Leanne Friesen

I’ve been away from the blog a couple of weeks because I was visiting my parents in Newfoundland. And, yes, I was there during one of the massive storms – the one with the 100 mile an hour winds. My parents live on a hill, and there were times it felt like the whole house was shaking! But this didn’t faze us. Newfoundlanders are used to a good storm. It snowed, and it blew and then it rained freezing rain and it blew some more and then we woke up the next morning, and it was…gone! After a night of some of the craziest weather I’ve experienced in a long time, we woke the next day to look over mom and dad’s yard to see absolutely nothing. There was hardly a trace of snow left. It almost looked like it had not even happened.

Or so we thought.

Turns out that while the rain had indeed gotten rid of some of the snow, most of the snow hadn’t actually gone that far. Like I said, my parents live on a hill. The road up to their house is a small side road that ends at our house. And, although we couldn’t see it, that’s where the snow was. There was hardly any snow in the yard, but the entire road to our house was waist-deep in snow. The wind had blown all the snow there. And we weren’t going anywhere until that snow was moved.

(this is a picture of the view from the front of our house…obviously not from this winter…)

So I got thinking about how often storms can be like that. We didn’t really see most of the storm since it happened at night. When we looked out our window, we could convince ourselves that nothing much had happened, but when we went a little farther we had to admit it wasn’t true. There was a storm. It was close. And it had made us stuck.

Sometimes we all find ourselves living in the aftermath of that kind of storm, the storm you didn’t realize was there until you tried to move forward and realized that it was holding you back. It can be frustrating to be in a situation where you think things are going along okay only to be blindsided by a waist-deep snow drift. It can happen for a few reasons. Sometimes there is a secret we haven’t been told, and then – boom! – we see the snow-laden path we didn’t notice until that moment. Sometimes it’s a choice we make to pretend the storm isn’t there. We focus on the beautiful yard and say “That didn’t really happen! I’m okay! I’m dealing with this just fine!! I don’t need any help!” And then you try to walk forward and realize – you’re stuck. Or sometimes you didn’t see the storm coming. You started out a normal day and by its end everything had changed. You didn’t know she was going to leave. You didn’t know you were sick. You didn’t know that was going on with your child. Your life seemed like that lovely clear yard, and now all you can see is that snow-covered road and you don’t know how to get out.

It can feel that way on the road that leads to God. This week I preached about Jesus’ words when He said “I am the way, the truth and the life.” We talked about how Jesus is the path that leads us to know the fullness of God. Yes, there are many different steps on the journey, and many different ways that people get closer to that path, but, like that small side road to our home, there is just one true way to God – through Jesus. And sometimes, like our side road, that road is blocked. The storm has gotten in the way, and we don’t know how to get there anymore.

So, what do we do when that happens? Well, I know what we had to do. We had to dig.

It can be a lot of work. In fact, we couldn’t even do it on our own – we needed a plow to come and do most of it for us. You may need help, too. But – if I may suggest – it’s worth digging. It was nice looking at our yard, and all, but there was so much more to see. We didn’t want to be stuck where we were forever. We wanted the fullness of life beyond our little patch of land!

If you are stuck – for whatever reason – I invite you to start digging. Dig into a church. Dig into God’s word. Dig into the hard questions. And if it gets too overwhelming, get some help. There are a lot of people who will help you clear the way.

Once our road was clear, we got in our car and went out for the best Chinese food on the Avalon Peninsula. What great things could be in store for you when you get to the other side?

Just for fun, a few pics from my trip…

(Contributed by Leanne)

This week we read Jesus’ beloved words from John 8: 12:“I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.”

The idea of Jesus being light is something that we can understand, and value.  We know how scary darkness can be.  We remember wanting a night light in our room when we were children.  We know the relief of the lights coming back on after a power outage.  We put lamps and outlets and light switches in every room in our home so that we can keep the darkness away.  Light is a comfort.  Light lets us see.  Light assures us that we know where we are going and what we are doing. It keeps us oriented and it keeps things clear.  This means if Jesus is our light that He is telling us that He will help us see.  He will keep things clear.  He will keep the darkness away.

