Well, if you couldn't tell from the title, I'm feeling more than a little cranky. I'm telling you, getting old ain't for sissies. Now that I've got that out of my system... What really prompted this post is not the fact that I'm aging (and it would seem poorly, at that). It's that there is a lot of pain in the world and a lot of pain happening for a lot of people I know here. My heart is heavy and breaks for them. It's one of those things that you know if you could do something... anything... to relieve the suffering of a friend you would but there is simply nothing that can be done except to be present and listen. And that is something that can be a struggle for me (and I'm guessing some of you, too). The pain being experienced around me is everything from grief to sickness to loss to growing pains. It is truly important to say here that just because someone is experiencing a different pain it in no way diminishes your own. All too often I hear people say: "Yes, this is hard... but I try not to feel bad/talk about it because I know so many people have it so much worse." Ok, that is probably true, but that does not change the fact that this painful situation is your reality right now and you have absolutely no reason to hide it, deny it, or apologize for it. You are allowed to be sad and to hurt if something happens. It doesn't have to be the worst pain that was ever felt in the world in order to matter. You matter therefore your pain matters. I do have to add possibly one of my favorite things having said that you matter... I'm not even a science person and that makes me giggle. Anyways... back from that tangent. Pain. It really does seem to be everywhere. Something I read once said: "Don't just see the reaction, see the pain behind it." Basically, it is along the lines of the theory that behind every person who hurts others is a person who has been hurt. When people are in pain we do some of the darnedest things. We may lash out. It might be that if we hurt we want everyone around us to feel some of that pain, too. Because pain is lonely and we generally don't like to feel lonely. Or we may withdraw. Perhaps it is just too much and we don't want to have to keep answering the question: "Are you ok?" or "What's wrong?" This can be especially true when you can't quite put a finger on why you don't feel right, you just don't. Saying that can sometimes result in quizzical glances that can feel heavy with judgment. Or you might just plaster a smile on your face, say everything is fine, but those who know you can see the lines of stress around your eyes and around your smile. It's hard to force a smile to reach your eyes when you're in pain. Regardless, this world is hurting. I see it all the time on social media. Posts that are derogatory, which we know is not going to change one single thing, are shared repeatedly. People spend exorbitant amounts of time debating some topic on Facebook and both parties are just going to walk away feeling righteously indignant and as though they "won" the argument. (Let me just tell you, no one "wins" on a Facebook argument... we ALL lose.") How, then, can we respond to the pain a friend is experiencing? One common way I see happen that really isn't super helpful to the person in pain but really helps the comforter feel better is to play "magic fixer." This is where you try to "solve" the other person's problem, even if it's not something necessarily "fixable." Typical responses tend to be: "Well, maybe if you..." or "Don't worry, it will get better" or "the pain gets less, I swear." They are characterized by the feeling that if you can just 'fix' it or the person the pain disappears. The reasons this approach is often unhelpful are: 1) A lot of times there isn't a way to "fix" the problem. It's an issue that cannot easily be resolved. 2) More than likely your "solution" or quick-fix has either been tried or dismissed as not effective. So, unless the person you're talking with says: "Hey... I've got this problem, can you help me figure something out?" Offering solutions is not going to ease the pain. My husband is notorious for this. It got to the point where I had to learn to preface statements with: "I don't want you to try and fix this..." He appreciates the heads up and cue for what to do and it saves me the frustration of having to nix or shoot down unrequested "fixes." If it is unclear to you as to whether or not the person would like your help trying to fix the situation the best course of action is just to ask: "Would you like me to help you think through some possible solutions?" or "Would it help to try to talk through different avenues?" More than likely what your friend/partner/spouse/child is looking for when they come to you hurting is not a list of possible solutions, but rather just someone to listen. Not to listen with the intention of responding with a solution. But just to really hear what they are saying and to acknowledge their pain. It's truly a holy space when someone chooses to share in this way because it is an indicator of trust in you that you will hold their pain without belittling/dismissing them or trying to turn them into a project. This is also incredibly difficult as I mentioned earlier. Because most of us have been taught to listen with the intention to formulate a well-crafted response. Pain isn't rational. Pain does not expect nor need a well-crafted response. Pain demands to be felt. And sometimes that pain can be too much for one person to endure and so they seek