Made Well: Finding Wholeness in the Everyday Sacred Moments by Jenny Simmons

Author:Jenny Simmons [Simmons, Jenny]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: REL012120, Spiritual healing, Healing—Religious aspects—Christianity, REL012130
ISBN: 9781493405459
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2016-10-04T00:00:00+00:00

Showing Up

We are not always gracious with one another’s limps because we are unsure of what to do with them. Do we acknowledge the limp? Pretend it isn’t there? Have pity? Pride? What do we say when the limp is obvious?

There was a woman at my aunt Debbie’s funeral who was missing a leg. I saw my incredibly inquisitive little cousin circling her like a vulture, and before any of us could reach him, he looked her in the eyes and said loud enough for the entire funeral parlor to hear, “Hey lady, where’d your leg go?!” The adults in the room were mortified. I can’t remember her response verbatim, but it was jovial and something along the lines of a shrug and a simple “I lost it!” This seemed to satisfy my toddler cousin. Yep. She lost it. Well, that settles that.

Sometimes it is hard for the well ones to show up for the limpy ones. We have so many fears. What if we go at the wrong time? What if we are intruding, or don’t bring an appropriate gift, or say the wrong words? What if we accidentally blurt out, “Hey lady, where’d your leg go?!” Or worse, we burst into tears and offer nothing to the mix but our own sorrow. So often when we feel the Holy Spirit prompting us to step into someone’s heartache and brokenness, we let the voices of doubt, fear, and pride rob us of the opportunity to be a part of that person’s healing process. Sadly, sometimes the value of our own schedules running according to plan trumps our availability to show up for one another. How many times have we forfeited our rights as God’s active agents of healing in another person’s life because we talked ourselves off a ledge and remained quiet, safe, practical, on schedule, or out of the way?

I will always remember the first couple that came into Sarah’s hospital room after Maggie and Ellen died. They weren’t put together or perfect, and they both began to weep as soon as they walked through the doors. The wife said, “I don’t even have words, sweetie. I’m so sorry. I just . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she looked down at the blue Dillard’s gift box she was holding. Then she looked up. “Silk pajamas? I brought pajamas.” And she quietly held the box out. It was one of the most beautiful acts of love I have ever seen.

This couple wasted no time. They didn’t call ahead or worry about being in the way. They came even though they knew the best they had to offer were tears and silk pajamas. And when I stopped them at the door to warn them that the girls—tiny, lifeless babies—were still in the room, they went inside anyway and bore up under the weight of crushing grief with our family. I will never forget them.

On a previous day, as the long weeks wore on and we waited for the

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