When three of Job’s friends heard of the tragedy he had suffered, they got together and traveled from their homes to comfort and console him. Their names were Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhite, and Zophar the Naamathite. When they saw Job from a distance, they scarcely recognized him. Wailing loudly, they tore their robes and threw dust into the air over their heads to show their grief. Then they sat on the ground with him for seven days and nights. No one said a word to Job, for they saw that his suffering was too great for words. (Job 2: 11-13)
My last blog was quite dark, and I don’t want to stay in the dark too long. It is not good for me. So I want to move back to some positive insights I gleaned from my study of Job, starting with how his friends sat with him in silence in the immediate aftermath of his tragedies. Today, I want to celebrate my friends and family and thank them for all the ways they have sat with me as I battle cancer and so many other struggles that have coincided with my health battles.
And I want to think about how I can learn to be that kind of friend myself.
Like I said in my last blog, I have learned that I couldn’t help my mom with her internal battles, and I am rather ashamed of the times I placed the phone on the counter as she raged. But then, maybe having a place to rage without being interrupted helped her in some way. I pray that was the case.
Similarly, none of my friends can cure my cancer for me. None of them can relieve the side effects of chemo. But they listen as I complain, and they send me ginger chews for my upset stomach, and they let me know when they schedule their colonoscopies.
All of these are ways my friends sit with me in my suffering and let me know that my suffering matters to them. I am beyond grateful for every gesture of kindness. Some gestures were huge and required lots of coordination, like the day I was the guest of honor at a GHS cross country meet. The day I was the guest of honor for Fit2Gether at the Gaffney Christmas parade, sporting t-shirts made for me. The chance to tell my story in the local news. All the times our colleagues have helped us pay for medical expenses with donut sales, blue bracelets, and hot dog suppers.
Yet, there are also countless gestures where a friend just wanted to reach out and share in my suffering. I want to dedicate this blog to all the ways my friends and family continue to sit in silence with me as I navigate choices I was unprepared to make. This is a celebration of everyone who has helped me. Thank you all who have sat with me over the last two years and all the ways you have shown us love. I can’t share every story; there are far too many, but I hope you all know that none of your acts of kindness have gone unnoticed.
Listed below are just some of the ways my friends have seen me through my battles these last few years. And maybe, if you are looking for ways to hold space for others, you might find some ideas here that align with your unique way of showing that you care.
Friends who take me to infusions and appointments
They sit with me as I take in the poison, but they keep my mind diverted in pleasant conversation about friends, school, television, and any other number of topics that help to make the treatments a little more enjoyable. Plus, this helps my husband, not just me. Marc is able to work regularly because these friends have volunteered to take me to appointments. Even more valuable, it gives Marc, who is my primary caretaker, a moment of respite from the daily fight against this deadly disease. They are looking out for him as they comfort me.
Friends who send encouraging texts
I love hearing about their lives back at work or with their families because it provides an element of normalcy that I miss. I appreciate that they think enough of me to ask how I am doing, to encourage me in my struggles, but also to include me in the regular world, too. Sometimes I feel separated, locked out of the everyday world because people, in their compassion, don’t want to burden me with their everyday struggles and because I am literally toxic and vulnerable at the same time (more on that in a later blog). Being included in their world helps me to feel valued and assures me that I am still an active part of the living world.
Friends who send sweet momentos of care
I have received cards, personalized ornaments, a stuffed bunny, a bag of oranges, lip balm, coloring books, a prayer shawl, lotions, a coffee mug, and more - really too much to mention! All sweet gifts that let me know they were thinking about me and cared to make my day brighter.
Friends who ask their churches and prayer groups to pray for me
I receive calls and texts, sometimes right after a service, where friends tell me that they spoke my name in prayer during the service. I have received cards from people I don’t know, who attend churches I have never attended, who tell me that they prayed for me at church that day because someone in their congregation asked them to. One sweet friend calls me regularly before her prayer group meets. “Now, tell me something specific we can pray for. What appointments do you have coming up? What tests? How are you feeling?” she asks. To carry my name to your friends, who then carry my name to the Lord - is there a greater show of friendship?
Friends who let me complain without offering platitudes or easy fixes
The ones who let me tell them about how long I spent on the toilet today, including descriptions of what butthole fire feels like. The ones who ask me if I still have the metallic taste in my mouth because they paid attention to a comment I made a few weeks ago. They listen. They sympathize. But they don’t respond with “well, at least you’re still here,” or “think positively.” They allow me to feel the moment honestly and openly without thinking that they need to fix it. They allow me space and time to work through the negative aspects of cancer treatments because they know that I can be grateful and vexed at the same time, and that acknowledging the struggle is the first step in managing the struggle. I can say, “This sucks,” and they respond with, “you’re right. It does,” allowing me a chance to rail against it all without judgment or a quick fix. Because there are no quick fixes, just endurance.
The Book of Job shows us that it is ok to rail in grief -
Job stood up and tore his robe in grief. Then he shaved his head and fell to the ground to worship. He said,
“I came naked from my mother’s womb,
and I will be naked when I leave.
The Lord gave me what I had,
and the Lord has taken it away.
Praise the name of the Lord!”In all of this, Job did not sin by blaming God. (Job 1: 20-22)
True friends allow us this time to tear our robes in grief and shave our heads before we return to worship. They are there to help us return to worship, to grab our hands as we get up from the ground, to make sure we don’t stay in the darkness too long. They don’t expect us to snap out of it because they have recited a Bible verse or because they think the rage should be out of our system by now. That may be where Job’s friends went wrong, and maybe where I went wrong with my mom, too - that moment when we think we can prod someone else to move on or take a different course, but that’s a contemplation for a later blog.
Here’s the question, though: Where is someone suffering in silence alone? Who is suffering and raging without someone to sit in silence with them? We have to be aware, to be present, and to pay attention if we want to be there for others.
And here’s the difficult part about holding space for someone who is suffering: there are no easy fixes. There may be no fixes at all. Some difficulties in life don’t have solutions. We have to just let the moment be what the moment is and see what we can learn from it.
There is no way around cancer but through it, which involves so many unpleasant moments. No matter what treatment options I choose, I will have to face pain and watch how it changes my body, my mind, and my life.
And I have been blessed with friends who make sure I don’t have to face the pain alone, people who are willing to be changed by suffering that is not their own just because they love me enough to suffer with me. Holy empathy.
One note on my next observation: the pun is intended, as cheesy as it is. I like cheese.
Observation #10 - Presence is a gift we all need sometimes.
