Sharing My Troubles

You didn't have to care, but you did. And that has made all the difference.

I rejoiced greatly in the Lord that at last you renewed your concern for me. Indeed, you were concerned, but you had no opportunity to show it. I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength.

Yet it was good of you to share in my troubles.

Philippians 4:10-14, NIV

Grief is a challenging emotion for so many reasons. It is unavoidable. If you’ve ever loved someone, you’ll eventually grieve them (or, I suppose, be grieved for by them). Love and grief are directly proportionate. Grief is also unpredictable. You never know when it will sneak up on you when you least expect it. A song on the radio or the fragrance of someone’s perfume in a crowded room might bring back a flood of memories and tears. Grief is also unkind, and it can make those of us grieving feel unkind. Without warning we lash out at some unsuspecting bystander. The cashier who dares ask you what sort of bag you’d like your groceries packaged in catches you at just the wrong moment when emotions, raw and frayed by grief, overrule rational thinking and spew forth in a hasty and regrettable verbal assault.

Over the last month I’ve experienced my share of grief. My wife’s mother, a very active and healthy lady, succumbed to a host of medical conditions brought on by a simple and relatively common respiratory virus. One health challenge led to another in a series of events which were as unpredictable each day as the ultimate outcome. Following just over a month of hospitalization, her body finally lost the battle and her family lost an anchor. When she passed, the grief was not just about to begin, but rather had already been building for the entire month. Her passing was a punctuation, perhaps a comma, in the midst of the season of grief in which I still remain.

Grief is a lot of bad things. But it is also at least one good thing.

Throughout a month of hospital visits, encouraging news dashed by discouraging developments, receiving friends and family, relaying the news to countless prayer groups and caring individuals, one good thing has stood out to me as a bulwark against the assault of grief: through it all we have been uplifted in prayer and loved and cared for by so many wonderful people. As Paul writes to the church at Philippi, “Yet is was good of you to share in my troubles,” (Philippians 4:14, NIV). Through this month, my family has known plenty and we have known want. We have learned to be content with any development, whether positive or discouraging. We have become intimately familiar with the notion that God strengthens us, and that only by God’s grace could we find strength to do anything at all.

To all who have loved and cared, called and visited, and especially prayed during this season of my life, for my family, I sincerely thank you. However, this is not an essay simply meant to acknowledge those who have shared in my personal troubles of this past month. Rather, I pray that this witness to the goodness of presence, this thanksgiving for the spiritual gifts of hospitality and prayer, this sharing of my own experience being blessed by so many will encourage you. When you are in the valley of the shadow of death, look for God’s rod and staff. They look a lot like your friends, family, co-workers, church family… your community is God’s sword and shield during your times of need. And if you know someone encountering a difficult season of grief, consider being the shield they need. It is the gift of presence that is among the most important we each have the power to give, and certainly among the most potent balm we receive during a season of grief.

So, in short, love one another.

And thank you for sharing in my troubles. You are a blessing beyond measure.

J.M.D.