This week our family has had a setback. When I got pregnant with Penny about 18 months ago, I spent 2 weeks in bed. I know that a lot of women have to go on full bed rest throughout their pregnancies, so 2 weeks probably seem like a breeze. But for us, it was really tough. Essentially, when all the hormones shifted in my body, my SI joint went out of place, which means that my hips were literally off-balance. My entire body was visibly crooked. Unfortunately, your hips are kinda critical:) Any kind of weight-bearing activity (standing, bending, twisting, even sitting) requires that your hips work. Mine decided to stop working, to the point that I could not even physically get out of bed without Tim helping me and even then, it was incredibly painful. He learned to wash my hair, which turns out to be quite different than men's hair. It was cute, really.
In that process, I learned to slow down. If you've known me for many years, you're probably thinking IT'S ABOUT TIME. I've always been an opportunist. To me, why say no to an opportunity that you WANT to take? There is no guarantee in life that any opportunity will come around again. This attitude is what had me spending 6 weeks in Argentina at 17 as a full-fledged member of a mission team with 3 other "adults." I also think I have some sort of shame issue with the idea of regrets. I don't want to have regrets and so if I say no to an opportunity that I want to take and it doesn't come around again, won't I feel regret? Still figuring that one out.
All of that to say, slowing down was entirely necessary and incredibly uncomfortable for me. I had a lot of regular commitments and rhythms at the time that I just couldn't do anymore. (Once I was able to get back out of bed, I still fatigued easily the whole pregnancy). I stopped working. I stopped going to church. I quit my chorus. The things I brought into my life greatly revolved around my physical health - chiropractic appointments, yoga, massage therapy. I had my first real bouts with anxiety. I got overwhelmed emotionally really easily. I learned to only do things that didn't stress me out and that list was short!
Slowing down required me to sit in where I get my value from. At that point, our friend Ryan had just died; we were only a year separated from ministry; and I had just gotten pregnant. Being a performance-based person, not doing anything I didn't want to do (and just figuring out what those things were!) was super challenging for me. I had become a really good "yes man." Needless to say, pregnancy the second time around forced a lot of personal growth in me and affected our whole family. It was hard but also really good because it allowed us to re-prioritize and live into our developing values all the more.
After Penny was born, we were in a bad place. Postpartum depression is really, really tough and in our family situation, it was really serious, really fast. That created a lot of family dynamics that were traumatic for all of us. It required a short-term separation. It required therapy for all 3 of us (Tim and I are each still in ongoing therapy). Our families and friends stepped in massively with staying with us, feeding us, helping with the kids, listening to us, financially providing for us, you name it. Very. Hard. Time.
We've spent months working on our individual "stuff" as well as how our stuff affects our family dynamic. This is hard work, painful, and long. It is so difficult to sit in the tension that self-work creates. I'm so incredibly grateful to have the marriage, the friends, the family, and the therapist that I have. I've seen this go down in the lives of people around me with majorly different results. We are so, so lucky.
This brings me to last weekend. Tim had a workshop (big work event) all day Saturday and Sunday was Father's Day. Time to spoil daddy. I was so excited! Being a caretaker, I love this stuff and I get my jollys from taking everything on, obviously. Well, I was carrying Penny up the stairs while Tim and Macy were at the workshop and I felt my back spasm. I got Penny on the changing table and it continued to burn and pull. AGGGHHH!!! Not again! (Even though the pain is in my lower back, it's my hips again for sure).
Here I am, home alone with a 19 pound baby, and I threw out my back. I spent the day doing as little as I could pull off with Penny and hit the sheets the second Tim got home. It's in my nature to be super bummed about Father's Day (completely canceled) and highly concerned about my exhausted husband having to take on all 3 of us when it was clearly planned to be the opposite. He had to miss work all week because I can't lift the baby. I've spent most of my time in bed. It's been lonely, depressing, discouraging, and exhausting.
Here's the thing though, and I think this is a result of a lot of good therapy: this week was an opportunity. I did a lot of escaping (I'm embarrassed to say that I've officially watched many episodes of Keeping Up with the Kardashians), as well as some great self-care (journaling, reading). But this week, though it feels like a setback, is an opportunity to practice the skills we've all been working on. And I hate to say it, me being completely obliterated physically is really the only dynamic we're willing to sit with this stuff in, at least to this level. It absolutely forces our hand. If I can keep my family going, I will, no matter the cost to myself. It grieves me to admit that. I'm really working on it. I've made some really great strides, but that is still my natural inclination and our family dynamic supports that.
