A couple of months ago, I was working in labor and delivery and someone died in the ward across the hall. It began with one woman - the long, heartbroken, keening sounds of the death wail. There were no words spoken. Just the rising and falling howl of grief. Soon she was joined by others and before I left, the entire corridor was full of wailing family members and friends. This is the custom and didn't seem to bother those within earshot. When it was still only one wailing person, I went out to investigate. The body was covered with a blanket and atop a cart right at the entrance to the ward. I considered going in search of the grieving woman so that I might hold her or even just sit with her until others arrived but I didn't know how I would be received and decided against wandering into a ward where I hadn't been invited. Instead, I turned to go back into labor and delivery and sitting there, I saw a woman, unconnected to the grieving family, shedding tears of empathy at the sound of such torment. I went over and hugged her. If I could have translated my sentiments correctly, I would have. Oh sweet lady, I get it. I SO get it.
All of this grief got me thinking... What is my role amidst all of this? I stick out like a sore thumb - my white (very white) skin, my blonde hair, blue eyes and funny accent. What could I possibly offer when I still have so much to learn? Sometimes, between deliveries, I leave the corridor and walk outside where the air feels and smells fresher. I breathe deeply of, what I can only describe as "participation." I am an active participant in the start and the end of life. It's a burden and a privilege. And, it's some of the nitty-gritty of loving well. How can we profess to love if we're only present when things look nice and feel good? Love is a feeling but more than that, love is a choice. The longer I walk with Jesus, the more I learn that my comfort is of little value. There is tremendous life to be found in stepping outside the boundaries of what makes me feel safe or appreciated and the denial of self is key to finding life and loving well.
So then, what of my role?
What if I am to simply be present? And what if I am to just hold a hand and pray? Or hug the crying stranger in the hall? Or make eye contact and give a knowing nod? Too long have I believed that I have to say something spectacularly profound or deliver pain relief and peace with my touch. And if I can't, I have to stand back and wait until I have it all figured out and can deliver that perfect word and touch flawlessly.
I'm wrong. Oh so wrong.
Healing and rest belong to the Lord. I am merely a tool in His hands to be used at His will.
So when the wailing starts and I feel myself shrinking back, I will ask God for the strength to love those He has brought across my path with that love of choice. It is the hardest but the very best kind. It extends beyond pleasant feelings, happy moments, nice smells, and even beyond contentment. It means sacrifice.
Wade into the grief of others. Don't stand against the wall and watch. Participate. And gaze at our perfect example - Jesus. He chose to love and that love led to His death. If He hadn't chosen such a sacrifice, we would have no hope of our own and therefore, none to pass on.
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