When my daughter died, I was given some very wise words a few days later.
Another man who’d lost a child told me that when his son died he made the decision to receive everything as a gift. He decided to accept every comment, no matter how inane or inappropriate, as a gift — as the best that person had to offer at that time.
It’s advice I tried to practice and that I’ve now passed on to so many people.
So many insensitive things are said: “She’s in a better place.” “You must be glad he’s no longer suffering.” “God must have really needed her.”
But they’re usually said by caring, loving people who just don’t know what to say. And in saying SOMETHING, what they’re trying to say is this: “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say. I’d like to comfort you. I want you to know that you matter to me.”
Even if their words are lacking, perhaps even theologically suspect, it’s so helpful to receive the intentions of the heart and to say to yourself, “That’s the best they had to give at this moment.”
Sometimes there just are no words that truly comfort. But a person’s mere presence — an incarnational statement that you won’t have to go through this alone — is great comfort.
I still have so much to learn about going through grief. You have given sound advice, and given a good perspective from the “comment giver’s” point-of-view. Both of my parents died before the age of 55, and there are days when I just can’t seem to breathe. Other times, when my Christ family offers comfort, it seems enough just to know that that want to say anything at all–offer a hug, a smile, or share a story of their own.
(PS-We love Matt & Jenna here in H-town! I am the secretary for SWC).
Matt Elliot (of “Balloon Calves Productions” fame — mattelliot.blogspot.com) has had some great words about/to people who say careless things to those who are grieving. I think he even posted a “things not to say” list at one point. If Blogger were easier to search, I would have specific links. But maybe Matt himself will show himself and provide some links to his stuff on grief (and appropriateness).
Good words, Mike. Accepting everything as a gift — especially seemingly thoughtless words that sting a grieving person — is difficult. But I have a hunch that it’s probably “what Jesus would do.”
It seems that we have lost the power of presence. In our efforts to “fix” everything and everyone in the shortest time possible, we have all but lost the incredible impact of just being with a person in their grief. Job’s friends did, I think, were doing just what he needed, until they opened thier mouths.
That is fabulous advice. Thanks for passing it along.
“Awkward silence” is actually sensitive conversation in these kinds of situations.
Thanks for the post Mike.
Mike,
This is very good and helpful. This is such an important reminder for contexts even beyond grief. It is a reminder to me to be gracious when someone makes remarks and their intention is to encourage. It is so easy to get overly focused on “what” they said. Thanks.
Long ago I heard a well-meaning pastor say on local TV news after the senseless and violent death of a young person, “We have no words…” I was aghast at the time, thinking, “We are the people of God, and we ‘have no words’?
I am convicted that Jesus is the only appropriate word at such times, recognizing that I have much to learn about the best ways to invoke his name.
He is appropriate because he understands Untimely Death. “See how he loved him!” He understands (embodies) the Suffering of the Innocent. And through the Great Injustice of his death, even Unfair Capital Punishment, the Father worked to begin the undoing of all harms.
“For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses…”
Oh yes, we have a Word.
The best thing we can offer is what Greg said earlier: presence; just being there. Not tooting my own horn, but I learned this early in ministry when a student died that was a part of our group. I hung out around the family (I say “around” because I never really felt “with” them) for a couple of days. I don’t remember saying more than a couple of sentences in total (mainly because I was at a loss…). I received the most amazing letter a few months later letting me know that my presence did not go unnoticed by the family and they didn’t think that they would have made it through it if I wasn’t there. “I” didn’t “DO” anything. God was there through me (thankfully).
Mike, Thank you for the words of wisdom. One rule of thumb I try to practice is, “what would I say in ANY culture - one in which I can’t speak the language?”
My face would say I’m sorry. My tears might speak up too. My hands would reach and my arms hold and my body would shout, “I’m here with you! I love you!”
I wouldn’t (and don’t) use words. I couldn’t. Truth be told, I shouldn’t.
I preached yesterday on grief. Our church is filled with people who have suffered the devastating loss of children, as well as scores of other untimely losses. Parents here have had their children murdered (2 families), run over by drunk drivers, killed in a plane crash, killed in car accidents (several), killed in a 4 wheeler accident. The pain is intense for many. I asked the father of one who was killed while piloting a small plane to be up there with me and share with the church how him and his family have been able to experience healing. He did a wonderful job of letting people know what they felt, what helped and what hurt the most in their journey to heal.
The reason I’m writing this is to let you know I shared the words you posted a while back from your brother Randy on the loss of their son and your nephew Jantzen. Those words really ministered to some hurting folks yesterday and just wanted to say thank you to Randy for writing them and you for posting them.
When my stepdaughter, Kim, died suddenly and without warning four years ago at age 33, close member’s of Tom’s family said things such as you describe above Mike and it was awful for him because he has such difficulties with his faith in many ways to begin with.