But then there is that tricky promise.  “Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness.”  And I pause when I read that.  Because I know many who follow who have walked in darkness. As you read, I know you can remember seasons of darkness for you. It’s not hard to remember, is it?

You remember the darkness when you were depressed.  You remember waking up each day and feeling like a cloud lived over your head.  You remember that even with lights shining around you that nothing felt bright.  It was dark.

You remember the darkness when you were uncertain, when life began to overwhelm.  When there was more month that money.  When the bills couldn’t get paid. When you applied for job after job only to get turned down every time, and when you started to doubt when people said “It has nothing to do with you” – after all, what else could it be about? And it was dark.

You remember the darkness when your relationship ended.  When he didn’t want to work on it anymore.  When she said it was over.  You remember looking forward to the rest of your life and feeling the emptiness beside you.  You remember despairing that you were unloveable, unworthy, the guilt of messing it all up.  It was dark.

You remember the darkness of loss.  You remember when the waves of grief would come and it felt like the darkness would consume you.  You remember wondering if there could ever be light again, if you would spend your life in a world of shadows while you were forced to keep on living. It was dark.

You remember sickness.  You remember abuse.  You remember your child struggling and feeling helpless. You remember the Church letting you down.  You remember friends turning away.  You remember doubting God.  You remember darkness.

And many of you don’t even have to remember – because you are living in darkness right now.  You are longing for light.  You are praying for it.  And when you read “whoever follows me will never walk in darkness” it stabs a little – because you are trying to follow, and you still feel the darkness. And that’s frustrating.

Perhaps it will be some comfort to know that many great Christians, for centuries, have talked about this darkness.  One man, John of the Cross (who, interestingly, shares a name with the author of the Gospel we have been studying) penned a poem he called “The Dark Night of the Soul,” about his longing to find God.  Many Christians have since used this term to describe exactly the seasons we have been talking about – the seasons when the light may shine, but the soul feels dark, when we are stumbling around trying to find our way and wondering where God is in the midst of it all.

I realize now that I didn’t know much about darkness until this last year in my life.  I thought I did – I had lots of seasons of lament, and struggle, and heaviness of heart, and they were hard for me.  But that deep darkness – the darkness that physically weighs on you – that came this year.  That came when I watched my sister suffer and die.  And it came again and again.  That’s what I didn’t understand about darkness – that it could envelop you as quickly and as unexpectedly as someone turning off a light switch, and that I could never quite predict when the light would switch off.  I could spend a few weeks feeling the light begin to grow, and then I would have a memory, or hear a song, or notice the date on the calendar, and the light would shut off and the darkness would come again.  It annoyed me a lot at first.  At first, I would think “I thought this was over!!  I thought the light was coming back!!”  Then people wiser than me helped me understand.  They explained to me that I would learn to live in this world where the darkness comes and goes.  I would learn to enjoy the light when I could, and accept the darkness when I couldn’t.

It wasn’t the way I wanted it to be.  Jesus is light!!! I should not walk in darkness, right?  Some days it still makes me angry, that I’ve had to learn to live with this darkness in my life.  I would still much rather return to the world where this darkness did not exist, where my sister was still here and I did not understand how dark the world could be.  But that is just not how it works.

Perhaps it seems like I’ve gone down a weird road here.  Didn’t I start by setting out to explain what Jesus meant by saying we would never walk in darkness?  It would probably seem like I’ve made the exact opposite point.  Perhaps some of you would argue that I have.

But that’s not how I see it.  Yes, there is darkness. There are those days when I feel sad and I need time alone and I don’t know how to talk about it and I find it hard to care for other people because my heart is full already.  The truth is I’ve had one of those weeks – and I know I’ll have those weeks again.

Yet, somehow, I don’t WALK in that darkness.  When I look back, I see darkness, but – miraculously – I see light.  I didn’t think that could be possible when I first entered this world of loss, but it is true.  Because if there wasn’t some shred of light, I wouldn’t be walking at all. What I realize when the darkness comes is that, always, the light stays. Sometimes it just feels smaller than other times, but it is there. Sometimes it is like being in a black room, with just a faint glimmer coming under the crack beneath the door.  But the miracle is that it is there.  There is the glimmer.  I can always see it.  When I’m lying in a room full of darkness, I know that door will open again, and the light will burst in.  It will say “I was here all along.” It will say “You were never in the darkness alone.”

