The First Days

I don't mean to brag, but my daughter is a pro at first days of school. She's Six, and just had her 5th first day of school. Ha ha. Preschool, Kindergarten in TX, Kindergarten in UT, Kindergarten in AK and now first grade. My daughter has officially been to as many schools as I went to K-12. Ha ha.

Anyway, every year she's excited and a bit nervous. We go over outfits trying to find the perfect one, pack her bag, decide what to put in her lunch and have countless conversations like this one: "Don't forget to say please and Thank you, Listen to your teacher, be nice to the kids, Mommy loves you, I will see you after school, what's your bus number? Don't forget that number! Tell me one more time, which bus do you get on?" Her reply is always "I know mom, you told me a million times already!" I can't help but have a minor panic attack while she confidently walks straight to her desk and informs me "I will ride the bus tomorrow, you don't have to drive me. You didn't have to drive me today." Sigh. You'd think she was a teenager, but nope, at six s she's hardly nervous and makes friends almost instantly. Every year we take first day of school photos, I looked at them the other day and was shocked how much she has changed already.

From Preschool with her too big backpack and little uniform tightly clutching my hand asking me to sit with her for a little while, to a girl that wants to ride the bus because it's more fun than having mom take you. I'm excited to see what the future brings. It's hard to give her more freedom, learn to let her do things without me but as I see her confidence grow and watch her make good decisions for herself I can't help but be proud of the person she is becoming.

 

She likes school enough that she even wants to be a teacher when she grows up. I hope she continues to love it.

Please don't forget to raise your hand.

"Are we going to get to dissect frogs?! My sister says we're dissecting frogs."

"No, we will not be dissecting frogs. "

*Sounds of disappointment*

"What's THAT?" 

"That's the emergency shower."

"...why would we need a shower in the middle of class?"
"In case we spill chemicals on us."

"Exactly. If we were to do an experiment with some dangerous chemicals and some were spilled on you- you could use the shower to wash them off."

"...or if you caught fire!"

"Well- if you caught fire you should probably stop, drop, and roll- not run to the shower."

"If someone pulled the shower, there would be water all over your floor."

"Yes- if the shower were pulled in an emergency, there would be water on the floor, but there's a drain on the floor so it would be alright."

*Everyone frantically twists and turns around in their seats to try and see the drain on the floor.*

"What would happen if someone pulled the shower on when there wasn't an emergency."

"If you turn the shower on and it isn't an emergency- you will get an automatic referral. So don't do it."

*Some students nod...other look like they are thinking really hard.*

"But what if you tripped and accidentally turned on the shower?"

"You'd still get a referral.  So you better just be safe and stay away from the shower.  We aren't going to be working with dangerous chemicals so you shouldn't need to be anywhere near the shower."

"What about the eye-wash?"

"The eye-wash is also just for emergencies, to rinse out your eyes if you had something in them."
"Is it just water or does something special come out?"
"Just water."

"Regular tap water?"

"Regular city tap water."
"It comes out really fast and it stings doesn't it."
"Uhhhh...it comes out fast enough to rinse out whatever is in your eyes."

*Some students cringe and rub their eyes like they are imagining jets of "special" water shooting at them.*

"...so why doesn't the shower have glass around it?"

"The shower is JUST FOR EMERGENCIES.  No one will be using the shower."

"What are those things on the tables?"

"Those are the gas and air valves in case we were hooking up Bunsen burners or something."

"Is gas flammable?"

"Yes."

*The entire class goes wide-eyed and start turning and whispering to each other*

"But they aren't hooked-up right now so even if you twist the knob, nothing would happen- no gas would come out."

*They all look disappointed and stop whispering.*

 -----------------------------------------------

Middle school Science class is a big deal.  We're in a fancy Science Lab, and as I handed my wide-eyed 6th graders their first-ever syllabus, I felt a surge of pride to be able to be a part of this experience for them.

This is my third year teaching middle school science- but my first year teaching exclusively 6th grade.  With a degree in elementary education, and some time in 7th and 8th grade under my belt, I feel like I've really come "home" with this group.  I keep reminding myself that it's only been one day.  And this is definitely going to be part of the "honeymoon" period... but like every year I have high hopes.

