Tough Love Requires a Relationship

This post is part of an ongoing series on ministering to people in pain. Click here to see all the posts in this series.

We came home late one night over the weekend, and as I was about to whip the car across the street, my headlights caught two figures in the middle of the driveway. It was our 92-year-old landlord and his wife taking out the trash. He was pushing a tiny firetruck-red wheelbarrow, piled with the recycling bins and trash bags. She held her hand to the top of the unsteady pile to keep everything from spilling over. We sat there as they slowly made their way, the wheelbarrow wobbling on the slight incline. 

Once we could pull into the drive past them, Scott jumped out of the car and asked, "Can I help you?" I watched him easily lift the bins from the wheelbarrow and set them on the ground. We saw an opportunity, so he helped.

We can use this as a metaphor for how we help people in pain. We see someone struggling. We acknowledge the struggle. We ask if there's a way we can help. But our tendency is to barge in. We see someone shuffling along, slowly making their way, and we jump in to "help," hefting bins around, telling them to get a better wheelbarrow, telling them they shouldn't be out like this anyway. The metaphor is breaking down now, but I think you see my point.

Our initial default with pain shouldn't be going into fix-it mode. It should be to shuffle along with them, matching our strides with theirs. We listen. We empathize. We are present.

I have spent the last several weeks trying to illustrate what this looks like because it is so critical - and because we tend to be bad at it. We like to do, to act. There is a time for this - we're going to start getting to it this week - but I want to be clear. We must always start from this place of "presence." We must always start from a place of relationship, a relationship of trust, vulnerability, and love. We must always start by listening well, ensuring we really hear their experience and understand what's going on. 

In counseling, we talk about the importance of the "therapeutic relationship" - the relationship built between the counselor and the client. Research is showing that this relationship, and the personal qualities of the counselor, are much more influential than the actual technique or model for treatment. 

While I'm not talking here about counseling, I think a similar principle applies. We think that coming up with the right response to someone or finding the right thing to say or challenging them in the right direction will be the key to their comfort. But the reality is that our relationship with them is what is truly powerful. 

There does come a time and place to speak or to act. Though there may be some situations in which our presence and listening well are all that is needed, this is not always the case. Consider this scenario:

I really hope that got a laugh. This woman just wanted to be heard. She needed her husband (or whoever he was) to listen to her and acknowledge she was struggling. However, if he just stopped there and didn't eventually try to help her with the nail, it would be a bit ridiculous, right? While this might seem a bit absurd, I think it makes the point well. We start with the listening and the being there. Then from this point, we can help. 

We may need to help with pain management skills and understanding how to continue to choose life and stay open to joy.  We may need to speak truth. We may need to support a change of circumstance, thinking, or behavior, “gracefully suggesting the possibility of life without the problem.” We may need to encourage and develop resilience, looking for strength and growth that redeem the pain. We may need to invite them to consider forgiveness.

These actions and suggestions can be integral parts of growth and healing in pain. They are important, and we need people in our lives who can graciously and appropriately encourage us to take steps in the right direction. We'll be talking about these things over the next couple weeks. 

When you come to the place to offer suggestions or be a "challenger," before you speak, consider these questions:

• Do I have the trusting, loving, vulnerable relationship necessary to play this role with this person? Am I acting from an appropriate relationship?
   

• Have I taken the time to listen well and ensured I truly understand what's going on?
   

• Am I being sensitive to timing? Are they ready to be pushed in this way?
   

• Will my suggestions encourage them to choose life, to hold open a space for joy, or to nurture hope?

That Day I Got Tired of the Resurrection

I sat staring at my computer screen. The cursor blinked at me, flashing a steady beat of "what to say, what to say?" I had to get a post done. I'd put it off for days and now at the last minute I had to finish something. It never fails to amaze me just how vacant my mind can get when I really need some thoughts to put on the page. And that's where I was. Vacant. Empty. Nothing to say. 

I knew exactly what I was supposed to write about. It was time for the weekly post about the resurrection. But my thoughts sounded something like this: What else do I have to say about the resurrection? Why am I still talking about it? I'm tired of talking about the resurrection week after week. Should I just move on to something else more...interesting?

As my mind caught up to my thoughts, I gasped. Well, that's not true. But I should have gasped. I should have been fairly horrified. Had I just called the resurrection un-interesting?! It was the cognitive equivalent of glancing back over your shoulder, just to see if someone was in earshot, to see if someone might have heard. This is when I realized afresh the importance of building rhythms into our lives. In this case, rhythms into the Christian life, rhythms and seasons that help us remember.

