Being present

 

 

One thing I've learned in this season is that sorrow visits every house.

Each family.

Strangers on a train.

And there is so little to be said to help ease the pain of loss.

Often, all we can really do is to be present; to sit quietly and listen. To suspend judgment and our "Mr. Fixit" tendencies and to love in our silence and shared tears.

Last week, I posted a verse that has soothed many long long nights of late, Psalm 65:1. I'd like to offer it up again – expanded for hope.

Psalm 65:1-4 (The Message translation)

1-2 Silence is praise to you,
    Zion-dwelling God,
And also obedience.
    You hear the prayer in it all.

2-4 We all arrive at your doorstep sooner
    or later, loaded with guilt,
Our sins too much for us—
    but you get rid of them once and for all.

If quiet is worship and prayer to God, then it seems to be worth offering up to our friends and family who encounter pain.

In this season of "aftermath," I've been transformed; (hopefully) no longer trying to fix and convince and "do for Jesus."

Betrayal taught me humility and to cry out in great need, but my family and friends have taught me to heal. 

Sitting across the table at Zen Zero in early spring, roasting brats over a fire in Tulsa and playing on the playground with abandon, calls and photos from Michigan shorelines, and shared tears. The folks who let me stand in the shallow end of their pool, sleep in the sway of the garden swing, or sit with them while we waited on the Harvest Moon…they teach me the value of being present. And quiet. And gentle.

Some have nudged me out of my fear cocoon or back to the early morning miles. Walks in southern parks and kayaking along the St. Bernard river…adventures with crêpes and birthday cards left waiting for my weary return to Kansas.

Many hits over the fence and a few trips at the plate, but always love. Always love.

It is making all of the difference as I navigate this unknown life in the presence of such people. 

And I hope to pass along the "blessing of silence in good company"; of a hand held and expectations suspended.

Thank you.

So…hopefully you will notice a substantial loss of hubris and whine when we meet again. 

More quiet. Less cowbell.

With love.