That is the light in which I walk.  There are times that the light is radiant and everything is shining.  Those are the days that the the world is bright and I laugh and enjoy the sunshine and see all the joy God gives all around me. I love those times.  And there are times when all I’ve got is a glimmer – just enough for me to put one foot in front of the other.  But you know what? I’m still walking.  It may feel like the darkness is everywhere – but I’m walking in the light.

I know some of you who are reading this are feeling overwhelmed by the darkness, and maybe you have longed for light for a long time.  Perhaps you are tired of having to follow just that little shred of light.  You are tired of having to strain your eyes and look so hard.  You would like Jesus to come in like a flood light and watch all the darkness disappear.  One day, it will be that way.  But if that day is not today, may you find hope and comfort in the glimmer.  May the glimmer remind you that there is another side of the door.   May you keep walking until the day that the door opens. Let’s walk together.

It’s going to be a great weekend in Hamilton, as our local churches gather for our 10^th Annual True City Conference.  Some of you will have noticed that I talk about this conference – a lot. I encourage people to go – a lot.  Some of you may wonder why this is such a big deal to me.  For this week’s post, I thought I would share with you why I love True City.  I hope it will make you excited about what God is doing here, in Hamilton.

First of all, I should explain what True City is.  True City is a group of churches who have gathered together (in our case, in Hamilton) to work together for the good of the city.  It’s churches who say they believe that we are better together.  It’s a gathering of very different churches who realize we are working towards the same things:  the sharing of God’s story, the hope of the Gospel, and the blessing of the city we call home.  It’s awesome.

I don’t remember exactly how we ended up as a part of this movement.  I know that Dallas and I were approached by Dave Witt, the True City staff person, and we started attending a gathering for pastors that met once a month to talk about ways we could get better at doing missions in our churches.  And I remember I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go.  The reason for this was a simple one: I’m a woman. In ministry.  And I wasn’t entirely sure that I would enjoy the experience of hanging out with a bunch of (mostly) men who were (mostly) from churches who taught that pastoral leadership was a role for men only.

I believe I had good reason to be skeptical.  Being a woman in ministry can be hard.  In his book “Playing God” Andy Crouch tells a story of being at an airport in India.  When he gets in a line to check in for a flight, he is quickly ushered to the front, past all the people in the line who had already been waiting for some time.  He is embarrassed to realize that this was only because he was white.  He then wonders how many times in his life of white privilege he had been brought to the front of the line when he “didn’t even know there was a line.”  It’s sort of the opposite of that for a lot of women in ministry.  We have been waiting in line so long, while we watch our brothers go to the front of a line they don’t even realize exists.  And so sometimes, we just don’t even want to get in line anymore.  We don’t want to have the arguments.  We don’t want to have to justify ourselves.  We don’t want people to assume that we don’t take the Bible seriously.

I once did a funeral for a gentleman who was a beloved member of our church.  It was a great honour for me.  After the funeral, however, a man came up to me to ask me how I could justify what I had done.  Didn’t I read the Bible?  Didn’t I know my “proper” role?  “Get out of the line.”

In Seminary, we were assigned a book to read in a Pastoral Care class. In the first chapter the author explained that he would intentionally use the pronoun “he” throughout the book as he believed that women should not be serving in the role about which he was writing.  The Professor had no idea why the women in the class found that bothersome. He gave a speech in the next class saying that “if” the women were going to look for jobs in a church, they should be aware that people felt this way. “Get out of the line.”

During the season when Dallas and I were just starting out, I got a call from a man whose church was looking for a pastor.  His daughter had heard me preach at another church, and enjoyed it, and wondered if my husband was interested in a job, since they “weren’t really comfortable hiring a woman.”  (Um….no thanks?).  Seriously, sometimes, you just want to “Get out of the line.”

Is it really any wonder that I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go to those pastor gatherings?  It was easier and safer and oh-so-much-more-pleasant to stick in my denomination and at my church than risk those kind of painful conversations with men from “those” churches: the ones who definitely wouldn’t accept me or take me seriously and certainly would just try to butt me to the back of the line.

