We are remarkably quick to reach for answers.

Someone tells us they are hurting and almost immediately our minds begin searching.

What can I say?

What should they do?

Have they tried this?

Maybe they need to look at it differently.

Perhaps there is someone they should call.

A book they should read.

A decision they should make.

We mean well.

Most of the time, our desire to fix something is simply love wearing work clothes.

Someone we care about is hurting.

And we want the hurting to stop.

Of course we do.

But there are moments in a human life that do not have solutions.

There are losses that cannot be rearranged into something acceptable.

Questions that do not yet have answers.

Days when encouragement feels exhausting.

Times when someone does not need to be reminded of the bright side.

They simply need somewhere they are allowed to tell the truth about the dark one.

THE UNCOMFORTABLE SPACE

It can be difficult to sit beside pain without doing something about it.

Silence makes many of us nervous.

So we fill it.

We offer perspective.

We search for meaning.

We remind someone that things could be worse.

We tell them everything happens for a reason.

We reach for words because words make us feel as though we are helping.

But sometimes the most compassionate thing we can say is:

“I don’t know what to say.”

And then stay.

No wisdom.

No silver lining.

No attempt to turn someone’s experience into a lesson before they have even finished living it.

Just another human being refusing to leave because the room became uncomfortable.

THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN HELPING AND HOLDING

There are times when help is exactly what is needed.

Bring the meal.

Make the phone call.

Drive them to the appointment.

Fix the broken step.

Find the information.

Do the laundry.

Take something off their plate.

Love can absolutely roll up its sleeves.

But there is another kind of care.

It doesn’t remove anything.

It doesn’t solve anything.

It simply helps someone feel less alone while they carry it.

Perhaps that is what it means to hold space for another person.

Not to hold their pain for them.

We cannot always do that.

But to make enough room around it that they do not have to hide it from us.

“TELL ME”

There may be two remarkably generous words we can offer someone:

Tell me.

Not:

Tell me so I can decide what you should do.

Not:

Tell me so I can compare your story with mine.

Not even:

Tell me so I can make you feel better.

Just—

Tell me.

And then listen long enough to discover what they actually need.

Sometimes they will want advice.

Sometimes they will ask for help.

Sometimes they need us to remind them of something they have forgotten about themselves.

And sometimes they need absolutely nothing except the rare experience of finishing a sentence without someone trying to repair it.

MAYBE WE WERE NEVER THE MECHANIC

Human beings are not broken appliances.

We are complicated, contradictory, unfinished creatures.

We grieve.

We change.

We make mistakes.

We become lost.

We begin again.

Sometimes repeatedly.

Perhaps our responsibility to one another was never to make sure everyone around us remained perfectly intact.

Perhaps it was simply to become people around whom another person could safely be unfinished.

Someone could arrive confused.

Sad.

Angry.

Hopeful.

Afraid.

Joyful.

Quiet.

And not immediately be asked to become something easier for us to sit beside.

THE GIFT OF STAYING

There is an enormous tenderness in someone who doesn’t run from the difficult parts of us.

Someone who can hear:

“I don’t know.”

“I am afraid.”

“I miss them.”

“I made a mistake.”

“I’m not ready.”

“I thought I would be okay by now.”

And answer without rushing:

“I’m here.”

Perhaps nothing changed.

The loss remains.

The question remains unanswered.

Tomorrow may still be difficult.

But something has changed.

For a little while, another human being did not have to carry their humanity alone.

And sometimes that is not a small thing.

Sometimes that is the thing.

CLOSING THOUGHT

Not every wound asks for our wisdom.

Some simply ask whether we are willing to stay.