Give Me Presence Over Perspective
The thing Job’s friends did right was they showed up and sat with him in his grief. I don’t need answers or perspective in my own grief; I just need presence.
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Losing a close friend or family member feels … unnatural.
People have been calling and texting me this week, asking how I’m doing after losing Shawn, my lifelong friend. People I haven’t heard from in years expressed their sympathy because they knew how close Shawn and I were.
On most occasions, I’ve started by saying, “I … don’t know how to answer that question.” Then I didn’t really try. That probably made them feel uncomfortable, but I didn’t have anything else to offer.
When one good friend reached out via text to ask how I was doing, here’s how I responded.
“I’m … I don’t know how to answer that. My thinking isn’t super clear right now.”
A couple of texts later, something did become clear to me, and I shared it with him.
“The thing Job’s three friends did right was they showed up and sat with him. You are great at that. I don’t need answers or perspective. I just need presence.”
Job’s friends made too many theological errors to count in their attempts to offer some perspective on his losses. It would’ve been far better if they had just sat with him and been present without the need to speak.
At Shawn’s memorial, a friend sat with me. She rubbed my back and listened to me cry and grieve. And that helped.
In the days after Shawn’s death, a few of us got together for dinner. Before one guy left, he told us he loved us – that he wanted to make sure he said that. And it felt good to hear. We’re getting together again tonight for his birthday. It’ll be a subdued celebration. But I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else on earth.
Mostly because I cannot process real-life stuff right now. I’ve had to reply to several business emails saying as much. I read their question(s), but all I see are words. My brain cannot put them all together and come to any logical conclusion about what they mean.
I’ve heard people talk about brain fog, and now I’ve experienced it. And I’m sure that the old cliche — the only way out is through — is true. As I continue to walk through grief, the best thing a person can do is sit with me. Small talk is fine. If it’s about baseball, all the better. But silence works too.
Here are some tidbits you might find interesting this week:
This elderly woman writes heartbreaking letters to God, asking him to take her. One day, she got a reply from the postal carrier.
“Failure is a bruise, not a tattoo.” -John Sinclair
The Paris Review publishes snippets of journals and diaries and I find them so fascinating.
Remember the Christian rock band Stryper? They are still cranking out the tunes. Here’s one of their newest ones: Do Unto Others.
“There are times when solitude is better than society, and silence is wiser than speech. We should be better Christians if we were more alone, waiting upon God, and gathering through meditation on His Word spiritual strength for labour in his service.” -Charles Spurgeon
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