NOT ALL BAD NEWS

Difficult seasons and seemingly impossible circumstances have existed since time began. They weren’t ever unique to 2020, and yet last year seemed to pack an unusual punch. 

“2020” became an adjective, used to describe any unfortunate situation or circumstance—large or small.

While the world was falling apart, while it seemed to be bad news after bad news, my world for the most part stayed in tact. 

And, we almost made it unscathed. 

Then came December 27, 2020. 

I will never forget the events that took place the day we found out my little brother Bradley passed away. 

A 19-year-old boy, as handsome as could be. 
My brother. 
Gone. 

He was full of joy and life. He loved dirt bikes and his red sports car. His presence would brighten anyone’s day. He had the greatest laugh and the warmest smile. 

That day, I joined a club I never wanted to be a part of. And, I started a journey of grief that I will be on for the rest of my life in some capacity. 

Really, 2020?

A year of bad news, and now the impossible had happened.

I couldn’t scroll through social media. 
I couldn’t read headlines. 
I couldn’t answer the phone. 

Please, please. No more bad news. I can’t physically take it. 

It’s Not All Bad News

Nearly five months in, I am taking my beginning steps on this grief journey. And, in the middle of the deep sorrow and sadness, I have been reminded of a truth I’ve known all along. 

God gives us Good News. 

This truth has become the answer to all the questions I was asking (and continue to ask). 

We were never promised a perfect life–one without suffering or hardship, without grief or loss. We were never promised a long life–a well-lived 100 years on earth. We were never promised a healthy life–one without injury or illness, without disability or disease. 

When our world is shattered with suffering, we are shocked. Nothing makes sense. Our grip on reality has been shaken. Yet, when we read God’s Word, we are reminded that we live in a fallen world. A world riddled with sin. A world where we should actually expect trials and suffering because of the nature and depravity of man.

“In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.” John 16:33b

Jesus tells us that we will have tribulations. 

Tribulation: noun – a cause of great trouble or suffering.

We can all fill in the blanks as to what these have been in our lives. 

But, it’s not all bad news.

God Gives us Good News

He doesn’t leave us there in the hopelessness. He tells us to take heart because he has overcome the world. He already conquered sin and death on the cross by sending His Son Jesus to pay the price for sin that we never could.

“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.” John 3:16

He gave us Himself. That is the Good News. 

He is the Answer to all of our pain, hurts, suffering and sin.

In the midst of the bad…

The unbelievable headlines. 
The unwanted diagnosis. 
The unimaginable hurts.
The unexpected loss. 

…there is a good that outweighs it all. 

It’s life. It’s freedom. It’s hope. It’s Jesus. 

If you have questions about salvation, or what it looks like to trust in Christ. Please leave me a comment or reach out to me via Instagram. I would love to talk with you.

A PAINFUL PRESENCE

By: Haley Stricker

I am grieving some loss in my life right now, and I’m hurting. I’m hurting and it’s okay to hurt. I’m reminded in this hurt that pain has the ability to either connect us or reveal the layers forming between us and others. I’m also reminded why therapy exists, and why the power of therapy is really the power of presence.

On this type of presence, Henry Nouwen says, “When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain.”

The ministry of presence is often a silent one. It doesn’t take many words or thoughts or even prayers. It doesn’t ask us to know the answers or cures. It asks of us our attunement, our sense of being with rather than doing or fixing or helping.

He goes on to say,

“The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares.”

When we hurt, we are longing for the type of connection that says, “I see you - I see you and I’m not afraid of your pain. I do not hide from your pain but I willingly enter into it and grieve with you.”

This is honestly excruciating. To enter into another’s pain asks us to tap into our own and accept its place in our story. It asks us to feel with another person when many of us have chosen to numb our own emotions. And this is hard work. But we cannot connect with others if we are unable to connect with ourselves. We tend to find ways to minimize our own discomfort around emotions through offering suggestions and advice.

And this makes sense. Often our own painful experiences left us feeling powerless and having something to offer provides a sense of control. Advice allows us to feel stable in the ambiguity of pain.

But as I sit in my own grief, I’m learning that solutions may help me breathe momentarily - but they do not heal the parts of me that are wounded.

C.S. Lewis once prayed, “I know now, Lord, why you utter no answer. You are yourself the answer. Before your face questions die away. What other answer would suffice?”

Healing is not the absence of pain but the presence of God in the pit of pain with us. I say pit because grief often feels like a dark and deep well, and it would take too much energy and effort to climb out of that well. And so healing does not ask me to climb out. I can stay and His presence with me is the healing even in the pain. And as we dare to be present with others in their pain, we are doing the work of embodied healing. But this requires our own work. We cannot be present with others if we are incapable of being present with ourselves. We cannot honor others' sadness if we shame ourselves for being sad. We cannot listen without fixing if we must control out of our anxiety.

I often describe the role of a therapist as that of a container. We hold all of the fears, emotions, doubts, losses, and hurts with our clients - not in an effort to take the pain away but sit in it and say, "You're not alone. Even if just for this hour, I am holding this with you." And there is this brief period when the pain is slightly more tolerable - not because it's gone but because there is someone else holding the weight too.

Ministry of presence is a lot like that. It is not pulling others out of their pit but entering into the pit and sitting there with them. The pit is messy because it takes emotional energy to sit there and it brings up things in us that maybe we have buried. But I think our families, friendships, churches, and communities are aching for more of this type of ministry. Most of us are walking around with deep wounds, and if we're honest what we are really longing for is someone to see us in those hurts and choose to sit in them with us. It's a painful kind of presence, but this is the stuff of true connection. And I think its the stuff of true healing too.

THE SOUNDS OF MOVING FORWARD

I stare at a blur of colors,
Time is frozen.

How to go on? 
All I want is to be,
Not do,
Not give,
Just be.

Then they creep in,
Interrupting the stillness,
The sounds of moving forward. 

The clothes in the dryer whirl and tumble. 
The cars roll down the street. 
The coffee drips into the carafe.
A persistent “mama” is softly (and loudly) spoken.
The water rushes from the faucet.
The dogs bark at life passing our fence.
The microwave hums as leftovers are reheated.

Simple sounds I don’t always notice. 

Ordinary sounds that mean life has to go on.

How can it?
How dare it?

A silent tear rolls down my cheek. 

I stare at a blur of colors,
Time is frozen.