So I'm learning to rest. I'm learning to speak into my disappointment. I'm willing to cry and journal about my relationship with shame and how it comes knocking when I'm not able to fulfill my responsibilities. I'm not taking on my husband's stress (this is so painful for me). I'm holding my children who miss me and empathizing with them. Tim and I are communicating where we're both at and sitting in the fact that our feelings really differ from each other right now. It's awkward. It's hard. It's sad. It's beautiful. This is our life and this is what growth looks like.
Thursday, June 19, 2014
Thursday, June 12, 2014
Funky Town
I've been in a funk lately. I don't know if it's the weather (it's actually SUNNY), my body (had some headaches), or the massive amounts of change to my support system all happening at the same time. All in all, I'm not feeling witty. I'm trying to stay in touch with how I feel and give myself permission to be in a funk, but it's hard to sit in those bad moods and not just distract myself in hopes that when I get back to my head, it'll be clear. That's always a temporary fix. Although I will say, I've purchased some seriously cute antiques in an attempt to distract myself.
I woke up this morning EXHAUSTED. There were no logical reasons for this. I got 8 straight hours of sleep (if I read myself writing this a few months ago, I would have screamed in outrage at my whining). Nevertheless, I was a zombie. I had a headache for the third straight day in a row. Both my kids were awake with needs seeking my full attention. I found myself barely moving around in Penny's room, getting the kids downstairs to breakfast well past our normal time. As I fumbled around in the kitchen, spilling Kix all over the counter with Penny screeching and pulling on my pants leg, I thought, man, wouldn't it be nice if I could just drink my coffee alone? I'd just love to be getting ready for work and have my concerns be all about getting myself ready for the day in perfect silence.
Then I started thinking about what life will look like in a few years (they won't need me as much), and a few more (they may not like me) and a few more (they will be gone). It's going to be a long time before I can start my day and only think about myself. And I think when that day finally comes, it's going to make me sad.
So there's that. I usually hate it when women tell other women to enjoy every moment when they have young children because "it just goes by so fast." It feels minimizing and it always makes tired women feel like shit. You're not doing something wrong if you're exhausted. And it really is difficult to have little people in your space all the time. I literally can't take a step in my kitchen without Penny trying to pull up on my leg. And if I step out of the room for a SECOND, even explaining that I'll be right back, somehow Macy is right behind me. In the bathroom, in the garage, in my room. After 6 years, it still baffles me. There's lots of whining, teething, meals...it's hard work.
But the truth is, there's good stuff and bad stuff about every phase of life, every version of life you're living. Whether you're single, married, with kids, without kids, in school, working...it's all hard and it's all good. And this, my friends, is my problem. There's no one way to live your life and find total fulfillment and happiness. We get glimpses. And it's our job to savor those moments, no matter how often they come. As a perfectionist, I want a map. I want a plan. I want rules. I want control. I want predictable. Ironically, I don't even think I'd like that either! Somehow I both love and hate surprises. You know what I think it is, I only want changes that I initiate. Perfectionism is so impractical!
I woke up this morning EXHAUSTED. There were no logical reasons for this. I got 8 straight hours of sleep (if I read myself writing this a few months ago, I would have screamed in outrage at my whining). Nevertheless, I was a zombie. I had a headache for the third straight day in a row. Both my kids were awake with needs seeking my full attention. I found myself barely moving around in Penny's room, getting the kids downstairs to breakfast well past our normal time. As I fumbled around in the kitchen, spilling Kix all over the counter with Penny screeching and pulling on my pants leg, I thought, man, wouldn't it be nice if I could just drink my coffee alone? I'd just love to be getting ready for work and have my concerns be all about getting myself ready for the day in perfect silence.
Then I started thinking about what life will look like in a few years (they won't need me as much), and a few more (they may not like me) and a few more (they will be gone). It's going to be a long time before I can start my day and only think about myself. And I think when that day finally comes, it's going to make me sad.
So there's that. I usually hate it when women tell other women to enjoy every moment when they have young children because "it just goes by so fast." It feels minimizing and it always makes tired women feel like shit. You're not doing something wrong if you're exhausted. And it really is difficult to have little people in your space all the time. I literally can't take a step in my kitchen without Penny trying to pull up on my leg. And if I step out of the room for a SECOND, even explaining that I'll be right back, somehow Macy is right behind me. In the bathroom, in the garage, in my room. After 6 years, it still baffles me. There's lots of whining, teething, meals...it's hard work.
