Together Through Pain {hyperemesis}

Today is our last installment in this series, and I have learned so much! It has been a serious blessing to hear over and over the way the honesty from the guest bloggers has served y'all. I simply cannot thank these women enough. My prayer is that the effects of this series continue far into the future. There are so many more topics we could have covered, but I hope you can see some of the themes of caring that these girls have presented and use that in your unique situations.

I seriously debated whether or not to contribute to this group of posts. While it is true that mulling over my experience with hyperemesis was in some way the inspiration God used to get this series rolling, I still felt hesitant to put a post about a 9 month trial next to those involving chronic illness or miscarriage. And yet, I've found a great void when it comes to material on this topic, and for reasons I'll go into further, it seems to be something that can be really tricky for people to understand how to help.

I'm doing this with a sort of ghost writer. A girlfriend of mine is currently in the mire of this valley. Through correspondence she has helped bring back the memories of what it really was like to walk through this, and she has had some raw, helpful things to say. So with her permission, I'll be quoting her a couple times.

When You Can't Understand Your Own Trial, But Others Think They Can
I have told people that because of my pregnancies, if my girls had come before my boys, there would be no boys in our family. With my pregnancies with my boys, I experienced serious morning sickness. I remember with my first the 12 week mark passing, holding out for all the promises of the nausea and vomiting to end. Then the 15 week mark. Then the 18. It was my first clue that my body wasn't going to function the way all the books told me it was supposed to. Still it was just morning sickness and somewhat manageable; halfway through my pregnancy, my nausea subsided to an occasional event.

Then there were the girls' pregnancies. If I thought straight-up morning sickness was bad, I was about to enter the world of hyperemesis. If you don't know what hyperemesis is, let me put it in terms anyone can understand- imagine the worst flu you've ever had, the kind that leaves you crawling to the bathroom with your gut cramping from all the vomiting. Now image that it kept going. For nine months. Until your throat burns, your stomach involuntarily tightens in atrociously painful spasms, you're too weak to stand, your head feels it's going to explode from the pressure, you struggle to process one complete thought, and most times you're left incapable of functioning on your own. This is hyperemesis. I'm not trying to be overly dramatic in describing it, but simply trying explain difference between this and morning sickness. It's quite misunderstood since only 2% of women experience true hyperemesis.

So how can you be a friend to the woman you love who is walking through this? Here are a couple thoughts...

1. Avoid identifying
Without exception, the couple of other women that I have talked to who dealt with hyperemesis found this the most unhelpful thing in this trial: most women who had experienced morning sickness fall into the trap imaging they could identify with you. It's tricky, I know! All women who have been pregnant want to identify with other pregnant women. It's like our little "war story" bonding, but in this case it is so unhelpful. I remember having a woman go on about the nausea she used to feel while pregnant and how she wished she could have at least thrown up. I listened with a forced smile on my face while my throat burned from having to face my toilet for millionth time. The words: "I know what you're going through" felt like nails on a chalkboard.

My friend and "ghost writer" puts it much more bluntly: 

"Many women think they know what you are going through, but really don't have the slightest clue. Yesterday I threw up so much that I started to throw up blood and my nose was bleeding and throat was burning and my stomach was permanently cramped from all the pumping/spasms. I asked someone for help and they told me to take heart in knowing that God specifically designed this suffering for me. I went to another friend for help, she basically said she would tell me she was sorry but that she wasn't going to because I should be grateful that it is a sign of a healthy pregnancy...  It was just so unhelpful and I don't want to hear that I am being ungodly or that I'm ungrateful for pregnancy. I was tossing in bed until 3am, not just because of nausea, but also struggling with battling roots of bitterness and just pleading to God for mercy. Every minute seems like a year and sometimes the suffering is so bad that your mind feels like its going insane and having to escape to an alternate reality." 

I found it interesting that the only two women in my church that I knew could truly identify after their own journeys through hyperemesis both responded in the exact same way to me. They simply looked me deep in the eye, and said, "I'm so sorry." Those three simple words felt like salve on gaping wound.

2. Understand that she might be lonely
While this may not be true for all women, I found hyperemesis to be a very lonely place especially during my first trimester; hours upon hours with my only scenery change being from the bedroom wall to the mouth of my toilet. I felt out of the loop as week after week ticked by. A couple dear friends called me on a regular basis just to talk and let me know that they hadn't forgotten about me. They talked to me about more than just my nausea, and for a few minutes I almost felt human again. One of the sweetest gestures was when two friends I had been meeting with frequently came to the house for our regular time together. I spent the time laid out on the couch, and they were so patient as I excused myself to the bathroom when the nausea was too much. It made me feel loved and included.

3. Be careful when handing out advice
Many well-meaning people, some strangers, told me what I should do to get rid of my "morning sickness". And I tried it all, ginger tea, magnetic bracelets, every kind of vitamin B known to man, without even a hint of relief. (Tea doesn't work to well when it's coming right back up!) After awhile I learned to just smile and nod. But in the end, the reminder that nothing could be done to curb the sickness brought fresh frustration instead of help.

4. Help carry her physical burden
Behind any woman with hyperemesis is a husband and maybe other children who probably haven't had a home-cooked meal in weeks. She knows it; and sometimes the guilt of it can compound the trial. Bring them a meal! Even though mom may not be able to eat it (or even smell it), the thought of her family getting to eat something beside pizza will help her sleep easier.

Clean her toilets. (If she's comfortable with that.) Talk about being a servant to all! This may sound gross, but I know that that having to hang my head over a filthy toilet that I was too weak to clean was like adding insult to injury.

Take her other kids. They can probably recite every episode of Wonder Pets by now and could use a change of scenery while mom gets a quiet nap.

Even if you see a friend with hyperemesis out in public later in her pregnancy, understand that she may be just be to the point that she can conjure up some version of normalcy while quietly taking breaks to keep her tell-tale signs of hyperemesis hidden in the bathroom. Even if she's tired of talking about her trial and keeps quiet, she probably still needs your care!

5. Help carry her spiritual burden 
There were times when hyperemesis messed with my mind. It's exhausting to be intensely ill week after week. I felt like I couldn't put a complete thought together, let alone a prayer that consisted of more than, "Please help!" Avoid trying to help your friend see the reason for this trial. My friend writes again:

"Proverbs 18:14 says, 'A man's spirit will endure sickness,but a crushed spirit who can bear?'  

A commentary says: 'A person's spirit, if it is hopeful and good, can endure sickness and adversity, but if the spirit is despondent, even when there is nothing wrong, then life itself becomes difficult to bear'

I don't think women understand how their words can crush a broken spirit, when God uses a hopeful spirit to endure sickness and to enable a woman to persevere. Not that we should give other women that much power, but sometimes words can crush or force unrealistic expectations that crush."  

Give your friend words of hope from God's Word. Remind your friend that God is the God of the valley and validate she is in a deep, dark valley. Remind her that her Father's power is made perfect in her weakness, that when she is weak, He is strong. Let your friend know that when she can't pray, you will be praying for her. Set your the alarm on your smart phone to go off at the time of the day when her nausea is the worst. Let her know that you will be praying for her during that time.

Let's walk together humbly, willing to get down in the valley together.

Together Through Pain {suicide}

I'm thankful to have the opportunity to share today's Together Through Pain post since this topic is not only a touchy one, but also one that seems to be less often addressed. We are going to hear how to walk with someone when they have lost a loved one to suicide. I am so glad that we get to hear about this separately from unexpectedly losing a loved one since this situation can present it's own set of issues.

