caregiving

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When Someone You Love has Chronic Pain

A decade ago I suffered a bulging, herniated disc in my back. It took months to get in to see a specialist, get a diagnosis, and find a treatment plan that worked to heal my body. For a year I dealt with constant, moderate-to-severe pain in my lower back, hips, and right leg.

Within weeks of my injury, I hardly recognized my life. The pain upstaged everything with its constant nagging. Sitting was particularly excruciating so my world shrank to a ten-mile radius around my home. My otherwise sharp and creative brain was scrambled into an unrecognizable slop. Sometimes the pain was so bad that I had trouble finishing sentences. My joyful, focused, and friendly personality morphed into something more impatient and irritable, always distracted, and often discouraged. Engaging with cherished friendships and hobbies became work, and that made me feel ashamed and frustrated.

A new back injury sustained this summer has me thinking of that dastardly year. As I make another slow and difficult climb toward wellness, I find myself drawing on lessons learned a decade ago. Coincidentally, I have several friends struggling with chronic pain right now, so it’s time to resurrect the “When Someone You Love” series. Here are some thoughts and tips on caring for people with chronic pain.

Believe in Pain You Cannot See
Unfortunately, we humans often only pick up on, and respond to, obvious signs of suffering: scabs and angry bruises, someone grimacing or limping, a limb wrapped in a brace or cast. Physical signs of pain trigger our compassion and helpfulness. But consider this—there are hundreds of conditions that cause physical pain which are invisible to others.

It can be difficult to accept that someone is in pain if you can’t see changes or limitations. So here’s your first opportunity to care well—believe your loved one when they say they are in pain. Tell or show them that you believe them. Ask how you can make adjustments or accommodations to make daily life more manageable for them.

Affirmation over Easy Answers
For many, chronic pain leads to challenging side effects: isolation from beloved friends and activities, irritability, physical and emotional fatigue, and loss of mental sharpness. Simple, everyday tasks become arduous challenges. Getting dressed winds you like running a 5k. Writing a daily report has the gravity of a dissertation. When you roll this nasty jumble of side effects together, you’re left feeling discouraged and disconnected. Less alive. Less you.

If one of your beloveds is in pain, then YOU are one of the best caregivers they could find. You’re even better than their doctors because you know who they are underneath all this pain. You can see what has changed and what has not. So, in real moments, tell them how you see their spirit or their strength shining through the pain. Have they done or said anything lately that displays their unique personality? Simply letting them know how and when you see them will be life-giving.

And please, steer clear from clichés or easy answers like “it’ll get better soon” or “God won’t give you more than you can handle” or “focus on the positive.” Caregiving clichés are like wielding a velvet hammer. Despite good intentions, they make suffering people feel like they are failing or inadequate, and they often amplify feelings of weakness. With some careful thought you’ll be able to do something much better—speak words that are true about them. Words that are empathetic and truly soothing.

Connect with Coping Skills & Self-care
Back in my chaplaincy days, I often asked my patients to reflect on times of pain or difficulty in their past. With those in mind, I’d then ask what worked, and what didn’t. How did they face those challenges head on? What things helped them get through an hour, a day, or a week? What kinds of practical support did they need from others?

This reflective process acknowledges that they are an important voice (even an expert voice) in their own care, and it reminds them that they already have valuable internal resources from which to draw.

Chronic pain may be new for your loved one, but you’ll find that coping skills and coping support are amazingly flexible. They tend to adapt to new scenarios. Help your loved one remember what’s worked in the past and encourage them to try it out now.

Other than coping skills, chronic pain sufferers need to practice self-care. Over the past three months, I’ve spent hours resting, and icing and heating my hurting back—otherwise known as caring for myself—but I’m often emotionally drained. Self-care for me right now is not the things I do everyday to get through the pain. Self-care is doing the things that nurture my soul when I’m healthy.

Last week I had what I call “a good pain day” so I went out, bought a movie ticket and a lime Diet Coke, and settled into the local theater’s leather recliner. This is one of my favorite me-time things to do. Unfortunately, the chair was too soft for my back so I didn’t make it through the whole film before I went home, but I was sublimely happy that I got out of the house and enjoyed half of a good movie. That outing restored my positivity for several days.

What does your loved one normally do to nurture their body/soul/spirit when they are healthy? Can they continue that self-care routine despite their pain? If so, encourage them stay engaged in these things.

Beware Treatment Suggestion Fatigue
Treatment Suggestion Fatigue is my evil pet name for a very real thing for chronic pain sufferers. When we share about our struggles with family and friends, these well-meaning people barrage us with advice.

“Have you heard of Dr. Adams and his revolutionary treatment?”

“Have you ever tried cryotherapy?”

“You should ask for vicodin. That’s the good stuff.”

“I just read about the wonders of fish oils!”

“My grandmother’s chicken soup cures all.”

“Physical therapy helped me after I broke my leg.”