out someone they trust to share their suffering and hopefully find a partner in shouldering this burden to make it even just a fraction lighter. Why is this hard? Most people do not like to see others in pain, especially those for whom we care. Our natural instinct becomes to try and get rid of what is causing the pain regardless of it is actually something that can be gotten rid of. In essence, then, we are fighting against our natural impulse to fix and instead, choosing to enter into the pain with the other person and just being. Acknowledging to them that, yes, this does indeed suck, and it is painful, and that their feelings aren't completely out of whack. It's providing a space to be angry, upset, and hurt without fear of judgment or repercussions. There aren't a lot of places that it is socially acceptable to just completely break down and react with whatever primal feeling is within you. To find that kind of space in a trusted person is like finding gold. It's something to be treasured and held dear. David is often that space for me. The space where I can go and yell or scream or cry about how unfair it all is, how much it hurts, and how I don't want this to be my reality without having to backtrack and explain or make excuses or apologies. He gives me the safe space in my life to just finally breathe. When I saw my therapist the other day, one of the first things out of my mouth was "I feel like I can't breathe. It's like I can't take a deep breath or everything is going to fall apart and hurt so much." In the midst of painful situations or difficult times we might hold our breath - figuratively or literally - just trying to power through. Yet, unfortunately, it can happen that you get through that first awful thing and find yourself walking right into another one. If this happens enough times in a row you haven't had the chance to stop and take that deep breath that will clear your mind and let you think rationally. This is why it's so important to have that person or people in your life who can be your breathing space. And it's why it's so important that we learn and practice the art of simply being with one another. Because you have no idea how long it's been since the other person has been able to take a deep breath. Well, I guess what I want to boil this all down to is to ask you to walk gently with anyone you encounter. You have no idea what weight, grief, sorrow or hurt they are bearing. Live gently. Leave space in your life for loved ones to breathe. And if you feel sorrow pulling you down find that safe person in your life who will just listen and provide you the room to finally breathe deeply once more.
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When I put it to Facebook to find out what my faithful fans wanted to hear about I received some interesting responses. One was what is the difference between hair and fur (I'm looking at you Adam Crammond). That one was simple. They are indistinguishable chemically, the difference comes in language. Fur is used for non-humans. Hoorah. Tune in next time... Just kidding. There were actually quite a few ideas that I really liked, but the first one that struck me was asking about how I came to be a pastor. This is a story that pastors really get used to telling this because it becomes a typical question at interviews, on visits, just about everywhere. I figure since origin stories seem to be all the rage right now (Wonder Woman, Guardians of the Galaxy, Wolverine (Logan), Deadpool, Superman, Iron Man, etc) that I would share my very own origin story. Cue the dramatic music. Close-up on a young Robyn... My mom and dad had me baptized when I was a baby. That was the start at least, when God claimed me in the waters of baptism. But then my wandering began, much like the Israelites I made my way into the desert and tried to see what else life would bring me. My parents weren't big church-goers so it didn't come up a lot in my house. A dear friend of mine was a very devoted Christian. He regularly attended worship and was always trying to get me to go with him. Through thick and thin he was there to support and care for me. But then, he got sick. Really, really sick. At 12 years old it all got so bad that he killed himself. I was lost and devastated. There really was nothing for me to wrap my mind around, nothing to anchor my grief in. This is what started my search for an answer, for meaning, for a reason. I started exploring churches. There are so many different churches out there. A lot of different ways to seek a higher power. The first church I sought informed me that suicide is a sin and basically that my friend was in hell. So... not helpful would be the most generous way to describe that response. I struggle to this day with how anyone could tell an impressionable 12 year old something that lacked any and all grace. For a while I couldn't bring myself to even look at any other churches. I thought that I was done. It just took my heart out and I felt bereft. As I slowly recovered from that fail I began to search again. There was a small ELCA Lutheran church just up the road from my house. Faith Lutheran Church. I decided I would check it out and since churches were always open (at least in movies) I went up one Wednesday evening. It just so happened that it was during Lent which made it actually true that the church was open and having mid-week worship. I peeked in and immediately the women who saw me brought me over with them, shared where they were in the service