So welcome Lindsay to this blog series. She and her husband Wayne live in Michigan with their two adorable kiddos. Lindsay happens to be an excellent photographer with a thriving business. If you met Lindsay with her winning smile and bubbly personality, what you wouldn't see are the scars left behind from her world flipping upside down eleven years ago. But I'll turn the rest of the story over to her...

Suicide's Real Victims

When Alyssa approached me to share my story about how to be a blessing to someone who has been impacted by suicide I quickly and happily agreed. As I reflected on the most helpful moments I had 11 years ago after such a tragic event, I began to re-live the emotions that brought me to the point I am at today. I pray that you may be blessed with the articles in this series and that you might recall them in the future should you find yourself in a position to be a calming voice in a time of sympathy. Here is my story.

May 3rd, 2002 started like any other, it was a bright and beautiful Friday morning and upon waking up I quickly dressed and headed to work. All day I tried to focus on work tasks but my excitement was far too much for me to handle as the evening before my fiance Wayne, (who is now my husband) and I had purchased a small fishing boat and I couldn't wait to take it out later that afternoon. I was waiting tables at the time and with a stroke of luck I got “cut” from my shift a little early, I could NOT have been any more excited. I jumped in my little car and headed back to my apartment, quickly changed my clothes, and was ready to walk out the door. Wayne stopped, 

“Do you want to call Josh? I bet he’d love to go out on the boat with us.” 

I knew he was right, but selfishly I didn't want to share that first boating experience with anyone other than Wayne. I remember feeling guilty and selfish yet I still replied something like, 

“Next time. We’ll bring him next time.” 

I mean, there’s always a next time, right? With that, and if I’m being honest, without a second thought, we drove to Wayne’s parent’s home where we were keeping the boat. Wayne’s parents ended up joining us for our first venture out on the water and just as soon as we sailed to the middle of the lake, Wayne’s phone rang. It was a call that changed my life forever. 

I watched as the blood drained out of his face, I saw the pity, sadness, and horror flash through his eyes and I knew, I just knew, without him uttering a single word that life as I had known it was changed. He hung up the phone and I remember just standing up and screaming in sheer panic, “What? WHO? TELL ME!” Quietly he spoke, “It’s Josh…. He shot himself.” I only remember bits and pieces from there. I remember my father-in-law grabbing me when my legs suddenly gave out under me and I remember my mother-in-law crying. I remember the ride back home and started replaying something that I had witnessed a few hours before. 

On the way to the lake we passed the street that I grew up on. At the end of the street there was an Eye Doctor’s office and the parking lot was FULL of people, news vans, and what appeared to be panic. With further notice I saw the “SWAT” team on the side of a home just 4 houses down from my parents. Never once did I think anything had happened within my own family, I honestly thought it was a drug bust, not that we lived in a drug infested area but when you grow up in a small town crime, guns, and crazy people are the last thing you really think of. 

It was all becoming clear to me; we had driven past a crowd of people who were gathered because a gun went off in the bedroom that had shared a wall with my own. A crowd gathered because my brother made a decision to end his own life at 17 years old. In that crowd we had passed stood my mother, clinging tight to my brother who was just 4 years old. She stood there waiting on some word, not knowing all the details, only that there had been “gun shots” which in reality was just one gun shot. One thing I will be forever grateful for is that Josh called 911 and did not take his life until police arrived in front of our home. I will always know that he did that for our younger brother, a little boy that ran up to Josh’s room every day when he arrived home to see his “Joshie.” I believe he didn't want our younger brother to find him and for that I was relieved. 

The days after and the funeral were filled with words and actions that impacted me for a lifetime, not all were good. In moments of tragedy, I have found that those around you will do their best to relate, give words of comfort, or reflect on their own experiences with the person who has passed. I encourage this kind of sharing, be a blessing with your words, memories, and prayers. In those times when someone you know has lost someone to suicide (or any loss I suppose), do ask yourself if your actions and words are helpful or hurtful, not everything we say to comfort someone really “helps.” Here are some suggestions based on *my* personal experience, these may not be helpful to everyone but these are things that helped or hurt my own grieving process along the way and I pray that these suggestions are a blessing to you in the future.

Pray for them. The best thing I heard back in those early days, weeks, months, and even the first 5 or 6 years was, “I’m praying for you.” The power of prayer and knowing that someone is praying for you is more emotionally empowering than you may know. When someone would say, “I’m praying for you” vs. “I’m so sorry” I would feel immediately uplifted, even if only for a second. It was a simple reminder that God was on my side and at my side, walking each step with me and carrying me when I didn't have the strength to move another foot on my own. 

Please, don’t say, “I understand what you’re going through.” Most likely, you. do. not. No two relationships are the same so you could never possibly understand relationships that do not directly involve you. Aside from that, a suicide leaves a train wreck of questions and emotions that are not typical (in my experience) of other types of death. When someone passes, our hearts break, that is a given. When someone decides to end their own life, we become more like an emotional onion with so many layers of conflicting emotions and questions that can take a decade to sort through. Saying that you understand someone’s loss due to suicide can induce anger, bitterness, and more grief than you may realize instead of what your initial intention is which is to simply relate. A better idea is to say, “While I do not understand what you are going through and I can only imagine how your heart is breaking, I want you to know that I am here for you.” 

Don’t ask “Why.” In the beginning, people used to ask me, “Why do you think your brother killed himself?” First of all, just the words alone sent an automatic picture into my head. Not a picture, more like a slow motion movie of how I imagined it all happened. Choose your words wisely, no matter what you say, words can ignite a fire that is dangerous and nearly impossible to put out. People who have suffered a loss due to suicide don’t know “why." The “why” is a very slippery and scary slope for those left behind. Often, we believe that WE may be the “why.” Was it because of something I said or something I didn't say? Was it because I didn't reach out? Was it because I wasn't the positive influence I thought I was? Believe me, a victim of suicide (that’s what you are when you’re left behind) is asking themselves “why” every second of every day, when they are ready to share their thoughts on the matter, they will. I can tell you that I have asked myself “why” at least a million times and some of the most comforting words to me have been that we may not know why, but we know that with steadfast faith, God is control and giving up the “why” grief to him is the most burden-lifting thing one can do.

Encourage and uplift those left behind by telling them just how much you know the person who passed loved them. Chances are that they feel guilty, no matter how unrealistic that guilt is. The hardest thing for me as I recovered from Josh’s loss was an overwhelming sense of guilt. The guilt quite literally ate at me until I could no longer recognize the good in myself. I hated myself, I truly hated myself for being so selfish when Wayne suggested that we call Josh to have him come out with us. If I had only called him when Wayne said then maybe he would have changed his mind. I used to believe that it was 100% my fault that he was gone, that my selfishness sealed his fate. That was nothing more than Satan doing his dirty work, I know this now but no matter how many people told me that back then, I just didn't believe them. I felt guilty too because the last time I was with my brother he tried to give me the money out of his wallet and something else of his and I thought he was just being “weird.” I even had a few people ask me if I felt guilty and while I’m sure that they were really just trying to see where my mental state was so that they could reassure me that I was in fact not guilty, it only lead me to have further conviction in my guilt. The best thing you can do to uplift someone is to pray for them, pray with them, and more importantly, DON’T STOP.