Please hear this, friends. You all have different opinions of what is best, and what worked for you or your grandma. But what worked for you might not work for me. The pain of a broken leg is very different from nerve pain. You might rush toward prescription narcotics, but I may have five very important reasons why I won’t or can’t use them. So be cautious of how and when and what you suggest.

As a rule of thumb, ask a question before you make a suggestion. The questions “what have you tried?” and “are you looking for suggestions?” are far more caring than any sentence that starts with “you should try” or “for me the answer was…” Pain sufferers will hear the difference in your words. Asking questions first shows that you respect them as the intelligent, intuitive keeper of their body.

Special Note: When Chronic Pain is Here to Stay
Sadly, there are many painful conditions and diseases that last for years, even lifetimes. While most of us will celebrate an end to our chronic pain, for some pain will be part of their new normal. This type of chronic pain is a different beast altogether and deserves its own post, but I want take a moment to address this reality.

Overall, I encourage you to be compassionate — both to your loved one and to yourself — to be flexible, and to be keen listeners.

I’ve noted that dealing with pain effects mood and personality. It’s also true that long-endured struggles tend to change us. When chronic pain becomes lifetime pain, it will likely alter your beloved’s personality permanently. (Pause and read that last sentence again.) You’ll need to wrestle with and accept that they may never return to the same person you knew before the pain came. They may be more irritable, less positive, or have a new edge to their humor. But don’t give way to discouragement! The changes won’t be all bad.

My bouts with chronic pain have made me more sensitive and compassionate to others in pain. They’ve helped me let go of my need to be in control. I’ve learned to acknowledge and accept limitations, to be kinder to myself, to ask for help, and to really believe that needing help doesn’t mean I’m weak or pathetic. It means I’m human.

All of this ultimately encourages and challenges me to entrust more of my life to the all-powerful, loving God I worship. And in doing that, I become more whole.

May God bless you, caregiver, with abundant grace and peace. May you use the overflow to nurture your beloved’s health — body and soul. I pray for swift healing and for many moments of joy in the waiting.

Much love,
Corrie

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What To Do with all of your Feelings about the Stanford Rape Case

Like many of you, I’ve been reading the daily articles about the Brock Turner rape case. And like many of you, I have strong feelings about Emily Doe’s rape and the fallout. Here’s what is churning in my gut… Compassion for Emily Doe’s pain. Disgust over Turner’s senseless act of sexual violence. Deep angst toward his apparent ignorance of the real issue—his reprehensible rape of a woman—and his lack of repentance for his crimes. Anger at Turner’s attorney for victim blaming during the trail. Outrage at Judge Persky’s sentencing and rationale. Helplessness that we live in a world so selfish and broken that any person would rape another.

All of these emotions leave me feeling very raw and weary. A small part of me wishes that Emily’s story didn’t affect me. I wish I could ignore this whole atrocity, turn away from the news, and protect myself from these terrible feelings; but I can’t. Thankfully, the larger part of my heart doesn’t want to turn away because Emily’s story is important and personal to me.

I live and work three miles from Stanford University. I may have passed Emily in Trader Joe’s. I may have steered my car around Brock Turner as he cycled to class on campus. These young people are my neighbors. Palo Alto is the community where I minister.

These events also feel personal because I worked with college students for six years. The things I witnessed among developing adults motivated me to understand abuse and to later become an abuse educator and victim’s advocate. When I was a hospital chaplain, I met with a few rape victims just hours after they were assaulted. As a pastor, I’ve supported many women who have been raped, molested, and abused in other ways. Reading Emily Doe’s story makes me recall a hundred other stories that I hold in the shadowy recesses of my heart.

Even though I haven’t experienced the pain of rape myself, the people and stories I’ve encountered in my career have ravaged my emotions. Supervisors advised me to keep an emotional distance in these situations. I really tried in the early years, but then I began to wonder—is there a way to remain impervious when a woman sits next to you and shakes as she recalls the most terrifying hours of her life? Now, I don’t think it’s possible to be fully human in those moments and remain emotionally detached. Not when you’ve heard a victim’s story, held her hand, seen her wounds, and shared her pain-filled silences.

I’m human. And when other humans are suffering, I hurt. Emily Doe’s story, and all of the stories that have rippled out from Brock Turner’s act of violence, hurt me. And from the outrage I see across social media, many of you are hurting too.

So what do I do when another horrifying story of injustice rips me open? What do we do with all these wildly raging emotions when we hear a story of such violence being done against a human being—especially when we aren’t directly involved in the situation?

Use them. Use the emotions.

The best advice I can give you is to gather up all of the emotions you feel churning inside you and turn them into fuel. Let the ferocity of your anger and the raised hackles of injustice motivate you to live a transformational life.

Don’t just be a person who seeks to do no harm to others. Be a person who actively looks for ways to protect the vulnerable, someone who steps forward to advocate for victims of all kinds in your sphere of influence—be it big or small. Our impassioned emotions might lead us to protests and rallies, to sign petitions to hold civic leaders accountable, or to volunteer with organizations that are doing their best to spread justice in our communities.