I have always loved school.  Maybe that’s why I became a teacher.

I’m one of those people.  The ones that get a surge of giddy-excitement when the school-supplies go on sale.  I have stacks of empty journals I can’t bring myself to write in.  They’re so new.  So clean.  I don’t want to mess them up.

There’s something really appealing about a fresh start.  And as a school teacher, I get one every August.  I could write volumes on my school experiences both as a student and as a teacher…and in a few years when my kids start school- I’ll be able to add “parent” to that list as well.

But for now- it’s the first week of school- and tomorrow will only be day two.  There will be a fresh batch of questions to answer- and my tired brain needs to get some sleep.  Even with a newborn I’m not quite used to getting up at 5 am.  There’s just something unnatural to me about being awake before the sun.  But I’ll do it- because I want to be there early.  I want to be ready for their questions.  Because I’m a teacher.  And that’s what we do.

Now get some sleep… it’s a school night after all!

Excuse Me Teacher, Can I Get a Pass?

I am lazy, let's just get that out of the way right now.

Whew. I feel better. Now that you know that one little fact, everything I'm about to say will make sense.

It's almost that time...time to go back to school. Most parents feel at least a little excited about this. Not me. I'm not excited. And as awful as this sounds, it's not because I am just so depressed to be away from my kids all day. I'm actually sort of thankful that they will have something productive to do. Due to the fact that I'm lazy, we don't do much around here during the summer. Ya know those really cool moms who takes their kids to the pool and the park and the beach and the movies? I love those moms. I love to wave at them from my window while I sit on my couch with a big bowl of ice cream.

But I digress.

Missing my kids is not why I dread "back to school" time. The real reason? I'm lazy.

Back to school means an end to my laziness. Okay, it actually just means that my laziness has to be hidden under the blanket of back to school nights, soccer practices, art shows, school plays and class parties. I have to, ya know, put on legit clothes...including a bra. I have to shower and brush my teeth and...well, okay, the shower doesn't always happen. Two words people, dry shampoo.

Back to school means I have to be at least a little organized. Did you know that at school, they don't just throw the kids a box of Eggos at lunchtime and say "good luck"? Overachieving weirdos. Because of this, I have to pack lunches. Fun fact, Eggo waffles don't taste so great when they've been in a lunchbox for four hours...I've heard.

But my laziness has bigger problems than packing lunches and putting on pants. And that bigger problem has a name. Homework. I despised doing homework when I was in school. Having kids in school is like a second installment in a horror movie: Revenge of the Homework. This time, it's out for blood. It's like a nightmare where I'm being chased by a psychopath wielding a sheet of long division.  On a positive note, I can save myself the trouble of applying to go on "Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader", I already know the answer.

So, for me, back to school means schedules, organization, pants and homework. Thank goodness ice cream is sold year round.

Is it summer yet?

Sloths don't only live in trees

So when I thought about overcoming adversity it ended up taking me to kind of a dark place, since I've really never done anything but succumb to it. I hope it's not too much of a downer. It just kinda came flowing out once I started.

-Nikki

I do not consider myself a particularly hardworking person, nor have I ever been one. As a child school came fairly easily to me so I came to believe that it would always be easy. Once it ceased to be uniformly easy for me I began to simply despise the subjects that I had trouble with, rather than doubling my efforts to conquer them. I did the bare minimum in everything and did perfectly well enough. This pattern continued throughout my academic career and though I graduated with a perfectly respectable GPA, I failed to sufficiently prepare myself for college and ended up delaying it. Once I finally got myself there I fiddled around, changed my mind and major, transferred back home to community college, and dragged the process of earning and AA out over four years, doing just the minimum required of me all along. During this time I worked in retail, although with a bit of effort and application I could have done better, despite my lack of a completed education. Yet I couldn't see fit to do more than the bare minimum. Now don't get me wrong, I worked hard at the jobs I had, but I didn't do more than was truly necessary.