For those of you who are just dropping by (welcome!), let me explain. In the traditional church calendar, Easter starts off with a grand celebration on Easter Sunday but doesn't end there. It continues on as a seven-week long season of the church. Just as Lent is a long season focusing on humility, repentance, and the sufferings of Christ, Easter is a long season of celebration. Since I spent a lot of time sharing Lenten posts, I decided it was only appropriate to spread out some posts on the resurrection over the season of Easter. 

But then here I was last week, "tired" of it, wanting to move on. My instinctual reaction shows a lot about the human heart, or at least this human heart. It's so easy for us to forget. It's so easy for us to want to move on to more "exciting" things. In this case, it's so easy to forget the unparalleled victory of the resurrection, the enormous feat it accomplished. It's so easy to want to move on from the fundamental power and joy of the Gospel to "bigger and better things," instead of pressing deeper and deeper into what it means for us.

This, I think, is why God instituted yearly celebrations, feasts, and memorials for the Israelites. He knew the human tendency to forget. He knew the human tendency to get bored with the things most precious, most crucial for our existence. So he built them into their year - not for empty ritual's sake, but to continue to pull their focus and their hearts back to those things they could not afford to forget. 

The same idea lies behind the church calendar. It builds seasons into the year, seasons that walk us through and pull us back to those things we cannot afford to forget. There are certainly other ways to do this than attending a liturgical church that follows the church calendar. (The one we currently attend does not do this.) But as I look at my own heart, I see the grave need to build in rhythms of remembrance, seasons of celebration and of humility, seasons that prevent the slow dulling of forgetfulness and distraction.

So for those of you who have been reading these resurrection posts all along, I'm sorry if you're getting tired of them. But I'm seeing that even more than writing them for you, I need them for me. I need to remember. 

More Than An Aspirin: A Review

This post is part of an ongoing series on ministering to people in pain. Click here to see all the posts in this series.

“In a practical sense, this is a book of good news about bad news. The bad news is no surprise: We know that life inevitably brings times of loss and pain, often unfairly, often without warning. We know, at least in part, the good news as well. We understand that it is possible to live through these times of pain and disorientation in ways that result in wisdom, maturity, and prosperity for our souls. What we are less clear about, however, is how to make this happen…” 

Thus begins Gay Hubbard in her book More Than an Aspirin. In the book, Hubbard takes on the task of answering this quandary and explores thought patterns and practical actions that enable us to manage pain well. It’s the best book I know of on the subject of pain management and suffering from a Christian perspective. 

Hubbard calls us to see effective pain management as a part of good stewardship and discipleship. This note is part of what makes it unique - and gives it a pervading undercurrent of hope. We can’t eliminate pain in most cases, but we can choose to live through it in a way that helps us to choose life, hold ourselves open to joy, and nurture strength. 

It is this form of pain management Hubbard lays out in her book. I have found she gracefully walks the line between being a comforter and a challenger, the line between a hug and a good kick-in-the-pants. She will not offer platitudes or empty promises, and she acknowledges walking through pain in this way is challenging. But she holds to the bed-rock surety that God can bring good from our pain. So she encourages us to “commit to managing our pain in ways that helps to bring this about.”

I will exercise great self-restraint and outline only one helpful snippet of Hubbard’s wisdom for you today. I encourage you to get a copy of the book because there’s a lot more where this came from.

MEDDSS Model for Self-Care

Hubbard uses the acronym MEDDSS for her model for self-care. This model, she says, allows us  “to choose life one step at a time as an act of discipleship.” Self-care in this sense is essential to redemptively managing our pain in the way Hubbard describes. 

M: Mastery
Take the next right step and do what you can, no matter how small

Mastery is refusing to surrender to our painful circumstances by accepting the role of victim. It says we always have the power to act and choose, even if it’s something as simple as getting out of bed in the morning. But mastery also remembers the true source of our strength to act: God’s enabling power. Mastery asks, “What can I do?” and then does it, even if it’s in the smallest of things.

E: Exercise
Allow your body to strengthen your soul

Exercise doesn’t have to be complex. It can be as simple as a 10 minute walk. Studies have found exercise to be as effective as medication for some forms of depression. Exercise values our bodies as God’s creation. And it acknowledges the complex connection between our bodies and souls. 