I did decide to go.  But I came to True City a SWM – a Skeptical Woman in Ministry. Skeptical that it would be okay. Skeptical that I would come away unscathed. I came with my back up REAL high.

And…it was good.  For those of you who haven’t already picked up on it, I soon realized that I was doing the same thing that I resented so many for doing to me:  making assumptions.  I assumed that the pastors from these complementarian (the view that men and women have different roles in the church, to over-simplify) churches would look down on me, or overshadow me, or try to put me in my place.  They didn’t.  Instead, I have genuinely felt nothing but support and encouragement from my True City brothers.

Seven years later I consider some of these men to be not just co-workers, but dear friends.  We do ministry together.  We encourage each other’s churches.  We host a conference together.   And it’s good.

Do we all think the same?  Absolutely not.  Does it drive me crazy sometimes? Yes. Can we work together?  We absolutely can.  And I think we have all taught each other a lot about the different people God is using to do his work. For example, I think I was the first person to breast-feed at a True City leadership gathering.   And True City was the place that took the “S” out of my SWM status.  Because you know what?  They didn’t push me out of the line – they invited me to the table.

So why do I think you should go to the True City Conference?  It’s not just about the women in ministry thing.  That is just my story.  But my story is part of a bigger picture – a picture of God working within, and because of, our differences.   Sometimes us Christians blow the whole “unity” thing. Too often the Church looks like a bad 1980s high school movie, with every clique in their safe little corners, making sure the “like” stick with the “like.”  To run with that analogy, I would suggest that True City is like “The Breakfast Club” –  where we get in a room and realize we’re more alike than different.  And this weekend, we will sing together and we will pray together and we will learn together and we will be very different than each other.  And at the end of it, we will see the good in each other.  We will see the Image of God in each other.  And we will come away and share that with our city.

That is what God is doing in Hamilton.  It is worth seeing.

Want more information?  You can sign up for the True City conference at www.truecity.ca, or show up on Friday night at Philpott Memorial Church.  Conference starts at 7 p.m.

Here is a favourite TC picture of mine with a bunch of us sitting around a table at the recent day with Andy Crouch.  Dallas was sharing great wisdom with us.  As you can see, Jeff, in particular, was eager to take it all in.

On Sunday Dallas began his sermon by inviting us to think about the nature of God. He began by telling us about three words that are often used to describe what God is like. They all start with Omni (which means “All”).

Omnipresent – All present, ie. God is everywhere
Omniscient – All knowing, ie. God knows everything
Omnipotent – All powerful, ie. God can do anything

I have a very distinct memory of first learning about “the omnis.” I was a teenager in a class for young people that met weekly to learn about our church tradition, theology and the Bible. When we got to talking about the Omnis, we totally cracked ourselves up. It went something like this:

Super Hilarious Teenager Number One: Which Omni is the one where God knows everything?
Super Hilarious Teenager Number Two: Ummmmmmmmm…..niscient!

Or:

Super Hilarious Teenager Number Three: Which Omni says God can do anything again?
Super Hilarious Teenager Number Four: Ommmmmm (trance like)….nipotent

We were super duper hysterical, I assure you. And our teacher TOTALLY thought we were funny, too. Her sighs were probably just because she was tired.

Of course, we were not as reverent or appropriate as we should have been. The truth was none of us really knew how to talk about God. How could we? We spent most of our time wanting to ask the real questions, the ones that were digging at us deep down, the ones that we thought we maybe weren’t supposed to ask. We wanted to debate why people were suffering and why God would let someone get Lou Gehrig’s disease. We wanted to ask how we were really supposed to live the way the church was telling us to live when it was just so hard. Did the adults really have any idea what it was like for us? We wanted to know if our teacher really really believed what she was teaching us, and, if she did, how could she be sure? And was it bad if sometimes we weren’t so sure?… The truth was we had a lots of Ums, a lot of questions, a lot of uncertainties.

“God is everywhere.”
Ummmmmm…..then why can’t I feel Him sometimes?

“God knows everything.”
Ummmmmm….if He knows everything, that kind of scares me. Because there’s stuff about me I don’t want anyone to know.