The only times I've ever felt like I've truly worked, done satisfying, productive work, has been during my time in the theatre. I spent every extracurricular moment from age 14 onward either performing in a show, working tech for a show, or assisting with drama camp. During a show I will stay long after rehearsal is through, work tirelessly at home to build props or costumes, and I will sing myself hoarse until all my songs are as perfect as I can manage. Then I'll beg for more. The sloth disappears in the theatre.

That's my claim to fame, my one redeeming list of accomplishments to rescue me from being labeled “lazy” or “useless”. And I hate that that is true about me, but it is.

Now in adulthood I have yet to ever begin an actual career and I am now a stay at home mom, which, yes, is a most worthwhile thing to do, no argument here, but I cannot help still feeling useless. Those who know me know that my seven month old son has spent the bulk of his life dealing with a serious health issue, and so, therefore, have my husband and I. At 6 weeks old my son started having seizures, and after months of tests, and countless drugs tried, they persisted. He was finally diagnosed with epilepsy, and just a month ago he underwent major brain surgery to stop his seizures. Long story short, we've had a rough half year, and much of it has been spent seeking solace with my friends and family near and far while we sat with our hands tied and our hearts breaking. Far too much of that solace came in the form of compliments about my personal strength and fortitude for coping with our situation, as if it was my choice and I was choosing to be strong and was suddenly a record-breakingly awesome mother. My loving friends have stated countless times how I'm a super mom for getting through this and they marvel at my strength.

I hate it. I hate this praise. I am not strong. Enduring this ordeal doesn't prove that I'm a great mother or a particularly pragmatic or resourceful one. I've been along for the ride. I've simply handed my sick kid over to doctors and pleaded “Fix Him!”. I haven't done anything worthy of praise, nor have I done anything above and beyond the call of duty. I've done what is required of me. My list of requirements is just a bit different than some other moms, so, by comparison, it may seem somehow more impressive. It's not, though. I'm only surviving, striving each day to know what to do and do it. I'm no different than any other mother who loves her child.

I suppose you could argue that I could, somehow, have “run away” from the problem, but I'd be a monster, so I'll give myself that much credit: No I did not abandon my child. But there is nothing extraordinary about what I've done for him. This is particularly galling to me because I had such great plans for my boy and being a parent. I had planned to give him every opportunity to learn from and early age, and to expose him to all manner of activities so he can find what he loves most and prepare himself to do it for the rest of his life. I wanted him to have more than me, to have everything. Then he got sick, and fell behind developmentally and suddenly all my dreams of rearing a brilliant child who would excel at anything he chose to attempt, were wiped away.

It had been my desire to work hard with and for him, to do more than I'd done in most other areas of my life. I wanted to work for him because I loved him, as I was always able to work for the theatre, because I loved it, but once he got sick I was doing all I could just to keep my head above the water. So again, I was doing the bare minimum.

****************************************

Luckily we are now out of the woods with my baby's illness, and normal life can truly begin. My great plans for parenthood may now commence. I have high hopes that I will, in time, be able to achieve all my goals for my child's education, that I won't let him down with my innate laziness. I also hope that I can attain my own career goals and feel like a complete and fulfilled person who is contributing to society, not merely a dependent and a burden.

This is an exciting time in my life, and I hope that the useful me can indeed conquer the lazy me and stand victorious atop a tower of achievements at the end of my life so that my children can emulate me, rather than use me a an example of choices to avoid.

The Happy Moments

Everyone gets hit by a few "buses" in their life. You lay there on the ground wondering what happened, if you can get up again and how you can possibly go on. Everyone has their own story. There have been days where I lay on my living room carpet, tears running down my cheeks thinking "go away bus".

