Sharing Sorrow with a Neighbor

I had just thrown my briefcase into the car when I realized I left my purse on the couch. Already feeling the pressure of running late for a doctor’s appointment. I rushed back inside, grabbed the colorful Rwandan sack that serves as my temporary purse and ran back out. I noticed the matriarch of the home next door was throwing something into her trash can, so I quickly shouted a friendly, “Hello!” as I jogged towards my vehicle.

She looked up, turned her head towards me and matter of factly stated stated, “My 10 month old great grandchild just died of SIDS.” (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome)

Whoa. Full stop.

I turned towards her, stunned.

“Oh wow. I am so, sorry.”

She replied, “The funeral and family gathering were last night.”

I had noticed her cute knee-length dress during my hurried “hello” and had thought about commenting on it just a few moments before. As I walked across the lawn to where she was standing, I noticed that the dress she was wearing was Sunday-best nice, perhaps the one she wore for the funeral. Her makeup was a little smeared and her hair looked coiffed, but messy, like she had just woken up after a dressy event.

“Would it be okay if I prayed for you?”

“Yes. Sure.”

Slinging my Rwandan bag over my shoulder, I gently grabbed her left hand and placed my other hand on her shoulder. We prayed.

Sorrow. Grief.

I think it’s meant to be shared. I rarely see my neighbor and it’s even rarer to exchange a few words. It seems like she works opposite shifts than I do. John and I chat way more with her husband when he’s out tinkering on his truck or sculpting his lawn.

Even though we share currently more of a fence than any sort of depth of relationship, Barbara felt compelled to tell me about her great grandchild’s death. I know that feeling. Sometimes you need to let someone else know that your life has changed. Unexpected, tragic loss has created a new normal….and the morning sun isn’t strong enough to cast away that shadow.

Whether it’s examples such as the Apostle John and Jesus’ mother holding each other at the foot of the cross or my neighbor Barbara needing to blurt out the overwhelming ache in her heart, I believe sorrow and grief were meant to be shared.

The Holy Spirit is called The Comforter. According to Psalm 34:18,  “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”  Scripture tells us that He is always with us (Jesus’ promise before He ascended into heaven). Yet, He wants us to understand that He is especially close during times of great sorrow.

The Apostle Paul teaches in 2 Cor. 1:3 - 4 that, “… the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.”

He’s the God of all comfort. Not some comfort - all comfort.  Meaning, He will give us comfort for every type of sorrow. There is not a grief we can bear in this life that God has chosen to avoid. In Isaiah 53:3, Jesus is described as the 'Man of Sorrows.' Our Savior, who is intimately acquainted with grief desires to give us comfort, which then empowers us to share His comfort with others.

It’s like comfort is a holy deposit from the Lord that earns interest in our souls.  I believe the dividends from this “interest” become the seedbed for compassion.

Although I do not know the grief from losing a child (or a great grandchild), I do know crushing sorrow. During those seasons, some of which I have blogged about in previous posts, I was comforted over and over again by the Holy Spirit and by family members and friends. And by the grace of God, that eternal deposit of comfort and hope freely overflowed this morning to Barbara.

Sorrow is not meant to be a solo journey. Although we need times to grieve alone, I do not believe we are meant to journey through sorrow by ourselves. God will meet us. And, if given the opportunity, so will our family, friends, and maybe even our neighbors.