REMEMBER THE ORPHAN’S POSTURE
Imagine yourself receiving this news. The paperwork for the child your family has been waiting to adopt from overseas is finally finished. Your new son is from war-torn Sudan. He lost both his parents in the relentless bombing and desperately needs a new home as soon as possible. Elated, you fly to the country and make plans to visit the orphanage where he has been living for the past year. You have brought a couple of presents to give to him and you stop to pick up some balloons that morning to commemorate this wonderful occasion. When you arrive, the director of the orphanage takes you aside. “You will have to re-think the way you are going to greet him,” she says. “All he has seen are the ravages of war. He trusts no one and rarely comes out of the corner of his room.”
This is the posture of the orphan. Withdrawn, suspicious, distant. How will you adapt your plan to meet him? You will pray a lot. You will hold back the balloons, maybe even the gifts initially. You will slower your pace, call his name softly, kneel down to eye level. You will try to encourage a moment of eye contact so he can see the love in your eyes. You will pray for God to give you some kind of tender gesture to build a thread of credibility. You know it’s going to be a slow process. Much time will pass before you will have a child who knows how to receive love. Normal life is quite far off.
Why do I have you imagine this scene? Because many of us will be called upon to care for someone severely wounded and/or in a condition where they can’t speak. For some, their life-story has been such that they feel they are only safe if they stay away from people. They have been tucked away behind a wall of mis-trust. Or, others are in ICU, in and out of a coma, on life support, and can’t speak. They may look at you now and then but there are no words. How comfortable will you be in their presence? The learned ways you use to reach everyone else will not be effective for this person. Cards, flowers, or a phone call will not do it.
It’s time to re-assess. Coming to sit with them, praying their story, respecting their fear and being willing to make slow progress, these are some of the things required. God will help you customize efforts to win trust and impact their heart. He knows how they are made, knows their story, and He is the only One who knows perfectly how to build a bridge. He excels with non-verbals. “I’ll pour robust well-being into her like a river. You’ll nurse at her breasts, nestle in her bosom, and be bounced on her knees. As a mother comforts her child, so I’ll comfort you.” Isaiah 66:12-13 These are all gestures that don’t require talking. Nestling, bouncing, nursing, comforting. There are times when words aren’t enough but God is not limited in love language. Nor are we. Though we may be initially uncomfortable, love carries us through the discomfort. God will show us how to do what so few are willing to do.
Some of your most powerful miracles with people didn’t involve words. Breathing on your disciples, urging Elisha to lay on the dead child of the Shunamite woman. I am willing to reach out and be unconventional for the sake of someone who needs You. Use me, Lord. Amen
When I am hurting, it’s easy to get stuck in my own head. The events of my life swirl round and round and hold me captive. “Are you having a good day today?” is unhelpful for it invites a one-word answer and does nothing to help me find any relief. I may need to talk but have no idea where to start. Most of the time, people are shy of someone who hurts. The darkness is intimidating and they feel the pressure of thinking they have to have answers. The real gift is expressing a love that is interested enough to ask the question. It’s often the only time someone who is afflicted is invited to say what desperately needs to be said, to admit what they have borne alone, and to reveal what has tormented them but has never before found words.
The person who needs it would be very discouraged if they knew that many who promised to pray didn’t do it. It’s a good thing Jesus prays for us continually. We are never in a position where we have no one talking to the Father about us. Jesus sits at His Father’s side at this very moment and is praying for each of us with great detail, with sensitivity, and with divine knowledge.
If the best one to reach someone in pain is another who has survived the same pain, that should give me direction in knowing how to reach out to people I love with whom I can’t relate. If I have not experienced what they are enduring, there is someone not too far away who has. My role would be to network them. Introduce them. Plan a lunch or an afternoon just to hang out. The survivor will quickly discern the needs of the one who is currently in the fire.
What is it you can plan for someone who is declining, one who is losing hope? Maybe it’s to keep a single mother’s child for a day or a weekend. Maybe it’s to take someone who is housebound on a long drive through the country. Maybe it’s to take a music lover to a symphony. Maybe it’s to treat someone to a nice lunch at their favorite restaurant. Maybe it’s to take someone suffering from Alzheimers on a walk outdoors. We take for granted the freedom to get out of the house, get some fresh air and feel energized. The goal is to offer something that will help someone in decline, physically or emotionally, rally for a time because they have something to look forward to.
When my mother lived out her two year battle with cancer, I was blessed to live less than two hours away and could visit her every few weeks. On those days, I made a habit of stopping at a store in upstate New York called The Silver Strawberry. It was the place to go if you needed silk or dried flowers, baskets, pots and mosses. My mother liked to go and browse there, often coming home with the makings for a small flower arrangement. When she was no longer able to easily leave the house, I created a ritual for our visits. I’d stop at the store on the way to visit her and purchase everything we’d need to create an arrangement together. This became our shared experience for the day. She’d have the coffee ready when I pulled in the yard. As she became too weak to participate, she’d take a nap, I’d make the arrangement by myself, and watch her face get excited when it was time to see it.