The secret of living well is not in having all the answers
but in pursuing unanswerable questions
In good company.
Rachel Naomi Remen
When my son was three, he decided that, in our bedtime routine, he would be the “pointer.” After my husband finished telling stories, our daughter, then five, would run down the hallway yelling for me to come to our bedroom for prayer time. This was my son’s cue to position himself in the hallway, crouch low and point the way for me. He took this role very seriously, sometimes using the fingers on both hands to direct my way, especially when I seemed slightly unsure about the location of my bedroom.
We all need people- traveling companions and pointers to help us find our way home.
A traveling companion is someone willing to sit in the darkness with us, right in the middle of those excruciating “unanswerable why’s.” Someone who has developed ways to be present and compassionate with his or her own dark places. Someone who is willing to suffer with us. Compassion literally means “suffer with.”
Compassion mirrored through another person awakens compassion in ourselves, and compassion always moves us to better places. It is a trustworthy pointer directing us toward home and healing.
Not everyone, of course, is able to mirror compassion. Sometimes people say things like, “Just give it to God” and run for the nearest door. Or they offer the perfect quote, diet or guru-therapist they are sure will fix the problem. Some offer explanations, such as, “It must have been his time to go.” Or, “This will make you a stronger person.” None of these statements were helpful to me in the aftermath of losing my brother or in facing other disappointments and loss.
Human relationships are vulnerable, and vulnerability is scary, particularly if we have been deeply hurt of have been previously mistreated. But I am learning that connecting with others is a non-negotiable if I want grief to heal and be transformed. I need to start slowly. I take my cues from the Hokey Pokey: I put my right foot in then I take it out. I put it back in and shake it all about.
The truth is, there is no substitute for human presence, and that’s what it’s really all about.
Taken from the book Broken Hallelujahs: Learning to Grieve the Big and Small Losses of Life, by Beth Slevcove, InterVarsity Press, 2016.