Not all of us will have the opportunity to directly intervene in an act of sexual violence like the Swedish graduate students, but all of us will have opportunities to care for someone who has been abused. In the United States, someone is sexually assaulted every two minutes. If you know four girls under the age of 18, at least one of them has experienced abuse. The same is true if you know six boys under 18.

Statistics indicate that all of us know or will know someone who has been abused in some way—sexually, emotionally, verbally, or spiritually. This fact may outrage and sadden us, but we don’t have to stop at feeling. We can allow those feelings to shape the way we interact with others. You may not know whom in your life shares Emily Doe’s story, but someone does. So it’s best to always speak and act with kindness because you never know the wounds people are hiding.

Choose to be a person who approaches people who are hurting. Listen attentively to their stories and do your best to understand their circumstances. Allow their painful experiences to expand and fill your stores of compassion. And if you are healthy and able, you might even sacrifice some of your time and ask how you might help carry their burdens or stand in solidarity with them.

For those of you who are shocked by Emily Doe’s story and don’t know much about sexual assault, allow your shock and horror to motivate you to learn about abuse—what it is, its prevalence, causes, and consequences.

If you are a parent or someone with direct influence over children, think critically about what language, attitudes, actions, and proverbs you pass on. Abuse is a learned behavior. You can be an adult who raises up compassionate, respectful, peacemaking children, the kind of children who grow into adults who jump off their bicycles and intervene when they see someone being raped.

And speaking of those two Swedes, I’m reminded that it’s not just the dark emotions of injustice that can change us and make us transformational, compassionate people. Along with all my anger and outrage over the Stanford rape case, there have also been healthy doses of inspiration. Every moment and movement of bravery and resilience and justice in this case has brought healing tears.

…we both have a choice. We can let this destroy us, I can remain angry and hurt and you can be in denial, or we can face it head on, I accept the pain, you accept the punishment, and we move on…Your life is not over, you have decades of years ahead to rewrite your story. The world is huge, it is so much bigger than Palo Alto and Stanford, and you will make a space for yourself in it where you can be useful and happy…

Emily Doe wrote that in her victim’s statement to the court. She wrote that to her rapist. That she is even able to think about Brock Turner’s future makes me stand in awe. Emily’s statement shows me that rape and violence and pain have not won. They are not the end of her story. Emily has not been extinguished by what Brock Turner did to her. Instead, she is rising up out of her horrifying ordeal, it seems, with her own expanded stores of compassion and understanding.

Maybe I’ll meet Emily Doe one day as I live and work near her. Maybe I won’t. But I’m so thankful that she had the courage to write and share her statement, her story. Emily, you’ve reminded me again of the beauty of the human spirit. You shine with it. Your story reignites my desire to be an advocate and a peacemaker, someone who is as kind to the grumpy woman in line at the grocery story as I am to someone who comes to my office for counseling.

Thank you to Emily Doe, and to all of the Emilys who have shared your stories with me over the years. Your pain has changed me. Your ability to overcome, and seeing you reemerge to life, has taught me how to endure and learn from my own hardships. Because of you, I choose to live in a way that helps others heal and thrive.

 

Most importantly, thank you to the two men who saved me, who I have yet to meet. I sleep with two bicycles that I drew taped above my bed to remind myself there are heroes in this story. That we are looking out for one another. To have known all of these people, to have felt their protection and love, is something I will never forget.

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When someone you love is dying

My grandmother Betty battled cancer for more than a decade. Most of my memories of her are tinged by the effects of disease – terrible bloating and vomiting caused by experimental drugs, brutal rounds of chemo that made her hair fall out and grow back in different shades and textures, and our family spring break trips to Mayo Clinic when she was too weak to be at home.

Despite her prolonged illness, I remember many good things too. Grandma’s nickname was Mean Betty Jean but she was just the opposite: invariably kind and calm, with a gentle smile and a friendly chuckle that made me want to cuddle into her side. She taught me how to play card games like Crazy Eights and Kings in the Corners. Every year for Christmas, she bought me pajamas that came packaged with a matching stuffed animal; this was both delightful and silly.

Even though my grandmother was sick my entire childhood, I never realized that she was slowly dying. One ordinary Thursday I came home from school, made myself a snack and was eating it standing by the sink when my mom came in and told me that grandma had died. We stood there for a long time, quietly crying by the kitchen sink. I thought I’d share many more spring breaks with grandma. I was looking forward to another Crazy Eights tournament. But most of all, I wished I’d had the chance to say goodbye and to give her the best hug I had because I knew it would be our last.

Now in my mid-thirties, I’ve said goodbye to several beloved family members and friends. As a hospital and hospice chaplain, I helped people prepare for death and supported grieving families. With death and dying as the landscape of my daily work, I learned that while being a witness of death is never easy, it doesn’t have to be depressing or scary.