Press on with them. Flowers fade and phone calls stop. It seems as if the phone calls and encouraging words fade almost as quickly as the funeral flower arrangements wilt and wither away. People always say, “Call me if you need ANYTHING.” Well, sometimes it’s just awkward to call someone and cry on the phone. It just is! Be a support system and a blessing, take initiative to call the person in mourning, not just a few days after, but six months after. When everyone else has continued on with their busy lives and the person grieving is still trying to figure out how to assemble some sort of new life after loss. You don’t have to dwell on what happened or be sad every time you call, but be prepared to let the grieving person mourn for as long as they need to in whatever way they need to, just be there. Sometimes it’s helpful for someone to talk it out. Some people don’t like to share but others find it therapeutic. I found myself, for a period of time, talking it out with anyone who would listen. Looking back now, I think I was trying to convince myself, even a year or two after it had happened, that it HAD in fact happened, I had lost my brother. I still have my moments, eleven years later, where I need to talk it out. The day I married my husband, the days my children were born, those were days I expected to relive the emotions, but driving down the road on the way to work with a million other things on my mind when “our” song comes on the radio and I just don’t see it coming, those are the moments that take my breath away all over again. There is no special length of time that someone will be “in mourning” in my opinion I believe that when a loss is so devastating, you will always find yourself mourning and missing that person in one way or another. Be prepared to be there for a week, a year, a decade, or lifetime, because these moments of emotional havoc creep in when least expect them too and it’s a blessing to have someone to talk to in those dark days.

Pray, pray, pray! Last but not least, again, encourage you to pray. Prayer is the most powerful tool that God gave us, it’s costs us nothing, fills us up, and we can do it anytime, anywhere. It was the prayer of those I didn't know who were praying that lead me back to the Lord after several years of walking a dark path through anger, guilt, and feelings of betrayal. My testimony is a story that is built on the prayers of others, prayers that literally saved my life when the guilt had overtaken my every thought and moment. My personal testimony revolves around how suicide impacted my life so greatly that I no longer felt the desire to live and began to relate to Josh in ways one never should. Had those who had been praying for me not prayed, I don’t know where I would be today, or if I would even be here to share this story. I was blessed and saved by prayer after suicide, not by flowers or cards, thoughtful as they were, the most powerful gift I was given was mention in the precious whispers between others and the Lord. 

May God bless your path in the days, months, and years to come. Thank for you taking time to read this story.

Together Through Pain {infertility}

Early yesterday morning I received a text that my dear friend was headed to the hospital for induction to give birth. This should have been a happy text accompanied with some squealing sound effects when read, but instead there were tears. You see, my friend is was only about to hit her 20 week mark in her pregnancy when she found out that her little one's heart had stopped beating. Instead of labor accompanied by the joy of birth, my friend had to labor to give birth to the child she was going to bury.

After a some raw crying out to God, I was met with the familiar feeling of helplessness. How could I be a good friend to this woman? In that moment, I was thanking God for Abby and her words of wisdom and all the women who have opened up to us through this series equipping us for these very moments.

Our next contributor is Jenny who writes a beautiful, honest blog called Blessings and Raindrops from her home in Arkansas. When she and her husband Dave tried to start a family, they unknowingly stepped into the world of infertility. After a couple years, they decided to head down the road of adoption. But the Lord had other plans, as Jenny found out she was pregnant with not one but two little blessings. She and Dave now chase after two blonde little boys. They are also in the process of bringing their gorgeous (trust me, I've seen her picture) daughter home from Central Africa. So, I'll turn this post over to Jenny as she helps us understand how walk lovingly with a girlfriend who longs to be a mother.

When Your Arms Are Empty
Infertility is isolating. It is painful. It is full of heartache and disappointment and bitterness. It is all consuming – emotionally and physically. You can’t get away from the pain. The struggle is fresh and raw each and every month.

Yet, above all of the emptiness and hurt -- a persistent, unrelenting spirit of hope remains.

Hope that this is going to be “the” month. Hope that this new doctor, this new test, this new procedure, this new medicine will finally work.

As someone who walked this dark road for several years, I can attest to the difficulty of being a good friend to anyone in the midst of infertility. I know it was hard to be my friend during that time. I felt isolated and alone most days. Innocent remarks such as, “so, do you have any kids?” or “you need to soak up all this free time you have now before you get tied down with kids!” sent me reeling. Pregnancy announcements, baby showers, birthday parties, baptisms; even family dinners would leave me in tears. The grief was overwhelming at times.

If you have not walked in our shoes, you may wonder how you can best minister to a friend facing such intense heartache. Simply by reading this post, you are showing how much you care for your friend. You are likely seeking practical ways to encourage and love your friend in an authentic, Godly way.

First, I would recommend being careful with your words. Struggling couples find themselves especially sensitive to the words of others. At the same time, I know that the pressure to say the “right” things can be difficult for the loved ones of infertile couples. This doesn’t have to be daunting. Simple changes in the way you phrase common questions can be extremely helpful and prevent infertile couples from feeling put on the spot. For example, when first meeting someone, instead of the question, “so, do you have kids?” try asking something more open-ended like, “tell me about yourself.”

Withhold offering advice to help “cure” infertility problems. Medical issues cause infertility, and “relaxing” will not resolve the problem. Nor will going on vacation, wearing boxer shorts, drinking a margarita or deciding to “just adopt.” Adopting may be a part of God’s plan for your friend, but this is not a decision to be taken lightly. Not to mention that, statistically; adoption does not increase chances of pregnancy. Allow your friend the opportunity to seek Biblical counsel and to work through God’s path for her family without your opinions or stories of what worked for a friend-of-a-friend.

The book, Hannah’s Hope by Jennifer Saake, was a lifeline for me during our journey. Now, when I know of a friend that is struggling with infertility or adoption loss, I always send a copy of this book. The wisdom shared is comforting {it’s always nice to know you aren’t alone in your pain} and biblically sound.

I’m tempted to plagiarize the entire book because it is overflowing with wisdom on this subject. Instead, I’ll just share this well-written advice from Jennifer in one of the book’s “Burden Bearers” segments:

"Communication is imperative. You can have all the general guidelines in the world, but you can best minister to me by getting to know my heart and learning my triggers for rejoicing or heartache. When in doubt, ask me directly.

In some ways, you are in a 'no-win' situation. If you ignore me when it is time to send out baby shower invitations or birth announcements, it may make me feel all the more removed from normalcy. Yet, if you do include me and I’m having an especially hard day, I may feel you have been insensitive. One idea might be to send me the same baby shower announcement that you are sending to all of our friends, but inside include a handwritten note acknowledging that you know this might bring me pain. Let me know that I am free to come or not, as I so desire, but that you love me and are praying for me."

Such wise advice. I love the compassion shown with the inclusion of a few kind words written in love. Rather than ignoring or belittling your friend’s heartache, you are able to live out the Gospel in a beautiful way -- bestowing love and joining alongside her in prayer.

I’d also advise you to not be offended if a loved one does not choose to share their fertility struggles with you. This does not mean that she doesn’t love and trust you. Infertility is an incredibly personal and private struggle. My husband and I didn’t share what we were going through for several years. This decision was made consciously and, in our case, choosing to rely on God and one another for support and comfort strengthened both our marriage and our faith.

If a loved one does share with you, please know that she is placing a deep level of trust in your friendship. Respect this trust and do not share this news with anyone else. She has chosen you to be a confidant, a prayer warrior and an encourager. Do not take this role lightly. Pray diligently. Encourage sincerely. Love genuinely.

