, there is no fix. They knew there were no words. But they came to stand next to me anyways, even though they didn't 'get it' just as I didn't "get" how tiny a baby could feel in the massiveness of a pediatric intensive care unit room, even though they felt helpless and under-qualified because I was fighting a giant they couldn't see.
Five years ago, I struggled with people back in the US telling me that they "totally understood" the culture shock I was going through because they'd done this move or that short-term mission trip. A good part of me wanted to kick them in the shins. I'd moved from the stunning foothills of rural Northern California to a southern suburb of Chicago, just next door to the flattest cornfields that I thought were the stuff of movie sets. I'd done culture shock then. It was NOTHING compared to an international move and trying to find my new 'sea legs'. Can I just say that sometimes, the cavern between empathy and sympathy is simply enormous. At the same time I was feeling so frustrated with some people, others where coming along side, saying such lovely phrases as, "I can't even imagine" or "You must be so homesick" or "I'm praying for you." Validating my giant, even when it was invisible to them. Coming into my messy life, my messy emotions and just pulling up a chair and sitting with me there.
I'm now in that place again, where my heart is very quiet most days and the vast majority of people just don't understand. We've started to box things up and Cooper is throwing more fits, Em is getting more quiet and Harper is unpacking boxes we've just packed. This isn't a move across town or across the country. This is huge on a whole different level. I don't understand a lot these days and I'm not in a place where I really want to understand yet. And I have friends who have been before me. Friends who have said, "I'll organize that final playdate." Friends who've said, "I'm praying for you Britts and I'm going to miss you." Friends who have said, in a thousand big and small ways that they don't fully understand the giant our family is facing, but they do understand that walking into our mess, helping us wade through the wreckage, holding our hands and encouraging us with words and actions, is being the face of my beautiful and glorious Jesus... and it means the world right now.
1 comment:
no words ... tears instead
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