Several months ago, my great grandmother passed away. I was very close to her and the pain was very hard to deal with. Her death hurt. My heart felt like it was being torn out of my chest. I was newly married and my new husband was left to deal with me and my grief. I swung between crying and just simply being moody. Sometimes I needed a hug, other times I wanted to talk, but my husband didn’t know that I just needed him to listen. I didn’t need him to “fix” me. I didn’t need him to tell me that I just needed to get over it. I knew that. But it was hard. I needed love and support.
Jesus dealt with death and two sisters’ grief over their brother. In John 11:21-22, we see Martha’s response to the death of her brother. “Lord, if You had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that whatever You ask of God, God will give You.”
We see in the first verse that Martha was grieving and questioning why this had happened. But she had moved farther than that. She also recognized that God is sovereign and would do what he saw best for them.
Next we see the grief of Mary. She was back at the house grieving with others who had come to comfort her. When she saw Jesus, she fell at his feet and questioned why this had happened. “Lord, if You had been here, my brother would not have died.”
The responses of these two ladies to the death of their brother illustrates two responses to dealing with grief. In the first, Martha sees comfort in the fact that God is sovereign. Mary illustrates the response that is more commonly found in most individuals after they have lost someone dear to them. She questions why this would happen. She uses the phrase “if only.” This is used frequently among the mourners. They frequently blame themselves and others.
Jesus had the task of trying to comfort two women who had two different perspectives on their brother’s death. What was he to say to them?
We read his response to Martha in verses 25-26: “I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in Me, though he may die, he shall live. and whoever lives and believes in Me shall never die. Do you believe this?” Martha responded that she did believe. Jesus took this opportunity to teach her about salvation and the truth that we can have eternal life through Him. Martha was in a position where she was ready to be taught. She was ready to learn and grow even through the difficult circumstance of her brother’s death.
On the other hand, Mary was not in the place where she could hear and respond to biblical teaching and Jesus recognized that. Jesus’ response is recorded in vs. 33-35 and 38: Therefore, when Jesus saw her weeping… and was troubled. And He said, “Where have you laid him?” They said to Him, “Lord, come and see.” Jesus wept…
Now, stereotypically, in our society, men are’t supposed to cry. Some think that it makes them seem less masculine and strong. But here is Jesus, the perfect man, crying! He sympathizes with Mary by crying with her. He did not scold her for not believing in him, for not dealing with it. He cried with her.
Everybody deals with their grief in a different way. Some just need a caring, understanding person to listen to the intense pain and suffering they are experiencing. Others may need a shoulder to cry on. And still others need to be taught how to grow through these circumstances. But all need to be directed to the Perfect Counselor who knows how to comfort each individual according to their own unique needs.
Here are a few “do’s and don’ts” when talking to someone who is grieving:
I once read of a man who, following the terrorist attack on our country on 9/11 was talking to someone who told him that they were so glad they hadn’t been in the World Trade Center because they would have died. This man’s response was not to worry, his turn was coming. And later he said that what happened that day wasn’t anything unusual, “thousands of people died and evil people did evil things…” I think it’s pretty obvious what is wrong with this kind of response. When a tragedy, such as a death occurs, NEVER minimize it as if it did not even matter!!! It matters to your loved one, and, therefore, it should matter to you.
Some other things you should never say are:
- You need to get over it/ It’s been ___ number of months, you need to get over it
- You can always have another baby
- Don’t ask all kinds of questions about the death
- Don’t talk too much, just listen
- Don’t tell them to call you, instead let them know you call them and get in touch with them later
- Don’t try to make it better or rationalize it, don’t be a know it all
Some things that would be encouraging and helpful to do and say would be:
- Share good memories about the person
- Tell them you love them and you are praying for them
- Sometimes it’s better not to say anything or much, just give them a hug, be there to listen to them, love them, and support them
- You can bring them a meal, or offer to watch their children
- Send a card, an email, or even just a little text just to let them know you are thinking of them
Remember, never be callous in your response or minimize the persons tragedy in any way. This will certainly close the door for any further opportunity you would have had with this person to help them deal with the grief. Remember that some of our “pet phrases” can actually be more damaging than helpful. One of the best things you can do is just be there to listen, sympathize and maybe even cry with the one who is hurting. I can’t stress just how important it is to just LISTEN! Sometimes they won’t have much to say, other times they may need to say the same things over and over. This is a normal part of the healing process and having someone there to listen to them will help immensely! And lastly, direct them to the One who can offer the perfect comfort for that person.