Finally, I would encourage you to take some time to explore resources for understanding what your loved ones are going through. A couple of my favorites –

Hannah’s Prayer Ministries – Christian support for fertility challenges.

Empty Arms -- A video that communicates how painful the journey of infertility can be, helping you to understand where your loved ones are coming from.

Together Through Pain {miscarriage}

I've been hearing over and over again how helped y'all have been by the posts from the women in our Together Through Pain series. Isn't our God wonderful!?

This week we'll be hearing about a topic that touches us all. I guarantee that each one of us knows someone who has gone through a miscarriage or have experienced this yourself. Statistics show that at least 1 in 10 pregnancies end in miscarriage. What a perfect area for us to be armed with wisdom on how to care for each other!

Our contributor this week is Abby. She experienced a more rare 2nd trimester miscarriage and will be opening up to us about her loss and pain. Abby is a former middle school teacher (bless her!) and college English teacher. After she and her husband C.J. had a beautiful little girl, Abby put her skills to work full time in her home. Abby is also a gifted writer and is currently working on a book about how God shows up in people's stories of infertility, miscarriage, and stillbirth. You can follow her work on her author's Facebook page HERE and can read more of her eloquent writing on her blog HERE.


WHEN YOU'VE NEVER MET THE PERSON YOU'RE LONGING FOR

I'm honored to be included in this wonderful series on Alyssa's blog.  Alyssa's asked me to share a little bit about my experience with miscarriage and what was helpful to me in the days, weeks, and months following my loss.

Let me start by telling you my story.  My husband and I have the privilege of being parents to our beautiful two year old daughter Ellie.  It took us a full year to get pregnant with her, so I was surprised and delighted when we got pregnant right away with our second child.  Ellie was almost one at the time, so my first trimester was full and challenging as I tried to keep up with a busy toddler and deal with my ever-present nausea.  My obstetrician has an ultrasound machine in her office, so my husband and I were able to see our little baby several times at my prenatal check-ups.  Everything seemed to be progressing perfectly.

And then, in late May of last year, I went in for my 15 week check-up, only to discover there was no heartbeat.  It seemed our baby had died somewhere around 14.5 weeks, well past the 12 week point where the odds of a miscarriage drop dramatically to somewhere around 1%.  We underwent many tests, but doctors were never able to uncover a clear reason for our loss.

For me, grieving the loss of our baby was an incredibly difficult time.  I felt lonely as I didn't have any close friends who'd experienced a miscarriage, and I didn't know anyone who'd walked through a second trimester loss.  I was always aware of how far along I "should have been" and felt sadness and envy as I watched the swelling bellies of other pregnant women who appeared to be due around the same time I would have been.  We found out our baby was a little girl, and I grieved the daughter we'd never know, the sister Ellie wouldn't get to grow up with, the member of our family who'd always be missed, no matter how many children we might later go on to have.  For months, sadness lingered at the edges of everything, and I genuinely wondered if I would ever feel truly happy again.

Now, a year later, I still miss the little girl we named Avaleen, but the grief is different:  softer, less consuming.  I'm so grateful for the care I've received and continue to receive from friends and family as I've mourned.  What follows is a list of several ways I've been blessed by them - with a few thoughts about things that weren't so helpful mixed in.  I share these suggestions realizing I'm no expert on the topic and that what blesses me, an introspective, emotional type, may not be as meaningful to others walking through a similar loss.  All the same, I hope these suggestions will serve those of you who are or will be walking alongside a friend who has lost her baby.

1.  Validate her loss.  One of the first things my amazing obstetrician said to me after having to tell me my baby was dead was that I wouldn't be ok for months.  On first glance, that may seem like a harsh or unhelpful thing to tell someone who's just experienced a miscarriage, but it was actually one of the best things anyone said to me because it validated the deep sense of pain and loss I felt rather than trying to minimize it or brush it away.  In times of tragedy, we all want to say something that will make sufferers feel better, but the reality is that no words can magically erase a loss.  Upon hearing about my miscarriage, well-meaning people told me things like, "This is just a setback," or, "At least you got pregnant quickly this time," all of which felt very unhelpful because they minimized the fact that I'd just lost a particular, unique child, one I'd carried for 3 months and seen on an ultrasound, one I desperately wanted back.  At the time, I didn't want another baby; I just wanted Avaleen.  And I really appreciated the family and friends who understood this, who wept with me, and who affirmed the validity of the grief I was feeling.

2.  Show love in tangible ways.  In the days following my miscarriage, it seemed that every time I opened our front door there was another package:  homemade cranberry orange scones, flowers hand-picked from a friend's garden, a delivery from a local bakery, all accompanied by thoughtful cards and notes.  As I sat in our living room recovering, not feeling emotionally ready for lots of visits or long talks, I was surrounded by visible expressions of the love and care of family and friends scattered on end tables and shelves throughout the room.  In a very real sense, the flowers and cards and food upheld me in those early days, making me feel supported and cared for and loved.  Similarly, the families in my small group from church offered to bring us meals for a few weeks after our loss.  I felt strange accepting their offer because my pregnancy nausea finally gone, I actually felt better physically than I had in months.  However, receiving the meals not only freed me up to focus on grieving and being with my family, but it also was yet another way I felt loved in the midst of my pain.  As I told the small group later when I thanked them, each meal delivered said to me, "Your loss matters.  It is a real and hard thing.  We care about your pain, and we care about you."  And though I could have managed to put dinner on the table myself, that care meant so much to me.

3.  Free her up to grieve.  After my miscarriage, one particular friend offered to watch Ellie for me on a few different mornings.  For several hours, she freed me up to take a walk, grab a cup of coffee, think, or to just be.  As the mom of a toddler, this was especially important for me because I was generally too busy changing diapers and making lunch to analyze my thoughts, feel my emotions, or dissolve on the floor in a puddle of tears.  But to move forward in the grieving process, I needed to be able to do these things.  I needed help creating space to mourn.  I think the same would be true for most women, even those who aren't currently caring for small children.  Life is busy, and grieving takes a lot of time, space, and physical and emotional energy.  There are many ways to help a friend find that space:  offer to clean her house or give her a gift certificate for a cleaning service; deliver several frozen meals for days when she just doesn't have the capacity to cook; send her away for a one-day retreat or spa day.  Anything you can do to lighten her load will help.

4.  Remember.  The flowers and notes poured in at first, and as I mentioned above, I felt surrounded by expressions of care and sympathy in those early days.  As time passed though, it was easy for me to feel like no one cared anymore, like I was expected to just move on and get back to normal life.  It meant so much to me when people remembered, months later, to ask how I was doing with processing my loss or genuinely wanted to know how it felt for me to sit through a baby shower.  It meant even more when friends remembered to express their care on a few particularly hard days.  Several people e-mailed or texted to let me know they were praying for me on the day Avaleen was due to be born.  At Christmastime, some dear friends of ours made a donation in her honor to a charity that supports the medical needs of babies in developing countries.  I also received a thoughtful e-mail from a friend on the anniversary of the day we'd lost Avaleen.  Practically speaking, I'd encourage you to make a note on your calendar of your friend's due date and of the anniversary of her loss; that way, you'll be prepared to care for her on those challenging days.

