Pressing in

I was reading one of the blogs I check from time to time. This particular blog is written by a young woman who lost her daughter at 31 weeks (I think that's right) due to a placental abruption. Once again, I don't know her, haven't ever spoken to her or emailed her, so I'm not going to post a link to her blog, but she said some things I thought very profound recently and I'll quote them here:

"i feel so very different, so very set apart from society right now, like i have special glasses on that see the world in a WHOLE new way, a clearer way, but a sadder and more realistic way than many others get to...that special "gift" those of us receive when our world is turned upside down and we "get" to see everything so painfully differently....i feel at times that i am not ready to re-enter the world with everyone like that yet, almost like i am waiting for everyone else to "wake up" and taste life the way i do, the way i have to..waiting for others to catch up..but it doesn't work that way. i know that. everyone is plugging along doing their own thing. their loud worlds are rocking along even if our quiet stillness is idling.....that's ok. this is our season to mourn. not theirs.

the man, whose wife died 6 weeks after her cancer diagnosis, he buried her last week, he has their kids to raise alone now. the woman who lost her only brother in iraq almost 3 years ago, she is still devastated when she talks about it. the young mom who has to sell her house this month, the one her kids grew up in and has to move into an apartment after her marriage fell apart, she has to start over on her own, she is hurting. the young woman in line at the grocery store with the dirty brown hair in a messy ponytail with a sassy 3yr old little boy in tow, she's wearing a fake half-smile and her tired eyes are hiding behind her own veil of sunglasses. she lost her daughter. she died."

Honestly, I feel pretty good most of the time now. Different, changed to my core, in the process of healing and being delivered, but all in all if you ask me how I am and I say "good", I'm probably not lying. Words like this woman's are refreshing reminders that we ALL face difficulty. If you haven't, you will. One of the things that this experience has brought home to me is the necessity of "pressing in" with others. The avoiding and awkward silence are no good. When we were in the midst of the heaviness of our loss, I would have much preferred someone to say something, anything, even if it felt so horribly weird to say it, than to say nothing at all. The people and conversations I remember the most in those days and weeks after we lost Joshua were the ones who asked questions, hard questions, uncomfortable questions, personal questions. Even before we lost Joshua, Jeff and I had been talking about how people don't "press in" to one another's lives enough. In the interest of not seeming pushy or nosy, we see someone in possible pain or heartache and we would offer something less than helpful. We don't ask questions, we might not even be sure if we would know what to say in response if we did ask questions. Of course that is understandable; it is comfortable to not push too much and to stay on the periphery of others' lives. Love is difficult though, it is hard and messy and uncomfortable.

I guess this reminds me that I need to use my life to do a better job of pressing in on those who are hurting around me. Ask the hard questions, make myslef uncomfortable, be a little too pushy, and then listen and love.