The words left him in bitter tears of grief and much more anguish than he already felt. There was nothing I could do to console him. I did take the opportunity about four days later to tell him I did not agree with what had been said and to explain how I saw things in a much different way. That eased him a bit, but the impact was still harsh.
You can probably relate the fact that his grief and loss kept magnifying for a long while rather than diminishing. By the time of the first anniversary of her death he was inconsolable and disconsolent. I feared he would never recover.
I prayed and prayed about it asking God what should I say or do. The answer I received back was to say and do NOTHING - except to read from God’s word and then pray with him. He wanted to go to her grave on the first anniversary of her death and we did. Without saying a word, I took along my Bible in which I had marked a couple of passages about death and heaven and resurrection. Words of Jesus found in John and John’s vision in Revelation.
I began to read aloud at her graveside and before I could finish, Tom was in tears. I prayed and then we went to sit beneath a nearby tree strung with sets of chimes and bells people had left. I was silent and did not speak or move for probably 15 or 20 minutes.
Finally, he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and began to talk from his heart. He poured out to me all he had been thinking and feeling for so long that he had kept inside. We sat there as I listened and he talked for probably close to an hour.
From that day forward, he began to get better and to heal. He became and has become a much different person than the man he was four years or even three years ago. I learned from that experience some lessons. I came to see that all people in grief and anguish need is the comfort and solace of a loving person near them until they can talk or even think. A couple of carefully chosen passages from God’s Word can help, but so can silence and quiet presence. I think that quiet, calm prescence is perhaps the best gift of all.
Dee
In Charlie Walton’s book–”When There Are No Words,” he tells about his grief when two adult sons and one of their friends died at the same time.
I keep a copy of his book to hand to friends, a week or so after their loss: He writes in simple language about practical things for the grieving such as not being able to take a deep breath for about three weeks, about the literal hole that somehow shows up in your body, like a part of you has been “ripped away without benefit of anethesia.”
I heard his presentation at an ACU lecture several years ago. From his book and lecture, I learned to give hugs without words, to find something to do to help the family–pick up people at the airport, polish shoes, manage the overflow of food, etc. I also learned to share a story about the “living” person and how they had positively affected my life.
From Charlie about unhelpful words: “At the time when there are no words…’Just turn it over to the Lord’ sounds like it ought to be quite a helpful line. It wasn’t for us. We smiled and said ‘Thanks’ but we would not have relieved ourselves of the pain and the hurting if we could have. Part of us had died and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to hurt…to hurt unberably…to hurt with a pain that could not be taken away.”
About accepting consolations: “You need to see that they have come. They have come with pain on their faces. They have come with faces yearning to speak comfort. These are pictures you need to see…but turn off the sound.”
Charlie and Kay’s treasures: “We remember with pleasure the things people shared with us about ‘our living boys.’”
In the chapter “Every Hug Dilutes the Pain,” Charlie says, “It seemed to me that every hug helped to dilute the pain a little more…that every sincere hugger carried away a small quantity of the mountain Kay and I were facing.”
Thank you, Mike, for reminding us that it is OK to simply weep with those that weep. And, thank you for patterning grace.
Wow. Wise man.
I’m afraid I’m still agast about some of the things people said after our son died, and it’s been almost 14 years. I don’t think I’ve ever thought that they intended to be hurtful though, but more that their well intentioned attempts at consolation were very misguided.
I do wonder sometimes how people can be so clueless about how things like that will be received by a grieving person.
Marilyn Lewis taught me this very important lesson when her husband died. I remember going to the funeral home for visitation with my mom. I didn’t really know Marilyn or anyone in the family; I was just there with Mom. But something stirred in me as we walked past the coffin and as I saw some many people from my Highland family reaching out to comfort Marilyn and the kids. After my mom hugged her, even though I didn’t know her, I wanted to be able to say something or do something to offer comfort. Marilyn seemed to read that in me and reached out and let me hug her. She seemed to know that I wanted to say something and couldn’t, and she whispered in my ear, “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.” Those words have stuck with me ever since, and I have used them to guide me as I minister to others who are hurting. Thank you for this reminder, Mike, and for the reminder when we are on the receiving end of unhelpful comments that as fallen creatures, we have to accept each other’s feeble attempts because they were made with love, and that is the most important thing to remember.
Let me take a moment to plug Philip Yancey’s book, “Where is God When it Hurts?” He addresses the issue of pain, suffering, and death in a theological framework that is brilliant. His words echo what you are talking about today, Mike.
Wisdom, as usual, is easer said than done.
Steve, Jr. — thanks for the shout-out. Here is the post I believe you’re referring to.
Good stuff as always, Mike. Much of what I’ve learned about grief over the years has come from watching and listening to you as you’ve shared your feelings so publicly. Thanks for that.