But the truth is, there's good stuff and bad stuff about every phase of life, every version of life you're living. Whether you're single, married, with kids, without kids, in school, working...it's all hard and it's all good. And this, my friends, is my problem. There's no one way to live your life and find total fulfillment and happiness. We get glimpses. And it's our job to savor those moments, no matter how often they come. As a perfectionist, I want a map. I want a plan. I want rules. I want control. I want predictable. Ironically, I don't even think I'd like that either! Somehow I both love and hate surprises. You know what I think it is, I only want changes that I initiate. Perfectionism is so impractical!
Saturday, June 7, 2014
Coming down from the high
I'm coming off a high. I'm depressed and resentful to anything that wants anything from me (my children) and I long for another hit. The addiction to which I'm confessing today is the TV show Scandal. I've watched all 3 seasons in about 10 days. Being a devoted reader of Entertainment Weekly for years now, I'm well aware of the buzz. I just hadn't watched it yet. The perk of waiting for something to develop for a few seasons is that when you do take the time to watch it, you get to really binge watch. This concept of binge watching is well documented and very much on the rise in our culture.
What does it mean about us that we like to become temporarily obsessed with things? It's in our heads, the thing we rush through our other commitments to get back to, the thing we resent interruption of. We can't get enough. We need more and more. We race to the end. The crappy thing is, eventually we do reach the end. And though we rush to it, it always seems sudden, like getting off one of those moving sidewalks at the airport. We feel both satisfied (if we like the ending, which I did) and empty. We run through the details over and over in our minds to make sure all the story threads have been tied and we try to settle all the feelings and thoughts the show has riled up. In some senses, it feels like a loss of some sort. Perhaps this is our culture's acceptable way to form attachments and then allow ourselves to grieve? Maybe it's the opposite. I feel embarrassed to admit the emotional cycle I feel in this attachment to story, so maybe others do as well? Or maybe this is the evidence that we don't know how to grieve the real stuff, so we project onto the fantasy.
After about 24 hours, we regain our equilibrium, if we don't rebound immediately to another show. (I landed on Scandal after watching Mindy Project 2 times straight through). This is not specific to TV, as I also do this with books and Tim does this with video games. I particularly love a series of books or movies for this reason. There's more time to attach to the story and more importantly, the characters, so the high lasts longer and runs deeper. I love to be entertained. I love to put my mind in someone else's. But I gotta say, I hate coming down from the high. I feel disoriented and unhappy. So here I am, exposing my addiction and subsequent let down. I think I'm gonna sit in the tension of coming down this time, get outside today and feel fine by the end of the day.
What does it mean about us that we like to become temporarily obsessed with things? It's in our heads, the thing we rush through our other commitments to get back to, the thing we resent interruption of. We can't get enough. We need more and more. We race to the end. The crappy thing is, eventually we do reach the end. And though we rush to it, it always seems sudden, like getting off one of those moving sidewalks at the airport. We feel both satisfied (if we like the ending, which I did) and empty. We run through the details over and over in our minds to make sure all the story threads have been tied and we try to settle all the feelings and thoughts the show has riled up. In some senses, it feels like a loss of some sort. Perhaps this is our culture's acceptable way to form attachments and then allow ourselves to grieve? Maybe it's the opposite. I feel embarrassed to admit the emotional cycle I feel in this attachment to story, so maybe others do as well? Or maybe this is the evidence that we don't know how to grieve the real stuff, so we project onto the fantasy.
After about 24 hours, we regain our equilibrium, if we don't rebound immediately to another show. (I landed on Scandal after watching Mindy Project 2 times straight through). This is not specific to TV, as I also do this with books and Tim does this with video games. I particularly love a series of books or movies for this reason. There's more time to attach to the story and more importantly, the characters, so the high lasts longer and runs deeper. I love to be entertained. I love to put my mind in someone else's. But I gotta say, I hate coming down from the high. I feel disoriented and unhappy. So here I am, exposing my addiction and subsequent let down. I think I'm gonna sit in the tension of coming down this time, get outside today and feel fine by the end of the day.
Thursday, June 5, 2014
Whitney Houston Had it Right
I view my role as a mother primarily as one of response. My child presents me with a need and I respond to it. While this may seem simple, it certainly can keep me on my toes! My oldest is 6 and I believe I know her the best. But as she is her own person and constantly changing, many times the needs she presents take me by surprise. We have a certain rhythm between us, things we say and do. There is no easier rapport than a small child and her mother. As she grows, there have been many times, however, where I have had to go back to the drawing board in how I respond to her. She does things that are new, takes on different attitudes, grows into herself and so as a mother, I must adapt.