It always does, eventually. And what I thought at the time was a horrible/impossible obstacle in my life fades into the past and all that's left is the memory of what I've learned. I've had my fair share of hard times, but with every "bus" I know it helped me become the wife/mother/woman I am today. I can now look back at what I've been through and be proud of myself for surviving. Proud of the things I learned, and the ways it changed me. Some days I think of things I've accomplished and tell myself "I'm a Rockstar." It may seem conceited, but I call it a healthy dose of self esteem. :)

No matter what happens throughout your life, find the happy moments, they're all around you. At one difficult time in our lives, my husband suggested I start keeping a "Happy Journal" He said "write down three things every day, three good things that happened." Some days were harder than others. Some days one of the best things was simply getting out of the house to drive Zoey to school. But I didn't write down the negative parts of my day, no matter how significant they were. Eventually whenever my girls did something cute or I got time for something I enjoyed I'd immediately think "I have to remember this, I need to write it down tonight." As time went on it got easier to dismiss the hard stuff. "It's not a big deal, we'll get past it. No matter what happens I need to stay focused on the positive things going on." Because those are the moments that keep me going. After a while it felt like I had trained my mind to be positive, and it changed my life drastically.

I love reading that journal. One of my first entries was "hugs through the shower curtain." It was written during the middle of a move, to somewhere I had never been. If I hadn't written it down I would have forgotten my little girl giving me hugs while I was trying to take a quick shower because it didn't seem like the most important thing, all the moving problems were. But now I see, that hug was more important than anything else going on back then. I wish I had taken time to hug her back a little longer, tell her how much it meant to me.

I still have days that are hard, days that I momentarily forget what's important. But now I know that what matters most is sitting outside with my little girls, eating peanut butter off a spoon. Because they need that, they need those moments, and you know what? So do I.

 If you're depressed, or have a hard time being positive in your life lately. I strongly suggest you try a "Happy Journal" even if you miss days, or only do it for a month. I truly believe it has changed my perspective on life. There are ALWAYS good moments.

Every moment counts

In 2002, I met a family who forever changed my life. They had endured one of the hardest trials I could ever imagine. They lost two of their teenage children in a tragic car accident while driving back home together after a family trip.

I attended the funeral and watched as the parents stood up and hand-in-hand went to the front of the church’s congregation to share the sweetest and most tender memories of their children’s lives.

Their overall message? Every moment counts.

They shared intimate details of their lives, about the years of family activities like the water gun fights and the movie nights, blowing out candles on dozens of birthday cakes, and the times they laughed and cried together. They shared about how special the thousands of meals they spent together as a family were. There were so many precious memories. Their strength and their faithful words were forever etched onto my heart and mind on that day.

 I honestly had no idea how their story would have an even greater impact on me only a few years later.

It was my idea to run. It was my idea to pick up the pace.

On a warm Saturday morning in June 2006, I woke up to the sound of a familiar ring tone next to my head, on my bedside table. It was my dad. I heard that ring tone all the time. My Dad and I talked every day.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Dad asked me.

(Yawning) “Hey dad, just getting up. What are you guys up to?” I replied.

“We’re going to the park for a walk. Do you want to come?”

“Umm, ok…” (not as eager-sounded as I would’ve liked).

“C’mon…come with us.”

“Alright- I'll meet you guys there” (trying to sound a little more convincing).

I rolled over and asked BBH if he wanted to come with us. He said he had to run an errand, but would meet up with us after. I reluctantly got out of bed, did a quick stretch, and put on some workout clothes and running shoes.

After a 10-15 minute drive, I had made it to the park. I remember seeing my Dad walking closer to my car, with a big, cheesy grin on his face. Why is he wearing those spandex biking shorts again? I thought to myself. I made a mental note to tell him how “uncool” they were and how we were not biking in the park. We were walking in the park. I rolled my eyes and laughed to myself.

As I got out of the car, dad made a funny comment and we all said “hi” to each other. I was happy to be there with my parents. We were only walking two miles into the park, two miles back. Enough time to chat about the usual: my job, things that were going on in life, and of course, there were always the Dad-jokes.

About a mile in, I suggested that maybe we should jog a little. I smiled at my dad and told him that since he was doing so well lately with his exercise routine, maybe he should take it up a notch and start to jog. I challenged both my parents to jog with me and jokingly said they might not be able to "keep up". I ran a mile and then stopped at the water & rest station. I watched as both my parents slowly jogged closer and closer to me.

