GRIEF SOUP

I've been thinking about grief for awhile.  Years. We all walk through it at some point, don't we?  It can be the loss of a loved one or the loss of an expectation or the loss of a window of  opportunity. It's interesting, eye-opening, exhausting, and will take us deeper than we ever thought possible or really wanted to go.

I see countless works on the stages of grief, the need to let each person go through it at their own pace, and some general ways to support one another.  

But there are some aspects of grief that I really haven't seen in print, so I'm starting a conversation right here.  After all, to purpose toward flourishing 365 days a year, we have to face the yuck, right?

So let's do it.

Why do I call this post Grief Soup?  Well, two reasons.

First, I have been so intrigued, over the past five years in particular, with the idea that grieving effects our whole mind and body.  It is all so intertwined.  I think that is becoming increasingly apparent to a greater portion of the population, but we still don't really talk about it.

Specifically, there is something to the proverbial chicken soup for the soul.  I want to understand our unique need for nourishment while grieving.  I don't mean comfort food as we speak of it in American culture...that is more of a eat-your-emotions and cover the feelings with creamy warm and rich foods.  No, I am talking about the truth that when we are grieving, no matter the reason, it immediately effects the way and the speed at which we process the things we put in our mouth. We NEED to better understand how to feed the body and mind FOR processing grief, rather than simply numbing it.

Two events have brought this to the forefront in my life, both involving one of my children. 

TRIGGER WARNING...the following account may be triggering as it contains a reference to abuse. If you would like to skip down past that, to the more instructive and inspiring take-aways, scroll down to asterisks, dear friend.

I was attending a conference in a nearby city, with some of my children.  We had been looking forward to spending several days among friends of like mind, learning together and enjoying time with each other that we seldom had.  There were worship sessions and various faith-building workshops. A market place provided additional encouraging and helpful resources. This all took place over a couple of weekdays, followed by a Sabbath tent meeting at our church and a picnic  along the shore of Lake Michigan.

During the last day of gathering in the hotel conference rooms, we met a man who had traveled all the way from Florida to be at the event.  He very obviously displayed the effects of cerebral palsy, a condition one of our daughters also deals with.  His speech required much patience to understand, and although he walked, it was with great difficulty.  While I first noticed him sitting far off from the crowd, he was quite engaging and friendly when we actually met him. He joined everyone at the Sabbath tent meeting as well, and was quickly comforting (or so we thought) to our daughter when she was overcome with emotion during a particular worship song.  From infancy, music has effected her deeply, and she is often moved to tears of awa by our great Creator. Some people mistake it for some type of sad upset requiring comfort.  I used to do this as well.  Anyway, this man was quick to go to her side when she began to cry, and embraced her tightly.

Later that afternoon, during the picnic, my husband who had not attended the conference due to his work schedule, met the man and also engaged him in conversation.  What followed was a little bit of what I now call the "Oh, you're from Lousisiana" syndrome.  We've all seen it or done it.  We meet someone who is from a certain place, or has recounted a particular experience. We think maybe they might know another person we've met from that same area.  Or we think they would automatically have great report with another of our acquaintances. We do the same thing at times with people who are both tall, or the same ethnicity, or whatever.  We think they will somehow automatically like each other because of that one tiny sliver of common ground.  The same thing happens too often when we meet people with special needs.  "Oh, you'll really like so and so....she has the same diagnosis!" Insert super excited smile.

My husband, with great hopeful intentions, made the "oh, you're from Lousiana" mistake with the man at the picnic.  The man spoke to my husband in the presence of our daughter, saying something to the effect of "if she were twenty years older, I would consider dating her".  With no clue, on either of our parts, that this is a form of testing and grooming, my husband, who loved hoping our daughter could someday enjoy a fulfilling life, even including marriage, answered somewhat tongue in cheek, "how about twenty minutes?"  I do remember being somewhat shocked by that comment, but there was a little laughter, and then the conversation and attention turned to other things. There were going to be some baptisms, and we all made our way down at the beach.

At the very end of the picnic, it was made known that this man's car was not working.  At all.  He was going to need a place to stay for at least a couple of days until a local repair shop could address the issues.  

Now, we purposely built our home with a vision that the upper level, which contains a very large open sleeping/sitting area and a full bath, would always be available strictly for visitors or people needing shelter.  It would never be our space, per se.  We were immediately open to him coming to our house. However, he ended up staying with the couple who had organized the conference, as their home is in a bigger metropolitan area with more car repair options readily available.  Off they went.

The following Wednesday, my husband received a phone call.  The couple that was hosting the man had a significant conflict come up with him, and he had exhibited some anger issues toward them.  They did not feel they could host him any longer, but his car was still not ready.  Could we host him?  Still dedicated to the vision God had given us of keeping our upper room available, we said yes.  We were still not in a particular mode of actually vetting guests. It never entered our minds.

I will say that when I heard from the man the next day, I did have a blip of a gut check.  He asked what time he should head for our home.  I told him that my husband and I would both be at work that day, and he should not arrive until 6 p.m.  I did not want our kids, though in their teen years and beyond, to be at the house with him when hubby and I were both away. 