Of course, I'm changing too. I'm growing older. I'm gaining life experience. I'm working on my own problems and that is making me aware of where I fall short. My daughter, Macy, is a lot like me. In fact, Tim says he can't think of an area of our personalities where we differ. This is a great joy to me and also a terrible burden. I see my own perfectionism in her 6 year old mind. I see her struggle to make her work exactly right. I hear herread an entire book over again if she makes a mistake. It breaks my heart. But I'm happy to say that as I'm learning new life skills (extending myself grace, making my own choices and owning them, dispelling anything that smells like shame), I am simultaneously sharing them with her. We talk about shame and grace. I apologize. I empathize as she struggles with her frustration when her abilities do not reach her high standards.
I'm writing about this tonight because while I've had many seasons of adjustment with Macy, I'm going through my first real adjustment with Penny. She's 10 and half months old and she is starting to need me less. Don't get me wrong, she fusses when I leave the room, even to use the bathroom. But she's nursing less often. She's sleeping through the night. She's kissing her daddy voluntarily! (I have yet to share this joy). She's feeding herself more. She's walking. You get the idea. And while I'm ready in a lot of ways for a longer leash (it's been a tough year), I have to say, I'm still sad! Penny is our second and last child. 2 incidences of postpartum depression, the second of which was severe, will definitely inform your fertility choices! But she is my little treasure, an absolute joy to my heart. And she's ready to be shared with more people. Our tiny circle of 4 is starting to bust open.
It's tricky being in an unequal relationship. A dynamic where one person's needs dictate your level of interaction. It's not that my needs don't matter or that I understand the value of setting boundaries with my kids (or at least, I'm working on it) but I believe the parent/child relationship will never be a fully 2-way street. I enjoy a friendship with my parents as an adult, but they will always be my parents. And I expect the same to be true for me with my children.
I find a lot of parenting philosophies feel like the parents leading the children, enforcing the rules, showing them who's boss, etc. But I feel like in this relationship of response, it's the opposite. My children show me the way to be their mother. Sometimes I come in to reprimand and find they need a hug. And sometimes you nurse a baby every 2 hours until all of a sudden, you realize she can wait half the day at this age! (Sometimes I'm a bit slow on the uptake:)
Maybe this doesn't make me seem very powerful or commanding, but I'm happy to let my children lead me. I respect that they are people, very much a part of me, but entirely separate from me as well. I believe they have things to teach me, thoughts to inspire me, and love to fill me with joy. Yes, of course, I have things to teach them as well. But I'm working on teaching them the lessons they're asking for, moment by moment, as they lead the way. I know I've only been a mom for 6 years and there is a lot of new territory ahead of me, but this is what's worked for me so far anyway. Though I will say, one of the many things I've already taught my girls is that it's okay to change your mind.
Of course, I'm changing too. I'm growing older. I'm gaining life experience. I'm working on my own problems and that is making me aware of where I fall short. My daughter, Macy, is a lot like me. In fact, Tim says he can't think of an area of our personalities where we differ. This is a great joy to me and also a terrible burden. I see my own perfectionism in her 6 year old mind. I see her struggle to make her work exactly right. I hear herread an entire book over again if she makes a mistake. It breaks my heart. But I'm happy to say that as I'm learning new life skills (extending myself grace, making my own choices and owning them, dispelling anything that smells like shame), I am simultaneously sharing them with her. We talk about shame and grace. I apologize. I empathize as she struggles with her frustration when her abilities do not reach her high standards.
I'm writing about this tonight because while I've had many seasons of adjustment with Macy, I'm going through my first real adjustment with Penny. She's 10 and half months old and she is starting to need me less. Don't get me wrong, she fusses when I leave the room, even to use the bathroom. But she's nursing less often. She's sleeping through the night. She's kissing her daddy voluntarily! (I have yet to share this joy). She's feeding herself more. She's walking. You get the idea. And while I'm ready in a lot of ways for a longer leash (it's been a tough year), I have to say, I'm still sad! Penny is our second and last child. 2 incidences of postpartum depression, the second of which was severe, will definitely inform your fertility choices! But she is my little treasure, an absolute joy to my heart. And she's ready to be shared with more people. Our tiny circle of 4 is starting to bust open.