My dad was the first one to reach me. He was panting and was sweaty, but laughing. He got a drink of water from the cooler on the table next to the benches as we waited for my mom. Mom arrived soon after and got some water from the same cooler. My dad sat down on the bench opposite from me to rest a little. I stood in front of him as we laughed about something silly. Then, his laugh slowed down. He gave me a strange look, sat up a little straighter, and then fell to the ground. I screamed and dropped next to him, trying to turn him over. My mom turned around and screamed my dad’s name. A few seconds seemed to last an eternity. I started to call 911 while hailing down a cyclist passing by. He ran towards us and immediately started to help my mom while she performed CPR. I tried to calmly tell the 911 dispatcher what happened.

As the dispatcher talked to me, people started to gather around my dad. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I felt like I was dreaming. I listened intently for the ambulance siren. Where are they? I remember thinking. What if they can’t find us? We’re a couple of miles into the park… I asked and thought to myself. Every moment counts.

Finally the ambulance came. I wasn’t allowed to ride with them, so I watched as they lifted my dad into the ambulance and as my mom jumped in beside them. By this time the crowd had grown and people started to ask me questions about my dad. I couldn’t process what was being said. Finally, someone came up to me and kindly asked me if I was ok. I looked up and as if my trance had broken said: “I don’t know.”  The park ranger gave me a ride back to my car.

The only thing I could think of was: It was my idea to run. It was my idea to pick up the pace.

I rushed to the hospital all the while calling my husband to tell him what happened and where to meet me. When I arrived at the hospital, I somehow found my mom waiting for me near the ER. BBH came into the room soon after. Then, we waited for what seemed like forever.

I’ll never forget the doctor on call who came into that room only a few minutes later. His face was solemn. He said a few things to us, nothing of which I remember. The only thing I did remember were the words: “I’m sorry, he didn’t make it.”

Have you ever felt so hot and then so very, very cold? One second I was sweating and burning up and the next I was cold and shivering. I’ve never felt a sensation like that since that day. My head started to pound and all the voices and noises of a busy ER faded into silence.

I fell silent. I couldn’t feel my hands, I couldn’t feel me feel my feet, I couldn’t feel.

The only thoughts that came into mind were ones of disbelief. I asked the doctor: “What happened?”  He shook his head. Oh my gosh, he doesn’t know, I thought. How does he not know how my dad died?  He tried to explain that a thorough autopsy was the only way to know what exactly happened to my dad.

My confused thoughts were interrupted as someone finally ushered us into an ER room where he was. I looked at him and held my mom’s hand. How could life be so fragile? How could someone pass away so fast? How could I be talking to him one second and in the very next, he collapses and passes away? What if I hadn’t suggested that we run? What if…? Many questions and “what if” scenarios flooded my mind all at once. And a familiar thought I heard several years ago came into my thoughts once again: Every moment counts.  

We went back to my parents’ house to recollect our thoughts and to kind of deal with the shock of everything. As we entered the garage, I saw that the broom Dad had been using was still in the same place where he had left it. “Right before we left for the park he had been sweeping the garage,” my mom said in a numb-like voice .

An unfinished basket of unfolded laundry lay on the living room couch. I folded the rest of the clothes. I calmly walked around the house to see what tasks dad had started and had most likely meant to complete. Dishes, sweeping, laundry- I finished them all. As I obediently placed his clothes in his closet, I dropped to my knees and sobbed. What am I doing? I could smell his familiar cologne on his suit. I could see his old knick-knacks and jewelry on his dresser. I looked up and saw that his wallet was partially open. I saw some wallet-sized pictures of us (his kids), my mom, and my uncle and him when they were younger.

He lived a life full of love and rich with laughter, I thought.

 As I sat in my parents’ closet for a while, I reminisced about a time in college when I sat talking with my dad while eating ice cream. He was giving me a pep talk after what I thought at the time was a real “heartbreak” with a boyfriend who didn’t work out. I remember him saying, “Faye, this too shall pass…” His kind and familiar voice penetrates my thoughts even now.