While I was finishing the last couple of hours on my shift, which ended at 11 p.m., it occured to me that I should give my husband a heads up to not go to bed until this visitor had retired upstairs. But I stopped myself, trying to give this person the benefit of the doubt, and resist paranoia. 

When I arrived home at around 11:30 p.m. and walked into the kitchen, our daughter was standing in the kitchen with something urgent she wanted to tell me.  She recounted that my hubby had gone to bed at his usual time, around 9 p.m., while the kids had stayed up to finish a movie with the guest.  The next person to head for bed was one of our other daughters, as she needed to work early the following morning.  

This left our remaining daughter, our youngest son, both with disabilities of their own, alone with the guest.  Somewhere in the conversation, a particular religious dogma came up and my son and the guest disagreed on their points of view.  The guest was very adamant that unless our son agreed with him, he would be going to hell.  Obviously, our son was not comfortable with where the convesation had landed, so he also said goodnight.

During the movie, the guest had held our daughter's hand and rubbed her back, and at first she said it felt nice and did not alarm her.

But when no one else was around, and she went into the kitchen to get her nighttime supplements, the guest followed her.  He touched her inappropriately, kissed her repeatedly, and tried to get her to go upstairs with him.  

When our daughter recounted her trauma, I was so furious at the guest, but so so proud of our daughter for standing her ground. She spoke up for herself and refused to follow him.  She stated her personal stance on no sexual relations before marriage, and when he pressured her with the "you're an adult, your parents never need to know" line, she still refused, and thankfully he went upstairs, and she went to her room on the main floor.

When she heard me drive into the garage, she came to tell me everything.  Thank God for giving her such courage.

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In the days and weeks immediately following this incident, our daughter had a terrible time.  She wanted to be anywhere but home.  It didn't feel safe anymore.  She kept talking about where she could go. Where she could go. Where she could go.  And over time, although her mind seemed to calm down and she became confident that this person was never coming back in our home, her energy level and actual body composition began to change drastically.  Sluggish, and very bloated.

At first, I did not understand the connection, but then the something else happened...a beginning of healing, and being wowed at how intrically we have been designed by our Maker.

Over the years, various people including friends, teachers and physical therapists, had suggested both acupuncture and cranio-sacral massage for our daughter.  Discovering that there was a relatively local spa offering both disciplines, I made an appointment.  The conversation and the experience were truly fascinating.  I learned that there are many different approaches to massage, and each has a particular area of benefit to our bodies.  As for acupuncture, while there have too often been completely unBiblical philosophies attached to the various points, it is undeniably true that we have various energy pathways built into our bodies that can be obstructed through injury/trauma, and reopened through treatment.  

As I received an introduction to acupuncture from the practitioner working with our daughter, it was explained that one of the body areas to address in cases of of great emotional upheaval and instability is the liver.  It has been proven over centuries that when a person is having great difficulty regaining emotional equilibrium, liver toxicity is frequently part of the issue.

Our daughter had struggled, even before the assault, with unpredictable extreme outbursts of anger, and when I described this, it was decided that the liver would be the focus.  The practitioner explained that our daughter should not be surprised at all if she felt like crying after the treatment, as there would likely be a release of trapped emotions....a sort of cleansing.

Sure enough, before the elevator even returned us to the lobby following the session, our daughter mentioned that she felt such great joy but a simultaneous urge to cry.  I encouraged her to let it all out.  She sobbed for a straight twenty minutes on our way home.  

Back to the title.  Do you remember the old tale called Stone Soup?  Remember the first character arrives in a village square one day.  He proceeds to set up a large pot with water and a stone inside, claiming he will make stone soup.  The villagers scoff at first, but little by little they join him, each with an item to add to the pot.  The stone soup, so undesirable when first suggested, turned out to be  delicious and very satisfying.  Why?  Because many people brought something of substance to the table.

This is how I see hope for our journeys through grief, whatever their origins.  Bring conversation to the table.  Bring a listening ear to the table.  Bring personal teachability to the table. Bring to the table a  compassion for all of the different ways and lengths of grieving.  In the face of grief caused by trauma in particular, ask less, "why didn't you _________?", and more "how can I serve you?" In that context, perhaps more of us would find courage to tell our stories again, finding effective, compassionate, truly healing support.

Did you know that the average age at which survivors of childhood sexual abuse report their trauma is 52?  Let that sink in....that's a long time. It means that there are many many people arond us who are older and have never found any comfort and companionship in their grief.  That is completely tragic and, going back to my first point, it tells me that many people have bodies keeping the score while their mouths are silent.

Can we purpose to be a part of healing?  Can we start praying more intentionally that the LORD will bring healing in our own lives and even allow us the sacred privilege of helping others find healing?  It will mean getting closer to, and even rubbing shoulders with the grief of others.  But it will also open the door for those in the thick of it to meet others who have walked the road and come out the other side in strength and intact faith.  That is nourishment.  

 That is nourishment. That is grief soup.