God can do anything.
Ummmmmm….then why doesn’t He? Why doesn’t He stop hunger and war and sickness and suffering and GIVE ME A BOYFRIEND????

The Omnis are actually a pretty big deal, but they can still be hard to understand. And a lot of us still have the Ums. Who among us hasn’t wondered why we can’t feel God when we long to feel Him most? Who hasn’t questioned how the idea of God giving free will and still knowing everything can co-exist? And I think as we get older we only see even more times when we wonder why God didn’t show His power – why it seems He didn’t heal, or didn’t intervene, or didn’t heal the relationship, or didn’t stop the tragedy.

I think this is where I’m supposed to have a really good answer to all those questions. But, the truth is, I still have a lot of Ums. The truth is there are times I would still love to sit in that little room in my old church and harass my teacher with all my rage and questions and frustrations and listen to her calmly assure me that even when we don’t understand, that God does. And feel again that faith that she had seep into me. The truth is there is much that I still don’t know how to talk about God, even with a seminary degree giving me all the right words now to do so.

But here is what I love. Saint Augustine said this: “If you comprehend it, it’s not God.”
And He is onto something.

I’m not really interested in a God that I can totally figure out. What kind of God would that be? As incomprehensible as it is, I do believe that God is all the Omnis. I take comfort that God knows what I do not. I take comfort that He, alone, has power that I do not. I take comfort in knowing that He is always with me, even when I don’t feel it or I am not sure or I don’t have the still calm voice of that teacher reminding me it is so.

Do I understand it all? Ummmm….no.

Is that okay? Ummm….yeah.

Because there is a God who is bigger. A God who is powerful. A God who knows what I don’t.

When I was 12, like every other girl I knew, I LOVED New Kids on the Block (they were a pop band that we all believed would be THE coolest for EVER.  They weren’t).  And I loved Teen Beat Magazine.  Because when you bought a Teen Beat magazine, you could get the posters inside. My friends and I would grow genuinely excited when a new shipment came into the local gas station where we purchased our wares. We would pour over each choice, so that we could be sure to pick the magazine with the best posters that we could put up in our rooms. The best was if you had a friend that liked a different NKOTB band member than you – because then you could buy different magazines and trade your Danny poster for their Joe (although, seriously, whoever wanted Danny? Am I right ladies?).  I had a couple of other favourites too. I also adored Kirk Cameron (from Growing Pains) and Neil Patrick Harris (from Doogie Howser, MD – because what is NOT awesome about a 16 year old Doctor?).  My walls were covered with posters of all these guys.  Thank-you Teen Beat!

I remember one day overhearing my mom talk to a friend of hers.  They must have been talking about Doogie Howser, when my mom said:  “Oh Leanne loves him. He is one of her idols.” I wasn’t very old, and my mom did not mean it negatively, but I remember that word making me uncomfortable.  I had grown up in church so I knew that idols were bad.  We weren’t supposed to have real idols, and I didn’t think I did. I mean, I didn’t WORSHIP my posters.  I didn’t offer them sacrifices.  I wasn’t as obsessive as some other people I knew. I hadn’t made a Kirk Cameron or a Neil Patrick Harris statue.  I still loved Jesus!  But Teen Beat didn’t have posters of Him.

Idols are tricky aren’t they?  This week we talked about God’s first two commandments in Exodus 20.

1. You shall have no other gods before me.

2.  Do not make idols (and don’t worship them, etc.)

One thing is clear in all of Scripture – God hates idolatry.  And idolatry is not just when we worship little statues.  Idolatry is when we turn anything (even a good thing) into an ultimate thing.  It is when we allow that part of our lives to become the definition of our lives, when everything revolves around it.

I’m not sure I was committing true idolatry when I was a 12 year old with celebrity crushes. I liked the posters and I thought I liked the guys but I wasn’t particularly obsessive (although maybe my friends would say otherwise!).  But now I think about what I hang on my walls.  And that gets me thinking about what could be my idol today, and I have to confess that it would be children (whose pictures I just love to see on my fridge, on my walls and in my wallet!).  There are so many reasons that I could turn my children into idols. I am, of course, crazy about them. I love them more than I thought I could love anything.  They take up a lot of my heart.  But with that there is the constant temptation to make all my life, and the life of our whole family, revolve around them and their happiness. We moms hear it every day.