My Dad was right. Even the hardest trials do eventually pass and as I’ve continued to live on without my dad, there are still so many lessons I’ve learned from the experience.

I've learned to cherish the moments spent with my family and friends and to seek after moments when I can spend time with them.

I've learned to forgive often and to apologize even more often.

I've learned to enjoy the “mundane” moments of life together: the cleaning, the cooking, the child-rearing, the chatting about whatever, or the snuggling with my kids and BBH just a few minutes longer in the mornings.

I’ve learned to find things to laugh about each and every day and then to share our laughter with our loved ones.

I‘ve learned to pay compliments when I think of them, because I never know what impact they could have on my family members or friends.

I’ve learned the importance of unselfishly serving my family and friends with a happy and grateful heart.

I’ve learned to say “I love you” even more.

I’ve learned the importance of striving to make each and every moment of my life count, to live with no regrets, and to push forward with optimism.  

There is not one day that I don’t think about my dad. And even though he is no longer here with me to share another joke or to let me cry on his shoulder, I continue to learn from him every day. Thank you, Dad.

“No pain that we suffer, no trial that we experience is wasted. It ministers to our education, to the development of such qualities as patience, faith, fortitude and humility. All that we suffer and all that we endure, especially when we endure it patiently, builds up our characters, purifies our hearts, expands our souls, and makes us more tender and charitable, more worthy to be called the children of God …" Spencer W. Kimball

(And thank you so much for reading. There is something completely vulnerable about sharing and writing about a trial we've passed through. Although difficult, my hope is that I have helped maybe even one person to persevere through the trial of losing a loved one a little longer and to push forward with a little more faith and optimism). 

My Painful Purpose

There was a time when I wished that I just didn’t care. I wished that I could put on a façade and smile my inner emotional instincts away. I wished that I could be decisively stoic and effortlessly composed. I wished so hard that I could look the other way and move on with my life. I wished I could be mean. I wished that I could manipulate my way in and out of situations,--with confidence and ease. I wished so hard. I hated how weak I was. I hated how affected I could be. I hated being an open-book. I hated that I so easily invested in people and ideas.

Even after years of living in a place with the power to shred a girl’s heart and hope to pieces, my stupid weak heart found a way to put itself in another dangerous situation. To be let down. To be ignored. To be forgotten. To be blindsided and left in a state of sheer pain. I wanted so badly to kick the lingering sting of hurt in the face and give it the cold shoulder. I wished to pound hard against my chest as strong as humanly possible to harden my heart. I didn’t understand why. Why wasn’t my heart hardening? I needed not to care… or I’d die of a broken heart and a trampled spirit. I felt utterly powerless in the face of adversity.

We belong to a world that pushes and pulls us in every way imaginable. We find ourselves in desperate situations with many questions: Why did I lose my baby? Why did my marriage fail? Why did I have to lose my job? Why was I raped? Why do I have this disability? Why wasn’t my baby born normal and healthy? Why did I have to get sick? Why should I have to feel this pain? Why me? This is so unfair.

Many of us, when faced with a negative life changing experience like this, find a little seed of darkness and bitterness growing in our hearts. A seed that threatens the very core of our souls. We shut off the world. We avoid social situations. We try to dispose of the memories and the ache as swiftly possible, to limit the suffering and collateral damage. Our objective is to preserve our hearts. We build an ever-growing fort around our core, to keep all the bad out.

A very special someone gave a short book that has helped me to see suffering in a different light. It is called Mee Speaks, by Mary Ellen Edmunds. It contains empowering short talks that could leave the sturdiest and thickest fort walls trembling. In her talk, Finding Purpose in Our Pain, Mary Ellen challenges us:

“I want you to think of an experience that was extremely difficult for you—one of the hardest you’ve ever had to face (Maybe you’re ogin through it right now.)

Now I want to ask you a question about your adversity, your suffering: What have you learned from your experiences? Have you learned compassion? Is your heart more tender? Do you judge others less quickly and harshly?”