and helped me follow along. They showed me love and compassion from the moment I walked in the door. Following service the pastor of that congregation, Pastor Schluep, sat and talked with me all about my struggles, my doubts, my loss, my grief... He was absolutely amazing and I will never forget what he told me at the very end of that conversation: "God was never as close as when your friend was in his last moments. In your friends deepest pain God was with him through to the end." Those were exactly the words that I needed to hear. I do not think I will ever be able to adequately voice my gratitude for what Pastor Schluep did for me. My mom also started to attend mid-week services at Faith Lutheran and we went through their new member class. I absolutely adored that class, I couldn't get enough of what he was sharing with the class. Since there were no other youth going through any kind of confirmation program he decided to let me join the church and become an adult member because of my participation in the class. From that point on I wanted to be involved at the church. I began playing clarinet in the Saturday evening praise service. Since there was no youth group my mom helped me start one. I dragged any of my friends I could to go with me. I was the first one to volunteer to acolyte for all three hours of the Good Friday midday service (I LOVE GOOD FRIDAY). If the doors to the church were open, I was there. This is not to say I didn't struggle with faith. I very much did, it was hard to align the values of high school with the values of faith. I did not always live up to that challenge. Pastor Schluep mentored me through this all. He invited me to consider attending the national youth gathering that was going to happen in St. Louis that summer. Since no one else from our church was going he connected me with the bigger Lutheran church nearby since they had a large group going. I am grateful for that group, especially Krystl and Sarah. They were the ones that took me in and became my friends through the gathering. ELCA National Youth Gathering, 2000, theme: "Dancing at the Crossroads", 30,000 youth from across the country gathered to worship, serve and learn about faith. It was absolutely amazing. There were service project, giant inflatables, games, concerts, and speakers. One evening the speaker was Bishop Desmond Tutu. I remember being awestruck, especially since he had just been in the hospital (was still wearing the wristband). Unfortunately, I cannot tell you exactly what he said... but as I was listening to him I felt as though everything stilled and I felt the Holy Spirit rest on me. The whisper in my ear told me to become a pastor. I couldn't believe it... It didn't seem right. After all, I didn't have all the church-y experiences that kids have - Sunday school, VBS, camp (thank goodness), and I didn't know all the details of the Bible. I didn't think there was any way at all God could be calling someone like me to be in ministry. I decided to call God's bluff and when I got home from the Gathering I went to see Pastor Schluep. I told him that I thought God was calling me to be a pastor and he said "I thought that might happen." Which just shocked me to no end, he was the one that was supposed to tell me that I was mistaken and that I should look elsewhere. He also shared with me at this time that he was going to be retiring. (By the way, how great is the show "New Girl"? I watch this show when I'm relaxing.) Anyway, I had a bit of a breakdown. Pure panic set in because I was not sure I could handle my mentor, the one who brought me into the church, no longer being there. He thought it would be a good thing for my faith formation heading on the path to ordination if I went to a church with a steady pastoral presence and so I transferred over to Messiah Lutheran (which was the church which let me attend the youth gathering with their youth). They helped me in so many ways as I continued on my faith journey. During the summer after my senior year of high school I attended a three week program called "Summer Seminary Sampler" at Trinity Lutheran Seminary which let me get an idea of ways ministry happens in the world. It was an incredible experience and I couldn't wait to attend Trinity after I finished college. My college of choice was Wittenberg University in Springfield, Ohio. I majored in English literature and minored in Sociology. Met my best friends in the world. And believed that at some point God was going to show me how wrong I was in pursuing ministry and the right way would make itself clear. Well... That didn't happen. So, towards the end of college I went to meet with my synod's candidacy committee for my entrance interview absolutely positive there was no way they were going to tell me yes. I was absolutely terrified because it scared me to death to think about what would happen if they said yes and also what would happen if they said no. I'm guessing I don't need to say that they did, in fact, give me the green light to attend seminary. That is where I met my husband, had God continue to call my bluff, and eventually led me to ordination in the ELCA. That, though, is a whole other blog post.
Here ends my origin story... or maybe it is the beginning of another story... |
AuthorI've been Robyn for my whole life. I've been a wife for 10 years and a mom for 5 years. I've been a pastor for about 10 years. I'm still stumbling, but I'm still standing. Archives
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