My husband, after going through this with me, soon learned what I needed. That I just needed to talk. He just sat with me, held me, let me cry, and listened to me. Picture yourself in my husband's situation. If I came to you, would you know what to say? If I asked you “why did this happen”. How would you respond? It is my hope that you will now know how best to encourage and comfort a person who is going through something like I went through.
Monday, June 8, 2009
The Journey - An Inspirational Story
“Beep, beep, beep…” The noise again startled me. It’s probably just another false alarm, I thought as I raised my dark, anxious eyes to survey the green, digital numbers on the white machine that monitored my mother and the small baby still inside her. What I saw made my heart sink. Something is definitely wrong. Those numbers shouldn’t be that low. The nurse who entered the small, brightly lit hospital room just then confirmed my suspicions. She took one look at the monitor, briskly asked my mom a few questions, and then stated that the doctor should be notified immediately.
It was a tense few moments while we waited for the doctor to arrive. I, being a twelve year old girl, did not grasp the full magnitude of the situation and kept hoping that it would just be a false alarm. The feeling of fear that turned my stomach in knots indicated otherwise.
The doctor soon arrived and gently informed us that my mom would need to be rushed for an emergency caesarean section, but not to worry. Everything would be just fine. However, the tense strain of his voice and concerned look in his eyes spoke louder than his optimistic words, and panic gripped my heart. No! I screamed inwardly, this can’t be happening. It was too early for the baby to come. At this point, he only had a ten percent chance of survival. And my mom, what would happen to her?
When she was only twenty-two weeks pregnant, my mother’s water had broken. Miraculously, her labor ceased and she was able to keep her unborn infant, but without the amniotic fluid, the baby’s development was severely hindered, especially that of his lungs. This was just the beginning of a long journey that would bring us together as a family and ultimately, closer to our Heavenly Father. Now, three weeks and five days later, both my mother and little brother were in critical distress and all we could do was wait for this terrible nightmare to end.
The next few hours were some of the longest of my entire life. Time slowed to a crawl before seeming to come to a complete standstill. I felt so helpless. There was nothing I could possibly do but wait. And I did so apprehensively, the fear gnawing on my heart. I can’t stand this. What can I do? My mom is probably dying in there and all I can do is sit here? It was then that I realized that even though I could not do anything, there was One who could. Throughout this lengthy ordeal, God had taught me a great deal about trusting in Him. I knew that I needed to let go and have faith in Him. So right then, I looked to my Heavenly Father and completely relinquished all of my apprehension and anxieties to Him. I earnestly implored Him to protect my mother and the brother whom I had never even met. Although it was still difficult not knowing what was going to happen, I was able to wait, secure in the knowledge that God was watching over them. They were safe in His hands no matter what the outcome.
Behind the closed doors of the surgical unit, nurses began to prepare for what they perceived as just another operation. Little did they know that they would be fighting what could be a fatal battle with death itself. The nurses strung various wires and tubes haphazardly until everything was hopelessly tangled in a complicated web. As they methodically worked to undo the terrible mess, the doctor rushed in and demanded to know what was going on. Why weren’t they ready? This was an emergency! Finally grasping the seriousness of the situation, the nurses hurriedly completed the rest of the preparations.
Everything was ready and not a moment to soon. The doctor lowered his gleaming instrument and as he pushed it through the flesh to create a neat incision, a blood clot burst, covering his hands with the dark red, oozing fluid. If he had been even one second later, it would have ruptured inside my mother, sending both her and her son to a premature death. The doctor later revealed that he had never come so close to losing both mother and child in all his years of practice.
At 8:58 p.m., the doors swung open, and nurses pushing a clear, plastic incubator rushed past, pausing only momentarily to allow us a brief glimpse into the case before rushing their precious load into the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. Looking down, I saw my new baby brother who was even smaller than the dolls that had been my “babies” as a young girl. His delicate, wiry arms were nearly the same size as the little finger on my dad’s hand, and his perfectly formed hands were the size of my dad’s fingernails. Thick, dark hair covered his miniature head. Instead of the healthy pink color of a newborn baby, his skin was dark and almost blotchy. That did not matter though. Right now, what mattered most was the fact that he was alive. It would be a long and daunting road for this one pound, twelve ounce miracle, but I had the confidence that no matter what happened, God would take care of him.
The next few months were never easy. There was the constant fear of losing him without warning. But after eleven blood transfusions, several more close encounters with death, pneumonia, an operation to correct a double hernia, time on ventilators and oxygen, feeding tubes, gentle loving care, and so much more, he was ready to leave the hospital that had been his home for eighty-five long days. By God’s grace, we had finally completed that phase of the journey.