D: Diet
Not too much, not too little, but just the right amount of healthful foods

The Diet/Food part of MEDDSS encourages good nutrition. It also frees us to choose food as a part of our pain management (like traditional comfort food or a good cup of tea). The key is for the food to be a thoughtful choice, not an unconscious, uncontrolled means to handle our pain. The Goldilocks principle is key here: not too much, not too little, but just the right amount.

D: Drugs
Take the drugs prescribed to me in a way that enables me to function more effectively

Medication (or things like vitamins) can be a tool that enables us to function more effectively and strengthens our discipleship. But we must pay attention not just to what we take, but why and how we take it. We must not misplace our hope and expect a pill alone to solve our problems, but rather see it as a part of the whole.

S: Sleep
Not too much, not too little, but the right amount for effective functioning

Sleep is a practice of restraining ourselves to rest. Most adults require 7-8 hours of sleep each night. Sleep is often linked to our emotional stability, and the choice to sleep may enable us to better receive God’s grace: “behaviors demonstrating love, kindness, patience, and self-control are not the fruit of sleep deprivation.” We must make sleep a priority, not something that’s optional. We may have to implement behaviors, routines, and practices to encourage good sleep habits.

S: Spirituality
Invest time and energy in your spiritual growth

We acknowledge that all of our life—including struggles and failures—plays a significant role in our relationship with God, and we look for how the choices we make in each area of life can deepen that relationship. We embrace forms of worship, communities, books, music, and other materials that feed and challenge our spiritual growth in this particular place and time in our journey. 

What Do I Do With This?

1. Get a copy of More Than an Aspirin on your shelf. It’s an excellent resource both for your own reference and to be able to lend to others when they might be struggling.
   

2. Encourage others to take their MEDDSS as you're supporting them through a season of pain. Begin with Mastery, emphasizing their ability to choose and act. Encourage them in healthy self-care using this model. Remember it’s based on small steps in the right direction and small choices made each day.
   

3. Model healthy discipleship-oriented self-care in your own life. The model for self-care as described here isn’t about self-indulgence—it’s about putting yourself in a place to live as a more effective disciple of Jesus, and it will position you to minister more effectively to others.

We Don't Escape the Body. We Will Find it Restored.

In the Incarnation, when Jesus came to earth as a humble, helpless peasant child, He took on flesh. He took our human form. He showed our physical beings mattered, our humanity meant something. He didn’t come as some vapory being or as a flash of divine insight. He came as a simple man.

After his death, after all the suffering He endured, after paying the price of redemption, He returned…in flesh. He was skin and blood and bones. He ate food. He could be touched, as hesitant fingers reached out to trace His scars. If there was any point for Him to reject the material realm and return as an apparition or an angelic being, I would think it would be then—but He rose again, as a man, in a redeemed, resurrection body—a physical body, restored.

Jews were unique, in the first century, in their belief in a bodily resurrection. The surrounding religions and Greek philosophies scoffed at them. The "soul"—the spiritual realm—was what truly mattered. The body—and all things material—was a hindrance to be thrown off. Death was a freeing release of the soul from the body, they claimed, why would you want to take on flesh again?

What of today? When we portray heaven as an ethereal land in which our souls will float in remote, unattached bliss? When we scoff at our bodies or their needs, claiming all that matters is the health of the soul? When we degrade the earth and violate its beauty because "it's not our home"? When we neglect or downplay the simple, physical needs of others to get on to "getting them saved"? 

Aren't these more in line with ancient Greek Gnosticism than with the Judeo-Christian perspective? Don't they subtly and not-so-subtly prize the spirit over the body? Don't they make the physical world something lesser-than, something to eventually escape?

Judaism, and now Christianity, affirm the goodness of creation. They proclaim the Creation of God is not something to escape—it is the work He declared good. The resurrection, I think, affirms this: Jesus didn’t escape from his body, he re-entered it, resurrected, redeemed, the first of the New Creation.

Why? Because our physical, material, visceral existence matters. Jesus didn't come merely to offer escape from the created order—He came to redeem it from the bondage of death and decay and disorder brought about by sin. And so He rose, in touchable, feedable flesh.