The time that precedes death can be the most beautiful time you share with someone you love. It’s a time to give and receive precious gifts. Not gems set in velvet boxes, but true words and actions. Things as simple and life-giving as presence, as saying I love you, as laughing over a hand of cards. These are gifts with the power to free souls from fear and pain and open them to gratitude and joy.

If your loved one is dying – my thoughts are with you. I pray you have the courage to give and receive the following gifts.

Talk about death. We often avoid the D-words – die, death, dying – because we fear it will be too painful for the one who is dying. In my professional experience, dying people want to talk about death. Unless they suffer from dementia, they know it’s their daily reality. Most want to acknowledge it, talk about it and prepare for it as best they can. They want the opportunity to review their lives, tell their stories, to confess their regrets, and seek forgiveness. How will they have a chance to do this important work, this emotional preparation, if we are afraid to accept their reality? One of the greatest gifts you can give your loved one is the freedom to openly face their death.

Know and honor their wishes. Terminal illness comes with an obstacle course of decisions. Do we pursue life-extending medical treatments? Will we manage the pain with narcotics or alternative therapies? What finances do we need to get in order? When and how should we prepare the memorial service? These are important questions, but too often families tackle them without consulting their loved one. Two of the greatest emotional struggles of the dying are loss of control and loss of identity. Asking your loved one about their wishes, and following through with them, honors their personhood. It helps them retain an important strand of control. Start with Five Wishes and advance directives.

Address the bucket list. People who are dying often daydream about what they would do if they had unlimited time and resources. For many, this ‘bucket list’ may not be written on paper, so talk to your loved one about what they want to do with their remaining time. Many bucket list items can be accomplished outright but you might need to do the legwork. Other items might be beyond your loved one’s physical capabilities, but could be modified to achieve the same sense of satisfaction.

Consider hospice. While hospitals do what they can to create a comfortable environment, it’s not an ideal place to share your final days. Hospice provides 24-hour on-call support for patients and families in a variety of settings: private homes, retirement communities, skilled nursing facilities, and in-patient hospice units. It is a free benefit of Medicare, Medicaid (in 47 states) and of most private insurance carriers. A consistent, interdisciplinary care team – including a physician, nurses, a social worker, and a spiritual care provider – will manage medications, address pain, provide informed and compassionate guidance as things change, and generally enhance your loved one’s quality of life. Not all hospices offer the same range of services, so ask for referrals in your area. If you have more questions, start here.

Share simple pleasures. It’s easy to get distracted by all the details that come with caring for a loved one. Meetings with lawyers and ministers are important, but no more so than surrounding your loved one with what gives life to their soul. Focus on simple things. Cook their favorite meal, even if they can only enjoy a few bites or the smell. Hold hands. Reminisce and tell your loved one why you cherish them. Say I love you. Put a cozy lounge chair in the garden and share the sunshine and the quiet. Have a family movie night. Read their favorite stories aloud. Let the grandkids star in a family concert or play. This will be their comfort and joy.

Let them apologize. It’s natural to seek forgiveness and express regret at the end of life. Research shows that the dying seek forgiveness in three categories: the forgiveness of God, of others and of self. Surprisingly, the data says that forgiveness of self is the most difficult category. Seeking the forgiveness of others is certainly a doorway to forgiving ourselves. Families often try to deflect, minimize or avoid such apologies because they don’t want their loved one to feel burdened by grief. Well friends, grief is unavoidable at this point. The good news is that letting your loved one speak their truth is precisely the thing that can lighten their burdens. So when they speak, don’t interrupt. Take deep breaths and listen until they are finished. Then offer words of acceptance and love.

Let yourself be weak. If I had a dollar for every time I heard a family member say I have to be strong… I know this is difficult advice, but it’s much kinder to let yourself fall apart from time to time. Have a good cry in the shower. Go into the basement or the woods and yell. Confess your fears and struggles to a good friend or counselor. Cry out before God. These are better coping skills than trying to rigidly harness the emotions that come with losing someone you love. Grief is an unruly thing; it comes and goes in unpredictable, sometimes turbulent, waves. Try though we might, the tide is not something we can control. It’s best to ride the cresting waves and trust that they will deposit you on shore.

Care for yourself. It’s okay to care for yourself even when your loved one is dying. In fact, it’s critical. Stress and grief will upset your ability to assess your needs, so listen to your friends and family when they say you need a break. Let them take you out for coffee or to the spa. Accept their casseroles, their offers to clean your house and their long hugs. These things are like a good saline drip to a body parched from grief. Plus, it will give them a practical way to help you, which is what they desperately want to do.

Plan a memorial service. This part of the grieving process can be difficult, but also incredibly healing. Through words, music, prayers, pictures, flowers and food you can craft a gathering that honors the life of your loved one. Invite family and friends to contribute and do the work together. You’ll laugh and cry and discover later that this is when the mending began.