Do you need a night out on your own? Yes, but you shouldn’t.  The kids want you with them. Put them first.

Do you value going to church on Sundays?  Yes, but, that’s the same day as swimming lessons. And good parents always put their kids’ desires first.

Do your kids want something that you can’t afford?  Go in debt.  They should have everything they want.

Where do you find your definition of self?  It should be from being a mother.  It should be from your KIDS. You must revolve everything around them.  If that means losing friends, so be it. If that means losing yourself, so be it. If that means losing your mind, so be it!

I’m not saying that we shouldn’t give our kids time, nurture and love. I’m not saying that being a mother isn’t, or shouldn’t be, one of the biggest parts of who I am. Our children are precious and there are indeed many times that all of us as parents need to make sacrifices to put our kids first.  But I do believe that if my children become my only thing – my ultimate thing – they have become my idol.  The temptation to idolatry is always closer than we think.

And so I pray for no other gods besides the one true God, even if those gods are super cute little people who make me laugh and melt my heart.   Because idols ultimately fail.   Of course, I don’t believe my children will fail as people, but if they are my idols they will fail in the task I have unfairly given them.  They will never be able to be the sole meaning for my life, because they have their own lives to live.  And when they grow up, or move out, or push me away – I will still have my life to live, by God’s grace.

I’m glad 12 year old Leanne didn’t place all her sense of self in the idols of her youth.  (Especially since it turns out that Neil Patrick Harris is gay – making my dreams of marrying him very unlikely!!).  And I hope that at 50 I can also say that I avoided the idolatrous temptations with the idols of young motherhood (although, unlike with  my posters – I’m sure I will still have pictures of my kids on my walls).

Where do you see temptations for idolatry? As a mom of young children, I see my own.  Have your idols changed through the years?  What have you learned about where we should find our ultimate meaning?    

This week I thought I’d share something from my personal life. As most of you know, this year I lost my sister Roxanne to cancer.  This is something I wrote a little while ago about what I’ve learned about how to care for people who are grieving.

Lessons Learned in Loss

I’ve been a pastor for almost nine years.  I have walked people through the journey of loss and have, I admit, even taken a little pride in the effort I make to care for people who’ve lost a loved one.  When people asked me how to care for a grieving person, I usually had a few ideas. Some of them were even good!  This spring, however, I lost my sister, and, like all things in life, going through it taught me more in a few months than I learned in many years of watching.  And so I would like to share, from my own experience, what I’ve learned.  Here is what I would say to anyone who is wondering how to care for a grieving person in their life:

1. Say Something

I cannot stress this enough. I know a lot of people aren’t comfortable talking about death. Some people assume “I don’t want to say anything and upset her.” But here’s the tricky thing – and I’ve had this confirmed by others who have losses – when you don’t say anything the grieving person doesn’t think “Oh they don’t know what to say….” They think “Don’t they know what I’ve been through?”  When someone is grieving, that death is around them like a cloud every minute. They think about it all the time.  You don’t have to worry that they’ve forgotten and you bringing it up will upset them.

They are already thinking about it. What you are doing is saying “You are going through the biggest thing in your life and I acknowledge that.”  It’s true that if you take the risk, you  might say something stupid.  It’s still better than saying nothing – I promise. When in doubt just say “I’m sorry for your loss.”  Or “I don’t know what to say.”  Send a facebook message.  Write an email. Send a card.  ACKNOWLEDGE.  

2. The grieving person will not be able to care about you and your life in the same way

I love caring for people and helping people.  I am usually happy to hear the details and frustrations of a person’s life. But when the newness of my sister’s death was all around me, I didn’t have it in me.  I still loved the people in my life, but I couldn’t engage in the same way in conversations I usually could.  Your boss gave you a hard time today? My sister died.  You’ve been shopping for months and still can’t find the right dress for that wedding? My sister died.  You’re exhausted because you’ve just had so much to do lately? My sister died.  I know, maybe it sounds selfish.  But give your friend some space, and try to understand.  Try not to offload on them without acknowledging the weight they are already carrying.