OK, folks — Go read Matt’s post now. It’s a great supplement to Mike’s thoughts today.
Wow! That’s something I’ve been thinking about the last week in relation to the first section of Galatians 6. I couldn’t figure out how creative I could be to comfort others, confron them about sin in a humble and gentle way, or even show people how much I do care for them.
After I taught the class on Galatians 6, God immediatley sent 2 people to me (without me even asking or knowing) for me to pray with them and talk to them. It was truly grabbing at my heart and quite an experience.
Your statement about simply being incarnational- physically being there with an understood “you aren’t alone” and “this isn’t your own battle.” THAT IS IT! It’s becoming much clearer as to what God is been working on inside of me for the last 6 months. He wants my attitude to change and it’s hurting me- but it’s working.
Thanks Mike for that message!
My friend and I decided years ago that when you know that people love you, they can say anything and you know that they mean well…that they just want to be there for you. It is harder to take the wrong words from those who you aren’t sure that they love you. My human side takes over then and wants to be angry but you are right, Mike, I need to take it all as a gift.
Following the death of my father-in-law, as I saw how different people interacted with my mother-in-law, I realized the following truth which echoes what you’re getting at Mike.
Saying the wrong thing to someone who’s lost a loved one is not the worst thing you can do. The worst thing you can do is to not acknowledge that this person has lost someone dear and precious to them, to see them and pretend that nothing has happened or worse yet, to studiously avoid them because you don’t want to deal with a (potentially) awkward moment. What I’ve learned to say from others is, “I’m so sorry for your loss. Please know that I love you and care about you.”
I often share this quote with others as we learn how to be genuinely present in each others’ lives.
“The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing… not healing, not curing… that is a friend who cares.” – Henri Nouwen
I rushed some friends as soon as I heard the news that their son had committed suicide. I simply said “I don’t know what to say, I just know I needed to be here.”
I think it’s interesting to note that even Job’s friends sat in silence with him for seven days and nights. Then they opened their mouths, and inserted their feet. As much as they are criticized by God for their foolish words, one must wonder what God thinks of our inability at times to be silent with our grieving brothers and sisters.
I try to always assume the best from people. Too many times have I looked negatively at something someone said or did only to find out it was the best they had to offer. Thank you for the words from experience they are truly meaningful to those of us who have not been down that road yet.
I think the one that almost made me scream in the funeral home after the death of my husband “You’re young, you’ll marry again.”
Add to the list, “All things work together for good,” “you’ll be together in Heaven,” and “time heals all wounds.” Ouch.
When Lazarus died, Jesus wept. It was His first and foremost reaction. “We do not weep as those with no hope…” but indeed we weep.
Culturally it is difficult for us to stand and weep instead of jump up and fix it…even when we can’t fix it. The ability to grieve is just as important as our ability to laugh, to forgive, to recover, to persevere.
As someone has posted, I am so thankful for the hugs, the “I’m so sorry”s, the “I don’t know what to say”s, and the powerful message of enduring presences.
Timely discussion for many folks I know. Thanks, Mike.
Thanks Mike. You may not realize just how much your words can mean to someone on any given day. I found out yesterday that I was miscarrying my first child and it was such a gift from God to read your words today. I am so thankful for my church family and will now purposefully not pay attention so much to what they are saying through this difficult time but praise God for the fact that they are there for me comforting me the best way they know how.
This post has amazing timing for me. We just lost a precious sixth grade girl at my school. I had met her several times and have her eighth grade brother in my competition theatre class. I have been so wrought with grief for them. I completely agree that this is a time when presence is much more powerful and meaningful than any words could ever be. It will be an interesting time as her brother returns to school. It will be inevitable that some other student will say something that might not be the most comforting, or even hurtful. It is hard to watch such young children trying to sort through their own grief as well.
This reminds me that I am, like you, an “already, but not yet” kind of Christian…As we eagerly anticipate Christ’s return, I want to be that shoulder that is there for someone to cry on, an ear that doesn’t mind the screaming and a heart that acknowledges the realness of the pain we can feel. Come quickly, Lord Jesus.
Mike, you are right about people meaning well. There just are words good enough to heal the hurt. Only God can do that. We just try to express the love in our hearts and the concern we feel for others. It doesn’t always come out right…but we try.
Being both a preacher (30 years) and a funeral director, I see this all the time. We can say amazingly stupid things. Thanks for sharing the perspective of your friend. However, for the most part, we are not very good at receiving gifts either.
After my second miscarriage, when I though my heart would break from disappointment, my sister called and said these beautiful words to me “…I don’t think there are any words for me to say that will make you feel better. So I am calling to listen.” And she did. The only words she spoke were ones that validated my feelings at the time. I truly believe it is then that I began to heal.