Stay connected to God. Friends, this is the time for raw and real prayers. This is a time to use the Psalms like prayers when you have no words of your own. This is a time to sit on the floor in your closet and open your hands to heaven. It’s a time to acknowledge your weakness. To ask for comfort and for the strength for one more day together. It’s a time to realize that God is in every moment working for your good and for the good of your loved one. And when pain, fear, and confusion come, this is when you’ll need to trust that things are not as they seem. Remember that God is with you, doing the unseen, gathering you all under the shadow of his wings.

 

Have mercy on me, my God, have mercy on me,
    for in you I take refuge.
I will take refuge in the shadow of your wings
    until the disaster has passed.
Psalm 57:1

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When someone you love is grieving

As clinical chaplain, I quickly learned that most people are uncomfortable with grief, even doctors and pastors. So if you have a grieving friend and you feel totally inadequate, take a deep breath. Your response is natural. The wide and unpredictable pendulum of grief’s physical effects – from weeping and yelling to silence, from stillness to shakes – can make anyone hesitant and uncertain how to care. With that in mind, I’ve compiled a list of ways you can support a grieving friend.

Before you print this post and use it like a blueprint, please note – these are options, not rules or a checklist to follow. These suggestions are appropriate ways to approach someone who is grieving but not every approach will be a good fit for every relationship. Remember, you know your friend better than I. You have a history with them built across months and years of experiences and conversations. Draw from that however you can.

Grief requires us to pause, reflect deeply on another’s soul, and to act through discomfort. As difficult as that is, there are many simple things you can do that will be a powerful balm to a grieving heart.

BE PRESENT
Especially when a friend is dealing with an unexpected loss, go to their side. Even if you don’t know what to say, showing up is something they will never forget. Your physical presence says so many important things: I love you, I’ll stand with you in your darkest moments, you are not alone.

OFFER HEALING TOUCH
Physical touch is a powerful response to raw grief. It has the ability to soothe and support in ways and times when words are inadequate. So take their shaking hands between yours. Place a gentle hand on their shoulder as they cry. Offer an unhurried embrace where your arms become a safety harness wrapped securely around their back. They may not say anything in response or they may cry harder, but the warmth seeping from your skin into theirs is medicine that we cannot bottle.

ACKNOWLEDGE LOSS WITH WORDS
In the shadow of death words seem insufficient, but they are not. While “I’m sorry for your loss” is appropriate, we are all capable of saying something more meaningful, more personal. Who was this person to your friend? What role did he or she play in your friend’s life? If you knew the deceased, what about them made an impression on you? Think about this and then say something that honors them and their relationship with your friend. Keep it simple – there’s no need for a lengthy speech – perhaps two or three sentences that show you understand the significance of this loss.

One important caveat – under no circumstances are you responsible for making sense of your friend’s loss! Death and grief are never easy, even when we have time to prepare for them. There are lots of true things we can say about death and God’s will and the end to suffering, but they will never be helpful to someone saying goodbye to a person whose life and spirit shaped their own. Avoid any and all trite phrases that attempt to explain death or try to look on the bright side. Be very, very careful about quoting from the Bible. Even if your friend is a person of faith, and even though scripture speaks ultimate truths, context and timing remain crucial when comforting someone who is grieving. Stick to this famous proverb– if you don’t have anything good to say, don’t say anything at all.

TELL STORIES
Grief can act like a great chill that freezes our limbs and our hearts. We can get stuck in that horrible moment when we suddenly realize our loved one is gone forever. As a young chaplain I learned that getting people to share stories and memories can melt this emotional deep freeze. Storytelling can be a helpful healing tool throughout the grieving process, not just in the moments after death, but you have to discern when it might be helpful.

I recently led a graveside service for a family grieving the loss of a beloved wife, sister and mother of three young adults. With only twenty minutes permitted at the site, I invited those gathered to share a sentence or two beginning with, “I will always remember.” What followed was a poignant time of stories and tributes to her character. Tears flowed freely and loudly, but from them emerged the first smiles and laughter of the day

TANGIBLE EXPRESSIONS OF SYMPATHY
Modern friendships often stretch across states, continents and oceans. We can’t always be physically present with a grieving friend, but that doesn’t mean we can’t care for them well. I’m a big advocate of tangible expressions of sympathy. Think of something you can do that will engage your friend’s senses, something they can see, hear, smell, touch or taste. Even when grief puts our brains in a zombie-like state, our senses remain active. That’s why, for centuries, people have sent flowers when someone dies. Flowers are a visible and vibrant message of love; their scent is your presence subtly filling your friend’s home.

Keep in mind that not all expressions of sympathy will be equally well-received. Some people won’t want their freezers stuffed with six types of lasagna. Others might resent a Hallmark card with a canned message and your signature. So take time to consider, how can you be present in a way that will be most meaningful to your friend? Maybe, for reasons only you would understand, baseball tickets would be more meaningful than a casserole, a mix CD better able to lighten their grief than a card, a framed photo a better tribute than a bouquet whose blooms will droop and decay.

