Oftentimes, we are snuggling a rabbit or holding a newborn baby goat or gently nesting a chick in our hand while the other hand is free to hold a cuppa...
It is in these shared spaces of sipping tea and nurturing little creatures, stories are shared.
These stories are neither fairy tales nor folklore...they are human stories. Stories of suffering, endurance, and pain. They are stories written on the ragged, bloodied, and torn pages of the lives of broken people. Some of these people are survivors of human trafficking. Others are teenagers who wear sleeves of scars from self harm. There are abused women who dare to breath out the darkness beaten into them. There are children who innocently describe an atrocity as if it were common knowledge all humanity experiences.
I sit and listen. Pleading with God in my mind and heart to heal these precious ones. Sometimes it is not appropriate to weep as stories are shared. I have learned to breath through these stories, assuring my heart that later we can weep and mourn and lament this moment with God privately. But for that moment, that human sharing their story needs me present and listening, not overcome by emotion...
If I weep, then they will know their story hurts me. If they are distracted by my pain, they cannot get out their own pain. They will not be comforted, but rather, they will get confirmation that their story is too overwhelming to be dealt with. More walls will go up and more pain and more darkness and more isolation will overcome them.
The Bible instructs us to "mourn with those who mourn" (Rom. 12:15). If the person sharing the story is not mourning, that is, they are not actively grieving (either because they have all ready grieved, they don't want to grieve, or they are unaware it is grievous), it is not my time to mourn. Because in that situation, if I mourn without them, than I am only mourning for myself and I do not "mourn with those who mourn."
However, if they get to a safe and sacred space to weep, I weep with them. I don't hold back. I am present on the ash heap of their despair.
"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God."
If I am a comfort at all to those who share their stories in that sacred space of my porch, it is only because I am learning to let God comfort me.
I get to share my stories in a scared space with the LORD. Oftentimes, I am snuggling a rabbit or holding a newborn baby goat or gently nesting a chick in my hand while the other hand is free to hold a cuppa...