For me, and for many women, a miscarriage is a deep and dark experience, and there's nothing any friend can do to take the pain of that loss away.  I'm so grateful though that pain does not have to be carried alone, that others have chosen to enter into my sadness and walk with me through it.  I hope that hearing how they did so will inspire you as you seek to "mourn with those who mourn" (Romans 12:15).

Together Through Pain {Unexpected Death}

Are you ready for the next guest post in the "Together Through Pain" series? Again we'll look to someone who has actually walked through the tough stuff for advice on how to give truly helpful care to the hurting. This post features Melanie whose Dad unexpectedly died. Melanie (affectionately known as "Mel" to all who know and love her) lived Stateside when she lost her dad 10 years ago. She now lives in Hong Kong with her husband and daughter and writes an entertaining blog which you can find HERE about life's joys and trials, and the journey of how she moved from her hometown in Virginia to one of Asia's biggest cities. Now let me turn this post over to her as she opens up to us.

HEROES IN THE VALLEY

Sudden Death

"Dad had a stroke," my brother said as I picked up the phone at my workplace. Since I couldn't leave work at that moment, I consoled myself by thinking, "It will be a while before he finishes tests and x-rays anyways, so it'll probably work out better to visit him in a few hours."

But what none of us knew, was that we had already said our last words to Dad. The stroke had caused severe brain hemorrhaging, and my dad would spend the next six days in a coma, shocking all who knew him with his sudden passing that Saturday.  

The author and her father

Left Behind

We were bewildered. Dad was literally "here one day and gone the next", leaving behind a wife, four kids, a boat business, and countless other grieving friends and relatives. Grief mingled with questions. How did this happen? Did we miss the signs? How do we plan a funeral on such short notice? What should we do with his boat business? And then there's questions about the future. Who would usher my sixteen year old brother into manhood, or take my wheelchair-bound brother to hockey and baseball games, or walk my sister and I down the aisle on our wedding days, or send my mom flowers on Valentine's Day?

Death - regardless of cause or warning - leaves a sting for those who are left behind. And how well you walk through the valleys of grief often correlates with the quality of care received from acquaintances and friends. But, what exactly do you do if you suddenly find yourself the friend of someone grieving?

It's awkward.

Let's just get that out in the open, shall we? Before I lost my dad, I had no idea how to act around people who were grieving. My heart ached for those going through difficult times, but I didn't know what to do or say. And those awkward feelings can sometimes produce other awkward actions, like saying the wrong things or unintentionally distancing yourself from that friend because you don't feel qualified to help them with what they're going through.  

Heroes in the Valley

I jumped at the chance to write this post. Not because I'm anything special, but because it reminded me of all the special people that walked with us through the dark valleys after my dad's sudden death. I cannot imagine how heavy our burdens would've seemed had friends not stepped into our world and insisted that we distribute the weight of those burdens with them. Most of what I've learned about "being there" for people was learned from their example. And so, I'm sharing a few practical tips, in case there are other well-intentioned friends out there feeling as helpless as I once did (and sometimes still do).

Before you read, let me just acknowledge the obvious: First, these suggestions are not all-inclusive. There are tons of books and helpful websites out there with great suggestions and advice, but I chose to write about three common misconceptions that came to mind. Second, everyone grieves differently. Even among my siblings and me, we dealt with my dad's passing in very different ways. Some people may have guilt. Some may have delayed grief. Some may want to talk. Some may need a few years before they can talk about it. So, practical tips are good, but you know your friends better than I do. Just be there for them. The rest is just details.

Normal Thought: What will I say? Maybe I shouldn't go to them.

Better Thought: I should go to them. Maybe I don't need to say anything.

Tragedies punch us in the stomach. They leave us speechless. Gasping for air sometimes. There's often nothing we can say that will fix the situation. If you try, you might end up saying something weird like, "I can totally relate to what you're going through because my pet died" (an actual, well-meaning comment made to my brother). Why do we feel like we must have something to say to a friend that has just lost someone? Why did I used to think I had to prepare ahead of time if I was going to encounter a grieving friend? Why pretend there are answers and Band-Aids for people that are crushed? Hug them.

Of course, this is not to say that you can't prepare, or pray, or think about how to best bless your friend. But, don't be intimidated if you don't have time to prepare, or if you don't know what to say, or if you don't understand why this happened to them. Because they don't either! Most of the time, the grieving don't need answers, they just want to know they're not alone. That someone else is wondering the same things and grieving right along with them.

When I consider those six days we spent in the ICU waiting room, there are one or two memorable things that I can remember people saying to me; but, the more memorable picture that hangs in my mind is of a room full of friends who hugged us, cried with us, and were willing to sit in silence with us.

Normal Thought: I offered to help, but I guess they just need some space.

Better Thought: Maybe I shouldn't leave the ball in their court.

"Let me know if there's anything we can do to help." It's one of the kindest, most well-intentioned things you can say to someone. And 99% of the time, the speaker really does mean it. In fact, they probably would've moved mountains for you, had you asked them to.

But, the reality is that for various reasons -maybe they're  too tired to think straight, embarrassed to impose upon people, don't want to mention petty things in case they need help later for something bigger, or simply grieving too much to know how to administrate their own care - they may never take you up on that offer.

Now, sometimes people do want to be left alone. They very well might "need some space", but normally that kind of "need some space" means that they'd prefer not to be called by a bunch of acquaintances and answer the same questions of "what happened?" and "how are you doing?", or maybe it means that they'd like some time to process the death of their loved one before talking about it in depth. But it probably doesn't mean that they want to be cut off from all care and acknowledgement of what just happened to them. Something wonderful that people did for us after my dad passed away was to take thoughtful initiative on their own. The specifics of this will depend on the grieving friend's situation and preferences, but for us it meant a neighbor we hardly knew showing up with a home-cooked meal and latticed pie after seeing that an ambulance had come to our house a few days before, guys showing up to shovel our cars out of the snow that winter, friends showing up with instruments to play worship music for us one night, and people who invited my brother out to sports games, and volunteered to serve at my sister's wedding the following year.

The problem with many a kind offer is that they often leave the ball in the court of the person grieving. Without meaning to (I do it too!), we're asking the grieving friend to (1) come up with ideas themselves and (2) get back to us. With all that's going on with them, it would be rare that they would have the time or energy to do this, even if they know they need the help. One approach that I've found to be a blessing is when people offer specifically - What house/yard projects do you have that I could help you with? What babysitting needs to you have this month? Do you have pictures of your loved one that I could put into a slideshow or scrapbook for you? It seems like you could benefit from a distraction - could I take you out to dinner this week? Another approach is to just surprise them. If they're not in the mood to talk, send them a card, or flowers, or tickets to a concert or ball game, or leave a basket of cookies on their doorstep.  

Normal Thought: It would be awkward to talk about their loved one that has passed away.

Better Thought: It's more awkward to pretend their loved one never existed.  

Pssst...here's a secret: most people that have lost a loved one actually want to talk about them. And sometimes the only reason we don't is because we don't want to make you feel awkward. Funny, right? Before my own dad passed away and I had opportunity to talk to lots of people that have also lost loved ones, I never knew this. Again, with the best of intentions, friends often assume that saying the name of the deceased would be cruel or would "re-open the wound". And sometimes it does. Sometimes there are tears mixed in with the memories, and you do need to take into consideration how and when the person died before bringing it up. But, most of us would rather have opportunity to share the occasional tear with someone than to never hear that person's name again.