BE PRACTICAL
Grieving people are rarely able to articulate what help they need. If you know them well enough, you can name their needs for them. Look for simple ways to step into their regular routine. Take their trash to the curb, do their grocery shopping, take over carpool duties, mow their lawn, etc. Communicate well as you pitch in. How and when can you help? For how long? Make sure you leave room for them to tell you if it’s too much or if this type of help is unwanted.

BE AWARE OF SPECIAL OCCAISIONS
Birthdays, anniversaries, weddings, graduations: these are things your friend thought they would get to share with the deceased. Death stole these moments and grief will flavor these celebrations toward the bittersweet. The anniversary of their death will also be a difficult day for your friend. Be attentive to their emotional needs on these days. Talk about it ahead of time and make yourself available, both physically and emotionally, as they need.

FINAL THOUGHTS
Grief is a bit like a circus lion. We can approach focused, with caution and care. We can do all the “appropriate” things but be quickly reminded that as tame as it seems on the outside, at heart it’s still a wild animal. Despite your care and thoughtfulness, your friend may not receive your offerings well. They might lash out or seem indifferent. Don’t take this personally; your friend has a lion inside them. An unpleasant response doesn’t mean that you’ve failed. These are some of the most difficult days of your friend’s life. If your actions are thoughtful and sincere, you have done well. Trust that and keep caring.

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When Someone You Love – A New Series

Advice is not my calling. Even though I’m a pastor and people often come to me for guidance, I resist the pressure to whittle down my role into what I like to call, “advicer.” Being a pastor is so much bigger! Plus, I’ve discovered that when people come to me for help in a tough situation, many of them already have a plan they want to execute. What they’re really looking for is permission from a spiritual authority to take a route that’s easier, but not necessarily better, for all involved. This is a dangerous game, one that subtly deals in manipulating a pastor’s pride and power. It’s a game I refuse to play.

Instead, when people come to me, I like to ask a lot of questions. My goal is try to uncover motivations, help articulate emotions, and generally to explore perspectives and options. As a pastor, it’s vital that I spend far more time asking questions than I do giving my opinion. That keeps me in the proper place as a caring companion and God in the proper place as Healer and Guide. It’s inescapable though – as a pastor people will always expect me to give advice.

I resist the same pressure as a blogger. I read a lot of blogs and articles. The trend these days is to write pieces that critique how Mr. X gets it wrong, tell how to do something in ___ easy steps, or list the top ___ reasons to do or be ______. (If I read one more blog title that starts with, “Five Ways To…” my fingers may fall off and my eyes start shooting jalapeno juice!) In other words, it’s all advice and opinions.

I want this blog to be more. I want more exploration, more creativity, more room to stretch, more questions, more compassion for difference and failure. I hope that by writing from my deep places with my unique voice, I’ll reach someone, somewhere in need of my spirit.

Though I’m cautious about dealing in advice, I realize that I do have some wisdom to offer, especially when it concerns caring for others. Fourteen years ago, God revealed that my calling was to care for the suffering. It’s a calling grounded in the spiritual gifts of compassion and mercy. With more than a decade of pastoral care in the trenches, after extensive training in crisis response and stumbling my way through the gauntlet of clinical chaplaincy, I have valuable skills and informed perspective to offer.

As you know from my last post, several of my friends are in crisis. I was debriefing with a friend, talking through what I was doing in response, how I’m able to help and my limitations. My friend said, “You know Corrie, not everyone knows how to do what you do. It’s a gift.” Well, yes. What I do as a pastor starts with a calling and gifting, but that I’m able to care well relies very much on the fact that I want to care. That I’ve tried to care and failed. That I’ve forgiven my failures and spring-board from them into fresh attempts.

My high school choir director Mr. Griffin used to say, “Everyone can sing, but not everyone can sing well. I can always teach someone to sing better.” I believe that everyone has the capacity care for others, they just might need some lessons. The raw materials we need are love and the desire to put love into action.

You all have people who you dearly love. Your loved ones will experience pain from time to time and you’ll want to reach out and show you care, but you may not know how. That’s where I can help.

Today I begin a new series called “When Someone You Love.” It will address situations that are common to relationships, but ones in which we may not be comfortable or well-equipped to respond. Future posts include: when someone you love loses someone they love, when someone you love is being abused, when someone you love is dying. I’m going to share what I’ve learned, tell stories of failures and successes, confront unhelpful tendencies, and chart out some ways we can show that we care.

And yes, this means I’ll give advice, but you can trust that it won’t be trite or untested and it will always be open to feedback. Feel free to email me with topics you’d like to tackle – corriegus@gmail.com.

