I am the queen of strange injuries, allergies, and illnesses. For instance, a few weeks ago, while drying the dishes after my sister-in-law washed them, a cup full of silverware tipped over on the counter. One of them—an innocent-looking table knife—fell on the top of my foot, slicing a tendon. That tiny tendon’s main job was to make my next-to-baby toe mobile. Without it’s efforts, that toe has retired from service to his four brothers. It flops. It gets annoyingly tucked under the toes that flank him on either side. In other words, it’s worthless.
When I’m sitting for a period of time, I forget the accident happened. There’s no sharp pain and it stopped bleeding long ago. But as soon as I stand up, and walk barefoot across my floor, I remember. When it fails to clear a door threshold and I nearly lose a toenail, I think, “Oh, yeah. That’s right…I forgot.”
This is what it can feel like to live with an ongoing sorrow. The original, agonizing pain may be gone but there’s a dull ache that remains.
This pain may be the result of the death of a loved one or the end of a marriage. It may be the mourning of the life that was never realized—never married, never had children, never became that person. There may be moments when you don’t think about what or who is missing, but those moments are fleeting. Before you can settle into breathing without this sorrow bearing down on your chest like an anvil, a photo or a note reminds you of what’s been lost (or never found).
When C.S. Lewis lost his wife, he wrote about grief. He said, “The death of a beloved is an amputation.” You can survive it, but the sorrow remains. “No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning.”
So how does one live with this kind of relentless sorrow? Find someone to help you carry it. Even if it’s been months or years or even decades since you came face to face with your personal nightmare, speak it to another person. Now, it can’t be just anybody. The listening ear you’re looking for should be empathetic. He should not say phrases like: “Well, you think that’s bad…” or “It could be worst. At least…” This listening friend isn’t there to repair or change history. He’s there to absorb a bit of the pain, to say: “I’m so sorry.”
We were never promised an easy life. In fact, Christians are assured of persecution. But we’re also called to carry one another’s burdens. If you are overwhelmed by sorrow, find someone to listen to your story today.