It's tricky being in an unequal relationship. A dynamic where one person's needs dictate your level of interaction. It's not that my needs don't matter or that I understand the value of setting boundaries with my kids (or at least, I'm working on it) but I believe the parent/child relationship will never be a fully 2-way street. I enjoy a friendship with my parents as an adult, but they will always be my parents. And I expect the same to be true for me with my children.
I find a lot of parenting philosophies feel like the parents leading the children, enforcing the rules, showing them who's boss, etc. But I feel like in this relationship of response, it's the opposite. My children show me the way to be their mother. Sometimes I come in to reprimand and find they need a hug. And sometimes you nurse a baby every 2 hours until all of a sudden, you realize she can wait half the day at this age! (Sometimes I'm a bit slow on the uptake:)
Maybe this doesn't make me seem very powerful or commanding, but I'm happy to let my children lead me. I respect that they are people, very much a part of me, but entirely separate from me as well. I believe they have things to teach me, thoughts to inspire me, and love to fill me with joy. Yes, of course, I have things to teach them as well. But I'm working on teaching them the lessons they're asking for, moment by moment, as they lead the way. I know I've only been a mom for 6 years and there is a lot of new territory ahead of me, but this is what's worked for me so far anyway. Though I will say, one of the many things I've already taught my girls is that it's okay to change your mind.
Tuesday, June 3, 2014
In favor of potty talk
Raising children in the very political world of mothering these days, I've gotta say: I'm pro-potty talk. I know, I know, it's so inappropriate! I'm supposed to teach my kids to be polite and respectful. But seriously, if you can't laugh about butts when you're 6, how in the world am I supposed to justify it at 32? Maybe it's from years of hanging out with teenagers, but I LOVE potty talk! I think it's freaking hilarious. I also love it when people fall down in films. Physical comedy gets me every time. That scene in Dodgeball when they get wrenches thrown at them? Tears streaming down my face.
I guess for me, kids should be kids. Kids have always laughed about butts. I'm sure before things got really bad between Cain and Abel, they could remember laughing about butts in their early years. Now, I would not in any way condone my kiddo laughing at someone's specific butt, particularly if it was deemed laughable in some way (usually this is if it's considered large). I'm very sensitive to mocking others. I pretty much hate it. But seriously, if my 6 year old wants to make other kids laugh at her pretty lame butt jokes, I'm a-okay with that. I want to teach my child to be respectful, but I think maybe we take some stuff a little too seriously these days.
Maybe it's easy for me to be pro-potty because I have two daughters. Perhaps if I had to listen to endless fart-armpit noises at the dinner table, I would put the kibosh on all potty-related humor. But as parents we're supposed to teach our children how to be functional adults. And life without potty talk is just no fun at all.
I guess for me, kids should be kids. Kids have always laughed about butts. I'm sure before things got really bad between Cain and Abel, they could remember laughing about butts in their early years. Now, I would not in any way condone my kiddo laughing at someone's specific butt, particularly if it was deemed laughable in some way (usually this is if it's considered large). I'm very sensitive to mocking others. I pretty much hate it. But seriously, if my 6 year old wants to make other kids laugh at her pretty lame butt jokes, I'm a-okay with that. I want to teach my child to be respectful, but I think maybe we take some stuff a little too seriously these days.
Maybe it's easy for me to be pro-potty because I have two daughters. Perhaps if I had to listen to endless fart-armpit noises at the dinner table, I would put the kibosh on all potty-related humor. But as parents we're supposed to teach our children how to be functional adults. And life without potty talk is just no fun at all.
Monday, June 2, 2014
Tread lightly
It's an understatement to say that Americans don't like pain. We're drawn to quick solutions that include prescription drugs, food, TV, beer, shopping and sex. We can't sit in pain. We compartmentalize. We “move on” (deny, avoid). If the people in our lives aren't getting better fast enough, we rush them. On top of this, I find that evangelical Americans further minimize pain by spouting out well-intended but not lived-in theology. We say seemingly comforting things, that at the wrong time are incredibly insensitive and ignorant.
There comes a time in everyone's life (and let's face it, it happens more than once) where our souls are laid bare. When something so gut-wrenching, life-altering, paradigm-shifting happens to us. Recently, one of my friends lost her beloved husband to wasting-away, horrifically violent cancer. I've known 5 separate families who've lost an infant in the last 3 years alone. FIVE babies. I've walked with friends through divorce, depression, job loss, moves, chronic illness, coming out, rejection from their families...all within the last 18 months. During this time, we went through the most difficult time of our own lives with a mental health crisis and a newborn. LIFE. IS. HARD.