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Better Than an Ice Bucket

The ALS ice bucket challenge has flooded my Facebook newsfeed. At first it was just a friend of a friend, so I didn’t pay much attention. Within three days about fifty of my friends accepted the challenge, so I finally figured out what is going on across the country.

(AP photo/Elise Amendola)

(AP photo/Elise Amendola)

Every week something new is trending on social media – a video of cats doing something “extraordinary” or a baby doing something ordinary, a poignant or provocative blog post, links to breaking news and scandals. Some of the trends are funny and uplifting, some controversial, and others downright deplorable. The phenomena of all these people dumping an ice bucket over their heads to raise awareness and/or money for ALS is one of the better trends. According to The Huffington Post, they’ve raised over $160,000 in a 10 day period. It’s amusing to watch my friends and celebrities douse themselves, but whenever I see the letters ALS, I think of images and challenges that make a bucket of ice seem as intimidating as tossing a grain of sand into the sea. I think of the day I met Hank.

Many years ago I did a chaplaincy internship at a large suburban hospital. Our staff of chaplains worked hard to meet the spiritual and emotional needs of thousands of patients each week. One day while on call, I was paged to spend time with a patient whose family was out of town. The RN told me her patient’s name was Hank, that he had advanced ALS and he was having “a rough day.” I’d heard of ALS, of course, commonly known as Lou Gehrig’s disease, but at that point I knew more about the baseball player than I did the disease, and that is saying something. I had no idea what to expect.

I heard Hank moaning before I reached the door of his room. When I entered, I saw a man slumped in the raised hospital bed, the side of his face smashed against the plastic side rail. His eyes were open but they didn’t move. I approached the bed slowly, greeting Hank by name and introducing myself. With a frozen jaw and his lips and tongue only twitching, Hank groaned out a short sound. It wasn’t what I would normally call a word, but it had enough force of breath to let me know that Hank was trying to communicate with me. He repeated himself many times. I asked myself over and over: what did Hank need? What could I do? Unable to understand him but sensing his distress, I felt helpless and uncomfortable and wanted to run out of the room.

Eventually, I figured out that Hank was saying. “Head, hurt.” – and no wonder, smashed up against the railing like he was, unable to move. I wanted to kick myself for missing the obvious. It took me ten minutes and four requests to get a nurse to help me get Hank in a comfortable position. He groaned loudly the entire time but stopped as soon as we got him better situated. By that point, I was sweating and holding back tears. I pulled up a chair and sat down where Hank could see me, not knowing what else I could do.

Hank was so fragile. He wasn’t much older than my father but he looked decades older. He couldn’t move his limbs or his head and when I held his hand, his fingers were stiff and still in mine. I imagined that he must be a shadow of his former self, a fact confirmed when a woman stepped in the room.

Marge introduced herself as a friend of Hank’s from high school. She told me that she wanted to come visit even though she hadn’t seen Hank in years. She gave a smile that was more like a grimace and she stood in the doorway, nervously wringing the cardigan sweater she held in her hands. Her eyes darted to Hank lying in the bed cocooned by six pillows and a blanket. I invited Marge to take my seat so she could visit with Hank. She quickly declined, mumbled about coming back on a better day, and left. She was there maybe two minutes max. Her friend’s appearance so startled and distressed Marge that she fled.

I spent a few more minutes with Hank. I didn’t say much because I didn’t know what to say. I prayed for his comfort. I briefly held his hand and when I left I made sure one of the many CDs stacked by his bed was playing. I was shaken. As a chaplain it was one of those defining moments when I felt utterly inadequate to my task. As a human I felt ashamed and embarrassed. Ashamed that I was uncomfortable in Hank’s presence, that I was tongue-tied, that I spent more time worrying about my feelings than Hank’s. I was embarrassed for Marge, Hank’s friend, who couldn’t bring herself to spend more than two minutes with him. Later that week I grew angry – angry with the unit nurses who were too busy to help Hank, and angry with hospital standards that kept too few nurses busy with too many patients and too many protocols.

This is a portrait of ALS and it exposes our real challenge. There are thousands of Hanks in our country, in our hospitals, nursing homes and neighborhoods, hoping we will hear them cry out and come help. Certainly giving money to ALS research and other charitable health care organizations is a tangible way to help. And if you dumped an ice bucket on your head and raised awareness or you followed a link and educated yourself about the disease, I’m sincerely glad. But ten minutes of reading and a fifty dollar donation don’t meet the real challenge of ALS.

You may never know or meet someone with ALS, but chances are in your lifetime that you will know and love someone who will be diagnosed with a debilitating and/or degenerative disease. Whether it is ALS, multiple sclerosis, muscular dystrophy, or dementia, your challenge, if you choose to accept it, will be to offer your steadfast love.

Steadfast love is love that goes beyond sentiment and beyond the doorway. It’s love that moves forward through your fear and discomfort, knowing that your fears and discomforts are nothing compared to the one whose hand you hold. This love makes you pull up a chair, stay a while and come back tomorrow. It prompts you to bring his favorite book and read the best chapter aloud and then talk about what moved you. It inspires you to sing her favorite song through your tears or gently massage lotion on stiff fingers and cracked skin.