Otherwise, it's easy to feel like you're the only one that remembers that person. Or you can feel scared that you're forgetting them, and you desperately want others to help you keep those memories alive. But you don't know how to ask for people to help you do that. Sometimes you really want to watch that video and hear them laugh again. You want someone to tell you that they started crying the other day when they thought of your dad. You want a friend of theirs to reminisce about the funny birthday gift they once got from him.

This year marks ten years since my dad passed away, and I have not tired of hearing people's memories of him. Oh how it blesses me when friends are brave enough to bring up his name! I love to hear his name, or to have people tell me that I remind them of him, or when they say, "I was thinking of your dad the other day..." or "...remember that one basketball move he used to do?" So, even if it feels a little awkward, or you only had a passing thought about the person, or you think your one sentence isn't worth sharing, or you've already shared that tidbit before - share it anyways! Even years later, you never know how that memory could brighten their day. And that tear they shed? It might just be a happy one.

Remembering  

Looking back on that time with new perspective now, I'm sure our friends probably struggled through some internal battles of what to say / not say to us. I'm sure there were moments when they wondered if they were doing the right thing, or contemplated calling, or wondered if they should "give us some space", or if they'd done enough. It's hard to be a friend to someone who's grieving. And, although it's good to get advice on how to care for them better, you'll never really know exactly what to do. You'll always be wading through awkward, uncharted territories.

Being on the other side of things changes you. It makes you grateful for the friends that stuck by your side, even through the awkwardness. Even when you didn't know what you needed, or you babbled without making much sense, or you sat in silence after hearing the doctor say your loved one wouldn't recover, or you broke down years later while watching a movie that triggered a memory.

The most heroic friends are often just the ones that are willing to journey into that valley with you. The ones without all the answers, that are just ok with...well...being there. Because more than all the other words or deeds, that is probably what they'll remember the most. 

The author, while pregnant with her first, at her father's grave site.

More great resources on this subject can be found HERE.

Together Through Pain {childhood trauma}

As you know, we are working through a series dealing with how to walk helpfully with your friend who is wading through waters in which you have no experience. I am so touched that the following contributor was willing  to serve us by opening up about her painful past and ideas of how to love on the friend in your life who has gone through a difficult childhood. She will do this eloquently but anonymously. She grew up in a home that would be labeled "Christian" but looked vastly different when the doors were closed as her father used psychological and physical abuse to rule the home and to keep up appearances. But I'll stop now and let her tell the story and give the words of wisdom.

When Your Formative Years Are the Source of Pain

For the first two decades of my life, I thought I was from a typical Christian family. But terror was planted in my gut at two years old, and fear was used to control me throughout the rest of my childhood. Fear of my mom being killed. Fear of my mom killing herself. Fear of my brothers being beat beyond repair. Fear of the silence. Fear of being "in trouble" myself. Fear of unknowingly breaking a rule. Fear of losing my salvation. I don't ever remember one day of feeling light, free, or childlike. I remember feeling heavy, frightened, exhausted, and very very alone. Each time fear consumed me to the point of overwhelmment, I prayed that God would literally erase that memory from my mind, for it was more than I could bear. He did. All that trauma, terror, rejection, and pain got boxed up, and I thought, put away forever. During that time, I was taught that forgiveness was being able to not emotionally react to hurt, and also never bringing up what happened again for eternity. And so I took turmoil and trauma inside and didn't allow it to effect my countenance, and I buried each hurt without ever voicing the enormity of it. I stopped feeling. I simply coped. And I thought that all Christian families operated like that. 

It is a modern miracle I still like Jesus. Because His Name was used to control and manipulate us, and His Words were used to be some twisted bandage to our wounds. I remember being told to go to my room and "get right with God" because my standing with him was "on the rocks". Because I moved a pair of shoes. I was told that my intentions were always selfish, flawed, and corrupt. I was told that I was not capable of friendship, that I was a deep disappointment. And I believed them to my core.

I blocked out so much of those first two decades, but I do recall a few ways that God wove glimpses of His True Nature into my life. I remember two teachers who were veritable sanctuaries to me. I literally did not want to go home after school. I would have camped out in their classrooms for the love and acceptance and soft-shoulder they offered. I felt so safe with them. God also saved me through nature. I remember being surrounded by high hills draped in knee-high green grasses, and tromping through daisy fields, and knowing God was there, calling to me, and showing me a small piece of His vast goodness. And I remember being so alone and so disenchanted by surface-y Christians that I gave up on all youth groups and Bible studies and just did life alone. God was my sole best friend, and although I didn't know the faintest facet of the freedom He offered yet, I did know that His company was richer than any others. 

How can you help a child who is so desperate for acceptance, love and safety? Sit by her. Offer your home for dinner or a weekend of normalcy. Feed her with scripture. See the good in her, and speak of and to it. 

But God blew my world wide open when I went away to college. I saw other families that were gentle, tender-hearted, non-judgmental, gracious, and loving toward each other. I met others my age who didn't live life in tension and fear and unpredictability. Who weren't wound up tight in dysfunctional relationships. Who weren't carrying adult-sized burdens on child-sized hearts. And they were still Christians. Ever so slowly, the Lord began to unwind this lie that being a Christian mean fearfully following rules, presenting a perfect exterior, a life of carrying crushing weight, and never knowing when the rug of your salvation was about to be pulled out from under you. 

Fast-forward to my 20's and 30's ... 

I was growing in knowledge. I was married. Physically safe. Separate. It was this promised land I had panted for my whole life. But the emotional trauma had just begun. It was like I lived my entire childhood in "fight or flight" survival mode on pure adrenaline. When the promised land was set before me, and everything was seemingly peaceful and safe, I didn't know how to operate. My body caught up. I began having panic attacks. Chest pains would send me to the hospital, thinking I was having a heart attack. I would lay on heating pads and pray that the muscles that pulled my lungs tight would loosen. I began having night terrors, waking up defeated, exhausted, grieving, heart either racing or broken. All of those hundreds of moments I blocked out and wished to be erased were buried deep and now rising to the surface. 

How can you love an adult in that dark, desperate, confused, exhausted, bewildered, grieving place that follows a broken childhood, so many broken relationships, and a broken picture of God?

1) Understand that it is called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder because the real trauma occurs in the aftermath ... Being struck and verbally slayed hurt in the moment, but the real pain comes when you begin wondering why you weren't worth sticking up for, questioning why you were made to feel like such a burden to your family, and trying to piece together how what they spoke of you doesn't feel like who you are, or is it who you are? 

2) Give us permission to grieve ... and maybe do it with us. Just when the weight of these ugly, life-draining relationships with my parents were literally sucking me dry, God intervened. Two couples - my parents' age - stepped into our lives. Not with "honor your mother and father" words of judgement, but with "honor them ... that your days may be prolonged in the land which the Lord your God gives you" that helped us realize that there was no life, much less prolonged life, much less abundant life, trapped in this sick cycle of still trying to "honor" unpleaseable, unsafe, unhealthy, unpredictable parents. This dear couple woke at sunrise to pray with us, came over after dark to pray for us, skipped chemo treatments to cry with us, and most importantly, gave us a real picture of a gentle-man loving a tender-woman as Christ endears His Bride. They showed us what healthy fighting looked like, what healthy loving looked like, and how God can restore a beat-down spirit to the point of feeling free to laugh and feel again. They adopted us in every sense of the word, and so monumentally, pro-actively, and beautifully painted us a fresh picture of Christian family, working in harmony and gracefulness - not just publicly, but also behind closed doors. But perhaps most importantly, they wept for us. They validated our pain. Their eyes filled large with tears as we confided in them. They spoke Jesus' name over us again and again. I saw Jesus' tender compassion for me in their faces. I had never ever known anyone to see into my pain that way. That alone was so healing. They never chanted "He will never give you a burden bigger than you can bear," but breathed words of life into us. Validated our journey. Offered permission to grieve in the valley, and gave their soft shoulders to weep on. That was Jesus-love like I had never seen it before. 