Due to being on a ventilator, my little brother had sustained some damage to his lungs and for the next two years, we had to be so careful that he did not contract even the common cold as this could be deadly for him. It was never easy, but as I have been watching him grow from miniature baby, to being a stubborn, naughty little toddler, then on into being a healthy ornery, energetic five year old boy, I wonder at the awesomeness of our God, the one who can perform miracles, even today. It is because of him, that little Joshua’s journey has just begun.
It was a tense few moments while we waited for the doctor to arrive. I, being a twelve year old girl, did not grasp the full magnitude of the situation and kept hoping that it would just be a false alarm. The feeling of fear that turned my stomach in knots indicated otherwise.
The doctor soon arrived and gently informed us that my mom would need to be rushed for an emergency caesarean section, but not to worry. Everything would be just fine. However, the tense strain of his voice and concerned look in his eyes spoke louder than his optimistic words, and panic gripped my heart. No! I screamed inwardly, this can’t be happening. It was too early for the baby to come. At this point, he only had a ten percent chance of survival. And my mom, what would happen to her?
When she was only twenty-two weeks pregnant, my mother’s water had broken. Miraculously, her labor ceased and she was able to keep her unborn infant, but without the amniotic fluid, the baby’s development was severely hindered, especially that of his lungs. This was just the beginning of a long journey that would bring us together as a family and ultimately, closer to our Heavenly Father. Now, three weeks and five days later, both my mother and little brother were in critical distress and all we could do was wait for this terrible nightmare to end.
The next few hours were some of the longest of my entire life. Time slowed to a crawl before seeming to come to a complete standstill. I felt so helpless. There was nothing I could possibly do but wait. And I did so apprehensively, the fear gnawing on my heart. I can’t stand this. What can I do? My mom is probably dying in there and all I can do is sit here? It was then that I realized that even though I could not do anything, there was One who could. Throughout this lengthy ordeal, God had taught me a great deal about trusting in Him. I knew that I needed to let go and have faith in Him. So right then, I looked to my Heavenly Father and completely relinquished all of my apprehension and anxieties to Him. I earnestly implored Him to protect my mother and the brother whom I had never even met. Although it was still difficult not knowing what was going to happen, I was able to wait, secure in the knowledge that God was watching over them. They were safe in His hands no matter what the outcome.
Behind the closed doors of the surgical unit, nurses began to prepare for what they perceived as just another operation. Little did they know that they would be fighting what could be a fatal battle with death itself. The nurses strung various wires and tubes haphazardly until everything was hopelessly tangled in a complicated web. As they methodically worked to undo the terrible mess, the doctor rushed in and demanded to know what was going on. Why weren’t they ready? This was an emergency! Finally grasping the seriousness of the situation, the nurses hurriedly completed the rest of the preparations.
Everything was ready and not a moment to soon. The doctor lowered his gleaming instrument and as he pushed it through the flesh to create a neat incision, a blood clot burst, covering his hands with the dark red, oozing fluid. If he had been even one second later, it would have ruptured inside my mother, sending both her and her son to a premature death. The doctor later revealed that he had never come so close to losing both mother and child in all his years of practice.
At 8:58 p.m., the doors swung open, and nurses pushing a clear, plastic incubator rushed past, pausing only momentarily to allow us a brief glimpse into the case before rushing their precious load into the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. Looking down, I saw my new baby brother who was even smaller than the dolls that had been my “babies” as a young girl. His delicate, wiry arms were nearly the same size as the little finger on my dad’s hand, and his perfectly formed hands were the size of my dad’s fingernails. Thick, dark hair covered his miniature head. Instead of the healthy pink color of a newborn baby, his skin was dark and almost blotchy. That did not matter though. Right now, what mattered most was the fact that he was alive. It would be a long and daunting road for this one pound, twelve ounce miracle, but I had the confidence that no matter what happened, God would take care of him.
The next few months were never easy. There was the constant fear of losing him without warning. But after eleven blood transfusions, several more close encounters with death, pneumonia, an operation to correct a double hernia, time on ventilators and oxygen, feeding tubes, gentle loving care, and so much more, he was ready to leave the hospital that had been his home for eighty-five long days. By God’s grace, we had finally completed that phase of the journey.
Due to being on a ventilator, my little brother had sustained some damage to his lungs and for the next two years, we had to be so careful that he did not contract even the common cold as this could be deadly for him. It was never easy, but as I have been watching him grow from miniature baby, to being a stubborn, naughty little toddler, then on into being a healthy ornery, energetic five year old boy, I wonder at the awesomeness of our God, the one who can perform miracles, even today. It is because of him, that little Joshua’s journey has just begun.
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