Love never treats a person like they are someone else’s problem, like they are a disease, a financial burden, or just a body in a bed. To love is to greet them by name and always treat them as a beloved. Even when they can no longer speak. Or when they’ve forgotten your name. And especially when they no longer sound, smell or feel like the person we once knew.

And when we run away, steadfast love asks us to forgive ourselves, to go back and try again.

This is what ALS asks of us. This is also what God wants of us. It’s a big, scary ask. But don’t forget, we have everything we need to meet it.

Love is the most beautiful expression of our humanity. Treating people as people, being involved in their care, showing them they are loved – until the day they die – this carries the scent of heaven. If we do this, then we offer the best help and meet life’s greatest challenge.

Holding-hands-comforting-an-elderly-lady

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Commanded to Love, Experts at Fixing

During a recent sermon, one of my fellow pastors asked a vital, if not the pinnacle question for all followers of Jesus: what does love require of me? 

Recently, several in our congregation shared with me their troubling circumstances.  All of them came to me hurt by the response of trusted friends and family.  They were seeking love, support or comfort but what they received instead was well-meant but overzealous advice-giving. 

Can you identify?  You know those situations where you share something personal and someone immediately says, “Well, have you tried…” or “what you need to do is…” or “what works for me is…”  When this happens, don’t you walk away feeling lonely, unheard, and frustrated?  The underlying problem here is that often our attempts to love each other turn into attempts to fix each other.

In 2010 I was unemployed for nine months.  As the months stacked up and my bank account dwindled, I became increasingly anxious and struggled with diminishing self-confidence.  I felt lonely and anonymous.  I was starkly aware of my inability to control my life.  It was painful stretching time for my faith and I couldn’t cope with it alone.  As I shared these challenges with the people I love, almost every one of them responded by asking if I proofread my resume, wrote good cover letters or needed to practice my interview skills.  Those conversations left me deflated.  I didn’t need someone to try to fix me or my problem – as if they could!  I needed people to listen to my story, to try to understand what I was feeling and to remember me in their prayers.  I wasn’t looking solutions but empathy and intercession!

As followers of Jesus Christ, we are called to bear one another’s burdens (Galatians 6:2), to love others like Christ loves us (John 13:34-35), and to love our neighbors as we love ourselves (Luke 10:27).  Sometimes it is appropriate to express our love through practical actions like providing meals, fixing a leaky sink or even editing resumes.  But if that is the only love we offer, then we’ve miss the opportunity to love the core of the person – their soul. 

All of us have sincere love and concern for others.  The real challenge is to translate the love we feel into acts of caring that are a balm that soothes rather than a bandage that just covers over an ugly wound.

How can we love each other in ways that avoid treating another person like a problem to be fixed?  How can we move beyond problem/solution focused love to person/soul focused love?  Here’s a little chart I made up to flesh out my understanding of the difference.  Under which column do you think you’d fit?

Problem/Solution focused Love

Person/Soul focused love
Feels the urge to fix Feels the urge to listen and understand
Makes comments Asks questions
Responds with “Have you tried?” etc. Responds with “That sounds ______. What is this doing to your heart/faith/confidence?”
Gives advice Assumes you have some valuable perspective on your own life and asks questions like: what do you think you need, what would help/support look like to you, what do you think will bring you comfort?”
Quotes scripture one-liners like a sage Inquires whether/how God has spoken into their situation through scripture reading or prayer
Go-to response: “I’m sorry.  I’ll pray for you,” which is often followed by an awkward silence, a quick escape and zero follow up. Realizes there is no go-to response.  Acknowledges the significance of the person and the problem by either asking to spend quality time together or referring them to someone who may better equipped to care for them.  Asks the person how to pray for them and follows up.

The first important step toward person/soul focused love is self-review.  We each need to unearth the answer to the question, “Am I someone who offers problem/solution focused love or someone who offers person/soul focused love?” 

Listening is a fundamental act of love.  It should be our first response to someone’s pain.  To love well, we must learn to listen well and that means resisting our cultural instincts to hurry or to allow ourselves to superficially hop through daily human interactions.  For many of us, listening is a call to put away or turn off our cell phones and sit face to face with someone – actions which have become far too rare! 

Sunday’s sermon reminded me that when we look into God’s commands we see the heart of the commander, which is love.  Christians, like all humans, are well-known for rushing into acts of either fixing our neighbors or escaping from them.  Maturing disciples must continually ask, “What does love require of me?”  Like the needle of a compass, that question will keep us moving toward true love.  We see true love expressed in the life and death of Jesus Christ.

(To listen to the sermon that inspired this reflection go to:  http://hopechurchchandler.com/sermons. The sermon is titled “Loophole Christians”)