Even as I quote her words to you, I am filled with a heavenly warmth and comfort. My tears run freely. Not because of sorrow, but because after years of trying to harden my heart to the world, I’ve found a sense of purpose amidst my pain. I am suddenly reminded of every soul crushing circumstance I’ve endured, every humiliating betrayal, and every bitter loss. And instead of hating myself for not “learning” from my mistakes or not “remembering” my pain and forgiving too easily, I’ve found new strength in my weakness. A purpose in my pain. I’ve now come to appreciate my “weakness.”

If we build a fort around our hearts every time the world deals a foul blow, we’re also incarcerating the experience and the potential to learn from it. The potential to love more sensitively. To have compassion for a hopeless mother. A rape victim. A jobless father. An orphaned child. A mother that so badly wants to conceive, but is left hopeless every month. A drug addict who feels worthless to the world. A child that feels abandoned, and wonders why his parents gave him away. A grandmother who feels embarrassed that she can no longer take care of herself. A cancer victim who fears she won’t be around to see her children grow up.

Everywhere we look, there is pain. BUT everywhere we look again, there is hope. We all have the power to turn our pain into purpose. Spencer W. Kimball warns that if we shut out sorrow and anguish from our lives “we might be evicting our greatest friends and benefactors.  Suffering can make saints of people as they learn patience, long-suffering, and self-mastery.” Through our suffering, we can become sweeter. We can be filled with more compassion for our friends, husbands, children, and family.

The way I see it, understanding someone’s predicament can be done in two ways. You either understand them with your mind or you understand them with your heart. Understanding someone with one’s heart, isn’t easy. When I’ve attempted to reach out to someone I could truly relate to because of my own past and tender experience, all of the scary and negative feelings swarmed in. It was uncomfortable. I’ve come to understand that active compassion isn’t attainable without being willing to revisit those raw feelings that once turned your world upside down and inside out. BUT this suffering we feel in the process is so special and different. As Mary Ellen describes it, “it is the most exquisite and painful.”

How exactly can we find purpose in our pain? How can we actively use the suffering we’ve undergone for a greater purpose? Here are some simple things you can do.

Love just one person.

You can’t solve all of the problems of the world, but we can “love on” one person. We can write one short and friendly note to someone who feels hopeless. We can visit one lonely person. We can make a call to someone in need of a rant. We can send a friendly text or a kind email. Just one person.

            Avoid saying things that aren’t really helpful.

Sometimes we tend to try to quickly talk each other out of our suffering. We assure one another “I know exactly how you feel.” With some honesty, patience, and genuine kindness, we might be more effective. Instead of “I know exactly how you feel” we can say “I’m not sure I really understand what you’re going through, but I am so sorry. What can I do to lighten your load?” If all you can offer is company and a listening ear, settle for that.

            Don’t push a quick cure.

Instead of a “Get well soon” card and a “There are better days ahead” reassurance, we should accept and recognize the true pain a friend might be enduring. Mary Ellen suggests comments like “May your deep water and fiery trials not be more than you can handle” or “I hope you’ll let me travel part of this journey with you.” Pain is a serious feeling, so we should treat it with the sensitivity it deserves.

            Avoid competing for a “worst” trial.

Sometimes, in an effort to relate to a friend, we find ourselves trying to top their suffering. Some funny ways as described by Mary Ellen:

“My kidney stone was a much nicer shape than yours!”

“My tonsils were a lot worse than that! Want to see the picture?”

“My root canal went clear through my collar bone!”

“I was in labor for forty days and forty nights!”

Here’s one I’ve encountered: “I had my baby without an epidural! Trust me, you had it easy!” Yikes! 

Learning from our pain isn’t easy. I think our instinct is to build our precious fort and keep our heart intact. If there’s at least one thing I’ve learned from my pain, is an appreciation for others. A sensitivity to their suffering. If we’ve been judged harshly before, then perhaps we may refrain from unfair judgment.

Amidst our suffering, we can find peace. We can find purpose. We can help heal an aching heart. We can make a friend.