I
sit at the keyboard and move about in cyberspace visiting one blog
after another, reading what other people are writing about this week.
A few people write about Lent, another about her current book and
still another about decorating her bathroom. I certainly don't know
what to write about today. It isn't because I have nothing to write;
I think it is more that I am flooded with feelings about other
people's hurts. As my husband might say, “You are a counselor, you
should know how to work through these things.” Maybe I do, maybe I
don't.
Sometimes
I am just too up close to let go. There are times in our lives when
too many people we care about are hurting all at once and we just
plain get flooded with emotion. First I must pray: I pray for my mom
and step-dad who are making their way through the rugged terrain of
Parkinson's and its surprising but strategic attacks on various
bodily functions. My heart is heavy for my mother as she describes
the day's progress or regress as she observes the slow process of
moving from this life to the next. I am not trying to sound morbid,
but I grew up in a family who accepts death as a natural part of
living, though the hard journey is not necessarily anticipated with
great joy.
There
is a client for whom my heart weighs in heavy. Can I help her? Does
she even want to be helped right now? Though it is best to remain
detached I find it difficult to care enough to get invested in
someone's painful story without getting a little bit lost myself. You
may find this unhealthy; I think it is just one of the pitfalls of
being a counselor (or human being) who cares. I must not let it
overtake me, but sometimes it takes longer to detach. I do my best to
let go for a few days and remember God has her in His hands.
At
the end of the week there is Saturday, a day for self-care and little
projects; Friday and Sunday, bookends of the weekend, offer a much
needed pause from the care-taking of others to do home things giving
my mind and heart a break from the heaviness. I don't stop caring,
merely refocus my energy. There is something about mundane home
tasks: cooking, cleaning, puttering, bringing bits of order here and
there, reading and doing a bit of handwork that washes comfort over a
tired spirit like a warm cup of tea. It soothes me. It brings
perspective to these sad stories I drop down into throughout the
week. It is up to me to find ways to open the pages of renewal and
hope so that I may come back to bookmarked difficulties with an
objective, untangled and hopeful heart.
You
know what gives me joy? It is remembering I serve the Living Hope, 1
Peter 1:3. No matter what we face in this life we serve the Living
Hope, the resurrected Christ, the joy of Easter. I was challenged
last week by Jennie Allen's questions in her Chase study: “Do
we just confess an intellectual belief in God or is He real enough to
impact our circumstances? . . . When life closes in, what will you
believe about God, and what do you believe Him for?” So when the
burdens seem heavy, people's stories take a turn for the worse, and I
am feeling inadequate, I must ask myself these questions. And then I
must open my eyes and watch in eager anticipation as His Spirit works
to make beauty out of brokenness and pain. Do you have a worry or
heartache weighing you down? I pray you will find peace and hope by
opening your heart and allowing it to be poured out into the
Creator's hands, the One who weaves everything into His perfect and
beautiful master plan. And watch in eager anticipation to see what He
makes of it, or of you.
