Suffering Can Be Communal

Suffering is one of those realities of the human condition that cannot be avoided. We’ve all experienced it at some point, albeit in varying degrees. It is unavoidable, and it is everywhere. Even with its pervasiveness, I’ve noticed of late that there are some tribulations that aren’t handled very well by the community at large. One of those afflictions is infertility. I haven’t experienced this condition for myself, but several of my friends have. One such friend is in the throes of the battle as I write this post.


Hannah’s struggle with infertility is one that I’ve had the privilege of witnessing by way of emails (yes, I intentionally used the word “privilege”; we’ll get to that later). She emails another friend (Addie) and me frequent updates about her condition. Sometimes those updates involve medical information, but mostly they’re about the condition of her heart. These emails have been full of brutal honesty, tearful admissions of fear and doubt, encouraging scripture and prayers, much swearing, and enough socially unacceptable humor to make one nervous about ever allowing the three of us to appear in public together. In short, it’s been awful. And awesome. All at once.

In a recent message, Hannah was test-driving a blog post about how to care with people who are struggling with infertility specifically, but it could also be a reference for how to deal with any sort of deep suffering. In it she describes ways in which she has felt supported, as well as ways in which she has felt...well, not supported. As it turns out, Addie and I have loved her well. She feels comfortable enough with us to be genuinely, recklessly honest. She knows that Addie and I have suffered much ourselves. We know how to bear burdens. We are her safe place.

On a cognitive level, I have known that Hannah feels well cared-for by me. However, on an emotional level, it was vaguely surprising. My knowledge is kind of based on an if-then statement: If Hannah continues to email me, then that must mean she feels supported. She does continue to email, therefore, she feels supported. How I’ve managed to make her feel this way has been sort of a mystery to me.

Here’s the thing about suffering: when we witness it, we want to make it stop. We want to say the perfect words to alleviate pain or find the perfect solution to the problem. We want to make it go away. But you know what? Those perfect words? That perfect solution? Those things don’t usually exist. My friend Hannah might not be able to conceive. That’s some heavy shit. There is not a thesaurus in the world that can help me find words to make her grief go away. I can’t fix her endometriosis. I can’t make a baby grow in her uterus. I can’t make this go away.

When Hannah started down this road, I wasn’t sure how to conduct myself. Part of my own baggage is that I am uncomfortable with emotions. I’m getting better, but it’s a slow process. Obviously infertility is a very emotionally-charged issue, and I was worried that I might be out of my league. Like maybe I just wasn’t cut out to be the kind of friend that she was going to need me to be. But my love for her wouldn’t let me be someone who faded into the background, so I had to do something. The problem was that I just wasn’t sure what that something might be.

In the end, I decided to write her a letter. A handwritten one, because she's worth it. In it, I said that I didn’t know what to say to her...other than how deeply sad I was for her. I didn’t know how to react...other than to pray. Basically, I didn’t know what to do...other than be available. In short, all I had to give was myself. I can offer her my imperfect support, knowing that at times I’m going to say and do the wrong things. Because I’m broken. Because I’m human.

So that’s what I’m doing. I’m being sad. I’m praying. I’m listening. I’m suffering with her. Sometimes, suffering with her means that I listen to her cry. Sometimes it means that the only thing I know to say is how much everything sucks. Sometimes it means that I write profanity-laced haiku about her endometriosis. You take the good with the bad, you know?

Suffering is awful. But in all of its wretchedness, I feel so honored to be on this journey with my friend. It is a deep privilege to hear about her doubts and fears. It is life-giving to watch her wrestle with God over the loss of her dream of what motherhood is supposed to look like. I cannot count how many times I’ve read scriptures meant for her and felt them burning a hole in my own conscience. Hannah’s fight helps encourage me. My faith helps strengthen her. The suffering, while painful, shores up our faith.

The Wringer

 The Wringer

I want to share a quote that's been on my mind for the past 24 hours. Normally I'd just put it in my Facebook status and be done with it, but FB isn't really the best venue for the quote. Here's the context: a friend of mine (who shall remain nameless unless she wishes to identify herself) is going through a crazy-intense rough patch in life. Something that she desperately wants seems to be just beyond her reach, and our human eyes cannot see a way to make her wish possible. On her journey through the discovery of her loss and her subsequent grieving, she's been keeping me and one other friend updated via email.

It so happens that all three of us have been through the wringer. Life has not been kind. God has chosen to allow us to be put through the fire rather than spare us the pain. And while we don't always understand why or see the benefit, we trust that He has a plan, and that the plan is good. Always, the plan is good.

Here's the quote that's got my mind working: "I am grateful to both of you and that your lives have not been perfect, because you are real to me. We're kind of like the Velveteen Rabbit. I guess instead of love making us real, suffering makes us real."

In that quote, part of the goodness of the plan was revealed to me. My suffering makes me real. It makes me authentic, approachable, and not just a little worse for wear.

Hopeful stuff. 


***Update: Research Paper of Doom is finished, submitted, and graded. I got an A. This is more of a testament to the professor's idiocy than my ability to design an excellent research proposal. Was is it passable? Yes. Was it good? Maybe. Was it excellent? No way. The writing might have been excellent, but the proposal itself was not. But whatever, I still have a 4.0.

Picture Day

Friday was picture day at school. Insanity was the overarching theme. 

At the middle school level, picture day is a big deal. It’s hilarious to watch, actually. Students agonize for days over what to wear and get up a bit earlier to make sure they have extra time to spend in order to look nice. One of my kids even went shopping the night before just so she’d have a cute shirt to wear. The boys actually shower to make sure their Justin Bieber hair is swooping just right. The girls bring brushes to class and wear their hair down. All of them wear their best name-brand shirts. Like I said, it’s a big freaking deal.

Revelation of the Day

There are people in my life who would love to help me feel my way through my sadness. However, that isn't possible at the moment. Not because of others, but because of my inability to allow myself to enter into any sort of feeling that isn't controlled.  

The problem here is me.

This revelation brought to you by the letter H, as in "humility". And "hope".

Blogging = Hope

Thanks to despair.com for providing me with what I feel is a suitable picture for my first post.

If you know me at all, you know my fear of blogging. The pressure. The writing up of all the minutia of my day. The public typos. The confirmation that I’m not a great writer. The fact that now EVERYONE will know that I overuse the words “very”, “really”, and “actually”.

But still...I want a blog. Many of my friends live far away from me, and blogs seem to be a practical way to maintain a line of communication. Maintaining friendships is important, you know? I feel like I probably have more baggage than the average person, so if I let you see my dirty laundry we are friends for life. I think blogging might help long-distance friendships.

The thing that really gets me is the pressure I feel to write once the blog has been established. What if I don’t have anything to say? I don’t want to be someone who writes a bunch of useless junk just to say I’ve updated the blog. I also don’t want to be someone who never updates. What’s a girl to do? (I know, I know...I’m over-thinking it. I can’t help it. It’s what I do.)

That’s where the happy feet idea comes in. While on vacation in Florida, I got the idea that I could take pictures of my feet in places that make me happy. Then I could post those pictures on a blog, which would provide a platform for me to write as much or as little as I want. It gives me something to post about, and it also encourages me to be emotionally present enough to realize I’m doing something that makes me happy. I’ve spent most of my life feeling relatively numb, so being emotionally present is challenging for me. And risky. And terrifying.

But this happy feet thing? This is something I can do. I’m sure that sometimes it will be gritty and dark, because I’m gritty and dark. And I’m certain that it will be funny, because I’m funny. In the end, I just want it to be real, and hopeful. Not because that’s who I am all the time, but because that’s who I want to be.