His resurrection is the first fruit—the promise, the downpayment—of what is to come, in the complete and final restoration of not only our souls but all of Creation itself. We see now our world in broken beauty. It's a world in which joy and sorrow mingle the same breath, a world where our made-in-God's-image bodies become twisted and diseased with sickness. It's a world where death severs precious relationships, where justice is mottled, infrequent, incomplete. But Jesus' resurrection is the guarantee that this world, and that we , will one day be invited into a New Heaven and a New Earth. We won't have escaped—we will have entered into a fully redeemed, fully restored, fully alive Creation as it was always intended to be.

The Healing Power of Storytelling - Are You Listening?

This post is part of an ongoing series on ministering to people in pain. Click here to see all the posts in this series.

I remember the moments when they told me their stories. Eyes diverted, pooled with quiet tears, hands gripping the mug of coffee. Words typed and left for me to find on my laptop, so it needn’t be told in person. Voice cool and measured, relating the facts with detached precision. Face unseen, insulating darkness giving courage to speech. 

In every case, I was entrusted with something precious: a story. It was a story of pain, which spoke of shattered dreams, insecurities, rejection, abuse, betrayal. I was entrusted with the broken pieces of life’s heartache and shame and permitted into the inner sanctum of pain still unresolved, questions still unanswered. I was allowed into the story still in process.

As their voices trailed off, vulnerability’s comfortable discomfort hung between us. We sat in that nearly sacred space in which our stories have been heard. That simple strange miracle of being known, of pulling our nightmares out into the light of day—and finding someone who doesn’t shrink away in fear. In that place, we become a little less afraid, a little less lonely. In that place, a small part of our hearts is healed.

“What happens to us is not finished until the story is told.” - Gay Hubbard

Story-telling doesn’t instantly eliminate our pain. It doesn’t shortcut the journey pain requires of us. But it does ease the burden. It does help us to make sense of where we’ve been, to see more clearly where we are. 

We need our stories to be heard. We need people to listen.

As we minister to people in pain, one of our most crucial jobs is the role of listener. As we listen, we offer a place for stories to be shared. 

Guidelines for Good Active Listening

While eventually a response might be appropriate (more on that below), we must make sure that first we actually listen to what’s being said and hear the story correctly. This requires good active listening. Being an active listener may require practice, as it can be a challenge.

• Resist the distraction of trying to figure out what to say next. Listen fully to what’s being said. It’s okay if there’s a bit of silence. In fact, I have found if you wait a bit, the story often continues. 
   

• Listen carefully to their story and perspective. Don’t rush to giving your own opinion.
   

• Remember you are a care-giver, not a cure-giver. Don’t rush to a solution.
   

• Reflect back what they’re saying and check-in to make sure you’re understanding, instead of trying to be a mind reader. For example: “Can you explain that?” “What do you mean?” “What I’m hearing you say is . . . , is that correct?”
   

• Resist judgments and rebuttals as you hear their story for what it is. Avoid statements that begin with “Yes, but…”
   

• Be aware of your own filters, which make you hear something not actually said. This can be combated by reflecting, as I described earlier. It is also helpful to know who you are, what triggers you, and what filters you might bring to a situation. 
   

• Have patience in the telling and realize that some stories are too traumatic or difficult to tell at once. I think of my friends who have experienced abuse—their stories didn’t come all at once, but in piecemeal, slow pieces of vulnerable self-revelation. 

After the Story Has Been Told

What do we do after a friend has shared her story? 

Sometimes the best thing to do is simply to say, “Thank you so much for sharing this with me. I’m sorry you’re hurting.” This is infinitely better than dismissing the story, giving an “at least…” statement, or offering a painful Christian platitude. 

We can affirm the validity of our friend’s pain (fear, anger, etc.) and agree with him the pain he’s experienced isn’t “okay.” It is important, particularly in situations of trauma, for the story to be heard and believed.

We can also hold up a mirror to the story and point out what they might not see. We can point out bravery and resilience in the face of difficult circumstances. We can point to a will to survive and carry on as a victorious feat of strength. We can affirm the steps they have (and are) taking to manage pain well and seek healing. As appropriate, we can graciously point to the glimmers we see of God’s faithfulness in their story and to how he may be miraculously redeeming pain and working it for good. 

Those stories I was entrusted with? Saying they are stories of great pain is only half the truth. They are also stories of great beauty, courage, and strength. In spite of the pain, through the pain, they are some of the loudest testaments I know of God’s faithfulness, sustaining grace, and raw surprising joy. I only know because I heard the story.

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You can also find this post linked up on Holley Gerth's Coffee For Your Heart Link-Up Party.