3) Realize that God's classrooms happen in many places. What didn't help was "You can do it!" Scripture-quoting. Because you don't feel like you can do it, and you don't know how to do it, and sometimes, Jesus' timing isn't ready for you to do it. We learn wonderful things in the valleys. We see Jesus' face so clearly in valleys. Valleys are not always to be rushed through. They are dark, long, seemingly-endless, and sometimes that's ok. Come have coffee with me in the valley. Regard it as just as holy ground as the mountaintop you are on. Ask me to guest-blog about my journey (thanks, Alyssa) and trust that, though the surrounding scenery may look different, sanctification can also happen in that desert-place.

4) Probe gently. It also was difficult to answer questions. After two decades of silence, when my body began to break down and leak some of the pain out, well-meaning friends and family would press for details, trying to understand themselves how this on-the-outside perfect family could have instead been something so very different. I had blocked out so much, and being forced to recall and wade through and piece together those years and those instances was so vastly painful. God drew it out as I was ready, and being asked to recall things through the years before I was ready to process them usually sent me into a tailspin. 

5) Realize that sometimes forgiveness doesn't necessarily negate righteous anger. After being taught that forgiveness meant being hurt by someone and not showing even a hint of it in your countenance, not even flinching or wincing, and never speaking of it again ... I had a difficult time with forgiveness. In effect, I had over-forgiven my parents to the point of dysfunction and enablement at times. Having someone hear part of your story, and encourage you to "forgive" is just not helpful at all. You wouldn't walk into a crime scene in progress, and "encourage" someone who is being slowly murdered to step out in forgiveness because that is biblical, otherwise they will drown in anger. I had been taught the opposite. Never to stand up for myself. To just take pain, believe I deserved it, and move on. So having some righteous anger at outright injustice, misuse of God's name, and the cloaking the gospel in Outright Lies --- learning it is ok to be indignant about that has been part of my healing journey. I truly believe that if I had mindlessly forgiven as some told me to, it would have been ingenuine and shallow forgiveness. Instead, I was able to fully grasp the breadth of the damage done, fully feel the pain from it, and still choose to hand it over to the Lord, release that person from ever having to see what they had done to me, instead allowing the Lord's compassion for my ruins be my healing balm, and choosing to pray Godly blessings over their life and future instead. That is a whole-hearted forgiveness He has taught me, and one that I daily have to practice. You simply can't understand how huge forgiveness is until you get how much you are willfully choosing to hand over.

6) Practically love me. I know it sounds funny, but I was more overwhelmed, more desperate, more exhausted, and more needy when I was going through some of the toxic aftermath of these relationships than I ever was when I was sick, had a new baby, recovering from surgery, etc... A meal sent over would have brought me to my knees. Emotional pain was downright debilitating at times.

7) Don't pass on pithy quotes. "Depression is just hatred turned inward." A well meaning family member once told me this. It broke my heart. Instantly, I felt judged. I wasn't experiencing an inch of anger in that season, just pure all-encompassing grief. I felt so mis-understood. I tried so hard to reel-in any evidence of my state of soul to the outside world. In that dark, dark season where I was always exhausted, underslept and puffy-eyed, know that I was puffy-eyed not from crying for myself all day, but from being slain on my belly on the ground crying out "How long, Oh Lord?!" to the only One I knew to call on. I didn't hate them, I loved them and longed for love from them. I wasn't angry, I was alone. When you are tempted to label depression a disease of the soul, know that I stand in agreement with you - for the most part. But there is also a physical element. After twenty-two years of just coping and surviving and trying ... I had nothing left to give. Not one ounce of gumption or coping or trying or moving forward. It was like my body was filled with resources to stand up to life's drama at birth, and not only did I tap every single one of those before age five, I had over-withdrawn to the point of beyond empty. I couldn't cope with big things, much less little things. I spent years like this. Everything was overwhelming. Often, I didn't even have it within me to pray for myself. I remember my lips having so little energy to form words, that I would just fall flat down and weep, knowing that the Holy Spirit was groaning and interceeding on my behalf. Tell that to someone who is experiencing depression of the soul or mind. That the Holy Spirit is groaning on behalf of their broken body because they are so dearly beloved. That is healing. After nearly a decade of feeling judged over having this exhausting state of mind and soul, God breathed new life into me. But it wasn't until I had become so familiar with His face in that dark valley that I stopped wishing and praying that it would end. I began not caring if I walked a slow crawl forever - as long as His voice was pressed to my ears and His face continued to be in sight. He freed me from the guilt of depression by reminding me that David was an all-over-the-map weeping poet, terrified of enemies, exhausted from life, and as he screamed heaven-ward til his throat was raw for God to see, save, and spare him, God shouted back that grief-stricken-valley-dwelling David was "a man after His own heart." God's grace can come in the form of a change in circumstances, His intense nearness, a 300mg pill, a truth-speaking therapist, and everything in between. Don't limit God's grace, and remember that He called weeping Shepard-King nutcases friends of His Heart. And from that emotions-all-over-the-map bloodline, His Son was born.

8) Understand triggers. Sometimes they are words, sounds, places, or even people. They can be ordinary and neutral things - water, a smell, or phrase - that are powerful enough to thrust you back to that place of entrapment and terror. But praise Jesus for each trigger He allows to be exposed, so He can graciously deal with each one, and reveal the origin and show His presence even there. But PTSD triggers are real and cause breathless panic, dagger-through-your-heart grief, and surging-through-your-veins terror. For me, they are mostly places. Houses, rooms, even states. But as the Lord allowed my heart to become less hardened and more sensitive ... as He allowed me to feel again ... even little things would trigger me. I couldn't watch tv or read the news. Anything even remotely anxiety-provoking threw me into a tailspin. It was embarrassing. I felt like such a wimp. Yet God was softening my heart. He began to re-associate these painful moments with where-He-was-in-that-place. Some of my most severe triggers and places of trauma have become beautiful redeemed memories, because now I see where He was hovering, saving, protecting, and waiting for me instead. I know there are probably many more painful places that will be triggered to remembrance in the years to come, but I am also so lucky to have friends that recognize when withdrawing or avoiding is because there is a very too-painful-to-yet-endure place within whose nerve was touched on just then. They have slowly waded through these with me, and shown me that the presence of another to go "backward" into that scary territory with makes it just that much less scary. 

9) Don't leave me an orphan. This last year, I have spent guilt-ridden wondering why I could have this gaping wound in my heart for a mom, and not be satisfied with the Lord filling it with Himself. I prayed endlessly for Him to show me how He is my Father and my Mother ... how His heart is tender and accepting and open toward me, and He is sufficient as my Father and my Mother. To show me how He fiercely protects me, fights for me, claims me, and sees the good in me. And do you know what? I still ached and came up empty.