They still love you – know that – but they are overwhelmed with grief.  Overwhelmed. And so if they seem standoffish when you talk, or a little distant, or if they seem to shut down a bit in certain conversations, it’s not about you.  It’s the grief.  Your friend will come back. Wait for them.

3. The hardest times come months after the death

This is the biggest thing I hear from people who are grieving, and that I experienced myself.  All the initial love and support in the early days is life-giving and needed desperately after a loss. However, for me, I look back on the first couple of months after my sister died and my grief was so raw and fresh that I wasn’t even able to begin to process it.  I had no idea what it meant that my sister was gone. I wasn’t ready to talk.  I didn’t even know how to.  

And then, a few months later, when it really hits, everyone seems to think you’ve moved on.  It seems like no one is asking anymore, or talking about it seems to make people feel awkward. You feel like people expect you to be over it.

A number of months after my sister died I was in a situation where someone asked for prayer requests from the group. When asked mine I said “Well the expected.“ The person looked at me blankly and asked “What would that be?” I was shocked!  Had they forgotten my sister had only died a few months before?  It was still the biggest thing in my life!!  Yet, I recognize for those that are outside of the grief, it’s hard to realize how fresh the loss still is even months later.

To care for those who are grieving in your life, connect to them after time has passed.  It doesn’t have to be a lot. Send them a message and say you are thinking of them.  Acknowledge that they are still grieving.  When they mention their loss, don’t change the subject. Say “It must still be so hard for you.”  You will show them great love in doing this.

4. Listen to their story

I watched my sister die. I remember every detail about that night and the days before it.  They were a pivotal turning point in my life.  And I needed to tell the story. I needed to say “This is what happened the day my sister died. Please just let me say it out loud.”  I was aching for my loved ones to ask me.  Few people did. I understand why – most of us would assume that people would not want to talk about that – but in my experience a lot of people who have had this sort of loss need to process the experience.  Saying it out loud is part of the journey.

A few months ago I talked to someone after a loss and said: “Tell me about the days around the death.”  I just listened as he told me every detail – planning a funeral, choosing a casket, making hard decisions.  This was the most incredible thing that had ever happened to him, and he needed to share his story. I soon found that most people I talked to who had lost someone responded with relief to that question: “Tell me what happened.” This was true for people who had lost someone even years before.

Let me say here that I’m not sure this one applies to everyone. I think in fact that for people who have had tragic, sudden loses (such as ones caused by an accident) it may not be true.There may be too much trauma in rehashing the day of the event. But be willing to take the risk.  If a close friend has lost someone (I’m not saying to do this with your co-worker you barely know, for example), offer to get together with him or her in a safe place and say simply “Would you like to tell me about those days?”  They have the option to say no (and honour it if they do), but if they say something like “You don’t want to hear that,” or “It’s such a long story…” say:  “I would like to hear your story if you would like to tell it.”  Some people will talk about the death, others about the funeral, others about the moments of learning of a diagnosis. They will know the story they need to tell.

5. It’s never too late

Have you read this and thought of ways you should have done things differently when someone you loved had a loss? It is not too late.  Weeks, months, years later it is not too late to write or call and say “I realize that I should have said more. I want you to know I care for you.” Never. Too. Late.  If you have regret, don’t.  Instead, say something now and change the story.

Final thoughts

I hesitated to share this because I have no desire to make anyone feel guilty or for people to think this is some passive-aggressive way of telling my friends what I wished they had done.  I felt blessed by the  support I received, and have prayed for, and received, the ability to give grace to  those who, perhaps, just did not know how to be supportive in the ways I needed.  (I recognize as well that I did not always know how to ask for what I needed  – but that’s another whole set of lessons for another day!)

I share this because I learned some things, and my hope is that these reflections can give some insight to others.  I hope that we can all get better at being there for people during a loss.  I know that I have learned a lot, and I’m grateful that out of my loss I have learned a little of how to better be there for others in the future.  I hope by God’s grace to keep learning more.   

If you have been through the experience of grief, I’d be curious to know your thoughts.  Would you agree with these lessons? Would you change anything? Add anything?  What do you think people need to know?