When my daughter attempted suicide, I was so devastated that I don’t even remember what people said to me at first. Not a lot of people knew about it, but the ones who did may have had such a hard time dealing with it, that maybe they didn’t say anything - so that could account for not hearing much. Because what do you say? Eventually cards started coming in. I do remember one friend sending the most beautiful bouquet of flowers and telling me on the card that I was the most awesome person that she knew. It sounds so egotistical, but my worth as a person and mother was so low at that time because I felt at fault that hearing her words gave me comfort.
Now I am anticipating the death of my mother. I have just returned from her bedside where I sit every night and read to her and help her get ready for bed. So many of her friends have been such a kind help to her and us in the five years that she has been sick, that when she does die, anything that they say to me and my other family members will be like the immediate family voicing their hurts too. We’ve all been in it together.
Cindy
Death is the lowest common denominator shared by all humanity. I am so glad we worship a God who stood at the tomb and wept! He understands our feelings. Jesus is the balm of Gilead; but, his healing touch is administered by the arms of his incarnate body the church.
During the three miscarriages we had in 2003, I had more than my share of “This is God’s way of saying this isn’t the right time for a baby” - type comments. And “Oh, I know someone who had FOUR miscarriages — and then she had a baby that died of SIDS!” That made me feel TONS better, thanks. I know people were trying, but some days I just didn’t want to go to church so I wouldn’t have to listen to all of it.
What ministered to me more than anything was the silent hug of my friend Jennifer, who was dying of lymphoma and was having to wear a mask for protection from germs. She wasn’t supposed to have close contact with anyone but she hugged me anyway when she learned of my third miscarriage. She was a true friend.
God bless you, brother. Thank you for keeping “the gifts” flowing through your life. -bill
Do not talk in the presence of young children as if they can’t hear you. I remember after my father died someone saying, “David is really too young to understand what is going on.” I heard those same words echoed again by my grandmother (his mother) years later. “But you were so young.”
As C.S. Lewis said, “Talk to me about the truth of religion and I’ll listen gladly. Talk to me about the duty of religion and I’ll listen submissively. But don’t come talking to me about the consolations of religion or I shall suspect that you don’t understand.”
The Jewish Tractate Semachot/on Mourning says something to the effect that the one who asks the grieving how they are for the first 30 days is cursed (really bad paraphrase, but I don’t have a copy with me and it’s been a few years).
I think we do forget the value of silence. I remember when I was a child, after losing a dear friend. So many people said so many things intended to be helpful… most of them weren’t, and some hurt instead. The greatest comfort came from a friend who wasn’t a Christian, who had lost one of her friends to suicide a short time before… she held me, let me cry, and then said “It will be okay. Not soon, but eventually it will be okay.” I’ve tried to keep that in mind when dealing with death ever since.
To receive everything as a gift may be some of the best advice I’ve heard… I wish I’d heard it years ago. Thanks for sharing!
I lost my daughter on February 1st of this year, she was 28 and had suffered from breast cancer for two years. People have said all kinds of foolish things, but yes, I believe they all meant well. The best things ever shared with me were the stories of Elizabeth. I received a card from a friend of hers a few weeks ago in which she shared times Liz had told her how glad she was that I was her mom. I will forever cherish that card. You just want to talk about and hear about your child.
I lost my kid brother 2 years ago to cancer, and at the time, I knew exactly what I wanted to hear. I remember coming back to school and someone saying: “Well, at least you didn’t miss finals,” and “You must be glad that he wasn’t sick all through senior year.”
But now, it’s weird, I still don’t know what to say to people. I just remember that there were some people I wanted to have around me, and some, if they had even come near me, I remember being truly vicious. I do agree with everyone who said listening is the key. I’m not sure if there are ever the “right” words to say, I’m not sure what they are, or how I would even phrase them. I do know that having someone to just listen to me is important. And most of all, to have someone there who will wait patiently until you can talk. I felt like silence was the answer, and it took me a year to come to terms with my grief.
And you’re so right about young kids. They understand more than we give them credit for.
If nothing else, just hug the person. Never underestimate the power of a hug.
And if it’s a sibling…remind the other children they’re important. Just a thought.
PreacherMike, my name is Terri and I work at Harding. My mom has a friend that she teaches with that is in a very difficult situation/time in her life right now and I thought maybe you could help. Angie had a baby boy a couple months ago, Parker Hendley. The family was suprised to find out that Parker had Down Syndrome. The diagnosis was wrong and they have gone through so many different diagnoses that their heads are still spinning. The most recent one was that Parker has a rare genetic disorder (Zellweger?) and will not make it past 5-6 months. I know there is not much that anyone can say to comfort Angie and her husband but my mom wanted to get her a book that might help make the next few months bearable. Is there anything that you suggest? I appreciate reading your blog and would appreciate any insight you may have. Thanks,
-Terri Lee
tdlee@harding.edu
http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/parkerhendley
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