Meanwhile, over this past year, God has surrounded me with dozens of sweet little old ladies in a women's Bible Study at church who have welcomed me in with such open, eager arms, I would sob in the parking lot afterwards with how touched I was by their affection for me. 

And He continued to nourish my relationship with my mother-in-law .... both in understanding and deep love and devotion for each other.

And this past winter, a woman who I admire so much and has been so largely responsible for being the empty vessel that preached Good News of hope, healing, joy, and freedom to me ... who prepared a heavenly feast for me that I might taste and see how good the Lord is, and feel joy for the first time in my life ... this woman who is missionary to thousands and a warrior with her husband for the lost and broken, and champion of the Church as His Bride ...

She chose me. 

This winter she took me aside and asked me to be her daughter. I thanked her, told her how sweet her gesture was, and inwardly declined. I adore her to the ends of the earth, but not only did I not think I was worthy of her love, I had never received an invitation like that and didn't know what to do with it. It came with almost too much love to comprehend. And secretly --- I still wanted my mother.

A month ago, I was praying to the Lord once more to help me fill my yearning for a mother with only Himself. And He laughed at me, and told me He already had. He gave me a picture of this small girl with her hand outstretched begging for her mother's hand - empty, reaching, and crying out to nothingness - yet surrounded by 100 mothers with their arms outstretched toward her. 

I have found my 100 mothers that were there all along. God has filled my longing for a mother with more mothers than I can handle! I just couldn't see them because I was so busy wanting the one that may never love me the way I ache to be loved. That longing for someone to see the good in me, prounounce that, walk through joy and pain without judgement, and experience healthy relationship with ... He filled my cup to overflowing. His spilled out His Mother-Heart for me in the form of all of these sweet women right in front of my eyes, and I didn't even see it, because I was so busy wanting it my way, from my mother. His ways are not our ways ... If you want to show love to someone recovering from a very broken childhood, don't leave us wanting for mothers or fathers. Be our mothers or fathers. Because family trees look different on this side of the cross. We may not be blood family, but we can be blood-of-Jesus family to each other. And sometimes, that's even more needed.

10) Call me out. We learn from what we are modeled. When you see me parenting from a place of emotionless detachment or unhealthy attachment, when you see me controlling hearts instead of fertilizing hearts, when you see me trying to please man not God, when you see me forgiving on autopilot without first feeling, when you see me surviving not thriving, when you see me preaching a gospel of guilt to myself rather than freedom, when you see me treating play as frivolous and work as sacred, when you see me speaking to the worst within my children rather than calling them by their new names and natures ... Call me out. Correct me. Question me. Sharpen me. Soften me. God uses His people so mightily in this way, and I invite you in my life to continue this good work as His Spirit beckons you to. 

Most importantly, be the messy, broken, awkward, in-progress, beautiful Church. If we had gone to one single church where people were raw and real about their journey - if they were honest that their lives were in shambles and their hope was frayed and their faith was starving and that it was okay to share your story too because God loves broken, scared, reckless people and He is very good at kissing tears and drawing near to the brokenhearted ... I may have just shared my story before it ate me alive for two decades. I may have, at 8 or 9, felt safe enough to call out for help - something that could have also spared my mom and brothers decades of abuse. Throw your awkward sex life, your angry streak, your insecurities, your job-as-identity, your motherhood-fails, your gaping loneliness, your brink-of-despair, your financial stretched-ness, your nagging doubt, your short-breathed faith out there ... In prayer, in small groups, amongst friends, at the alter, in worship ... make it all fair game for God to heal and His Bride to minister to. Because sometimes we need to be carried to the Healer by the faith of our friends (Like 15:17) and we need to know that in God's house it's ok to expose our crippled places while we wait on His graces.

Together Through Pain {chronic pain}

I am nothing short of thrilled to start this series called "Together Through Pain".  I've read many articles written by people who have encounter major trials, but not so many on how to be a good friend to them in the midst of it all. You can read more about the premises for this set of posts HERE. My prayer is that you and I learning from the difficult experiences of these eloquent, godly women will be nothing short of powerful. 

We'll start this series hearing from Molly Mullery who has dealt with a chronic pain almost her entire life. She graduated from George Mason University with an English degree that concentrated on Creative Writing. Molly is currently a freelance writer and working on a series of young adult novels. She resides in Northern Virginia with her husband Colin and their pooch River. You can enjoy more of Molly's gift of writing on her personal blog HERE.

How To When Your Friend Can't

When I consider writing about chronic illness, I can come up with many different places to start. I could start with my own story, a sort of list of credentials I have to even write this in the first place. Then, I think maybe I ought to write a list of the do's and don't's of caring for the chronically ill, or maybe I should stuff the whole thing and just write a poem. But, when I finally sat down to write, all I could think about were days.

Today, it rained. I felt like curling under a blanket with a cup of tea and a book. I'm sure a lot of you feel the same way on rainy days. Those blankets and mugs  get even more enticing when you've got a cold, don't they? Your nose is stuffy, your head feels the size of Texas, your joints ache, and you just want to take a sick day. 

For those of us with chronic pain, every morning feels like a rainy one, our heads never seem to shrink down to normal head-sized heads, our noses run like faucets, and our joints never stop that awful throbbing. Replace those symptoms with those of arthritis, or fibromyalgia, or crohns disease and you get a picture of what chronic illness is like. That sick day, when you call your boss and say, "Sorry, I can't come in today", that's our everyday. 

It's monotonous. It's exhausting. Despite our best efforts it can determine our decisions, our activities, even dictate our interests to a certain extent. It can seem virtually impossible to avoid letting our health issues shape our identities. Other people inadvertently make it worse. When your defining characteristic is a chronic illness, people ask you about your knees, your head, or your stomach before they ask you about anything else. It can feel all-consuming.

So here you are, reader, friend to a person with chronic illness. You don't want to reinforce the life-consuming nature of health issues, but you also want to be a supportive friend. This is a difficult balance to achieve, and it looks different in each relationship. Each person and his pain need a different sort of support and a different face of love, yet there are a few guidelines that stretch nearly across the board.

1. Beware of pat answers. Many sick people have heard verses like Jeremiah 29:11 and Romans 8:28 so many times they can see them coming up in a conversation a mile out. Ask questions. Find out what truths are helpful to your friend and which ones are salt in the wounds. This will be different for each person, so be sensitive to that.

2. Don't fixate on the problem. Ask your friend about work, about movies, about colors, about music. Focus on interests, dreams, and goals. Treat them as you would any healthy person, while leaving the door open for them to bring up their trials. 

3. Reach out. Sometimes it's all a chronically ill person can do to get up in the morning, let alone set up time for fellowship with friends. Be the one who goes to her house, the one who picks up Starbucks. Wash dishes if you see them in her sink, casually de-clutter his living room between rounds of video games, offer to swing by the store on your way over. Small gestures like these, given without fanfare, show your friend love without drawing attention to his weakness.

4. Remember your shared identity. You are not a "healthy person" reaching out to a poor "sick person." You are a brother in Christ, caring for a fellow Christian who would do the same for you were the tables turned. Focus on what makes you equal as children of God, not what makes you different in this temporary world. Pursue fellowship, find ways that your friend can return care to you through prayer or Bible study. Enjoy life in community together.

Chronic illness is isolating, life-defining, mind-consuming. It is exhausting, embittering, depressing. We fight every day to live well and fully in light of the Gospel, just like you do. Help us by not focusing on the difference, but rather rejoicing in our shared heritage in Christ.