Many of us have been trained to “plant seeds” (share our beliefs with conviction) in these times because people are vulnerable. They need something to hold onto. So we say things like "God is in control. God has a plan for you. All things work together for good. There is a reason for everything. They're in a better place." While many people believe these things earnestly, I say, tread lightly, my friends, because you are standing on the holy ground of someone else's soul. Please be careful.
It's not that these things are untrue (though I believe many of them are). But when you put yourself in the shoes of the hearer, they can come off as dismissive. If I could live the rest of my life and not hear another person “lovingly” invalidate the pain of another human being, I would be grateful. I think, as Christians, we're afraid to admit how much pain we're in, that somehow this minimizes our faith. That our humanity may be too much. Or that our faith isn't enough. That somehow, if we're in bottomless pain, we're no different from “the world”, that God is not doing his job, that we're not good Christians. Like we have an obligation to put on a good commercial for Jesus with our lives, and that includes having less pain and more smiles (watch out for the disclaimer at the end). We're afraid of the power of our anger. We don't want it to get out of control. We're impatient with grief. It takes too long. We're weary and we're afraid. We just want the pain to stop.
Here's the reality guys. It won't. Sure, in time the agony eases and we very awkwardly stumble into a new normal. But how does that help us today, when our lives are in shambles? When we tell people it will be better in time, it feels like we're asking them to be patient in agony because it's only a "short" time. It doesn't feel short.
I've come to the conclusion that meaning well is not enough. It does not give us free reign to perpetuate bad theology in efforts to comfort people, or more accurately, to comfort ourselves. Personally, I do not believe that everything happens for a reason. I do not believe everything that happens is God's will. I do not believe that everything that happens is part of God's plan. I do not believe that God takes babies out of their mother's arms because He's lonely in Heaven. That paints him as impatient, greedy, lonely, selfish and heartless. I. Just. Don't.
Rather than believing that God is totally fine with tearing people's lives apart, I believe that God is wonderfully good. So much more good than we can possibly imagine or give him credit for. I believe that God is big enough to cover us in times of huge loss and small enough to whisper to our hearts a word of hope, the faith that things will get better some day. We can trust him with our pain. I believe that at the end of all things, whatever that looks like, we will be whole again. He is so good that even in the dark night of our souls, he is able to bring us comfort. He is able to show us grace. We find God in the friends who hold our hands and sob in our living room. He's in the neighbor who feeds us and the people who hold our crying babies. He is in the bills that are unexpectedly paid. Just because he helps us crawl out of the pit doesn't mean he threw us in there just so He could get accolades for getting us out. We don't have to draw that line. HE MADE THE WORLD. Do you think he has to resort to cheap tricks to get glory? If we don't praise Him, the rocks will cry out. He is worthy of praise. Period. Our personal circumstances do not change that.
I think it's okay to admit that we don't know why terrible things happen. Maybe it's because the world is broken. Maybe it's because we're no different from anyone else and bad things happen to all people. Maybe there isn't a reason. To be honest, I'd rather admit that I honest to goodness DO NOT KNOW than to pretend that I do. Because one day, you wake up and realize that there aren't any reasons that are good enough to share without a postpartum mother with empty arms. There aren't. But we want a cause and an effect. We want to prevent bad things from happening to us and to the people we love. We want it to be true that if we behave well and believe a lot, the really scary stuff will pass us by. We want control. We want to be safe. And when something shatters our illusion of control, we try to contain it with bad theology even if it means hurting people in the process.
To be honest, I don't think we'll ever know why bad things happen to good people. I know God has power. And sometimes, we want him to stop bad things from happening and he doesn't. I don't know what to do with that. I really don't. We don't get to draw the lines we want to draw. And that is so hard. But that doesn't mean we don't have faith, words to comfort, or things we can do to help. If we must speak, how about something like: “You are loved. You matter. Your life matters. You are valuable. You are not alone. Your children matter. Your loss is huge. This is awful. I'm so, so sorry.”
Don't try to tidy the mess. I know it's really uncomfortable to sit in that tension, whether it's our own or that of a dear friend. When you must come up for air, take a break by doing one of the previously stated things Americans do to check out. Because no one can stay present in grief all the time. And let's face it, sometimes those things help. But we're doing a disservice when we try to protect people from their own pain. Pull up a chair at the table and let it come. For it's the only way to live an honest life, to embrace your humanity, and to stop hurting the wounded warriors all around us.
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