Release Your Rights

I realized I’ve been saying to Jon more and more frequently that I haven't been there for Dad. I think in my head I’ve been telling myself it’s because I’m not physically there to help with day-to-day care. But, it’s more than that. Sure, I'm physically not there but my heart’s not there either. What I mean is that deep down, who God made me to be instinctively knows what Dad needs more than anything but it is the one thing that I’ve been avoiding doing for him.

To say that I feel like so many things have collided to make me feel like I’m having a midlife crisis in my 30’s is an understatement. And I write this with a joking tone in my head and yet it’s entirely true. So I’ve been searching, reading, crying, asking questions, praying, more crying – all of which aren’t bad things - but lately just realizing that I can’t really do anything but surrender and by goodness is that hard to do.

And here’s why. Because I’m trying to play God. And I’m trying to play God to avoid…

And you know deep down I’ve probably known that, but the mind just does silly things to avoid hurting and thank goodness in His grace He’s there waiting when all the plates finally fall and you realize just how broken you are and how broken everything is. He’s there because He knows all that avoiding you’re doing is to not feel the pain and hurt that comes from staring right in the face of that thing you’re avoiding.

If I could sum up this summer so far I would tell you it’s been anything but basking in sunshine and feeling care free. It’s been about letting go and it’s the damn hardest letting go I’ve had to do in more ways than one. I would tell you that already I know I’ll look back on this summer and mostly remember just feeling tired. And not just the kids were up in the middle of the night tired (although that is a reality). It’s the tired and needing rest that has been preached about the past few Sunday’s. The “come to me all you who are weary” tired. It’s the tired that happens when you’ve been avoiding who you truly are, when you’ve been trying to play God.

And again, thank goodness in His great grace, He’s been there along and it’s when we choose to finally listen we just might hear His whisper to us in a book or a song or in tonight’s case, this podcast.

Why do I feel I haven’t been there for Dad? What have I been avoiding doing for Dad? As Emily says in this podcast, I haven’t been “releasing [my] right to have an answer and giving up [my] desire to be their hero.”

I CAN’T FIX IT! I CAN’T MAKE IT BETTER! I CAN’T MAKE MY HURT GO AWAY AND I CAN’T MAKE MY FAMILY’S HURTS GO AWAY AND BY GOSH I WISH BUT I CAN’T TAKE MY DAD’S HURT GO AWAY.

It is hard releasing that when the intention comes from a place of compassion. But there is the selfish part of me that knows it’s so dang hard releasing it because doing so means acceptance which means a letting go of Dad in a way that leaves me with feeling nothing but a whole lot of broken heart.   

But only when I let that go will it leave room for the Spirit to live and move and be in this brokenness, in the sadness. And it's the Spirit, not us who is the hero, who has the answers even if they’re answers I don't like.

And here’s the thing. If there’s one person who knew how to do this so well it was Dad. Now I know he is not perfect but somehow he trusted God enough to release his rights, he didn’t try to play hero. Long before he was a pastor and gave pastoral care, he did this for me. In my times of struggling, doubt, or feeling sad he would simply sit and listen. Sure, he’d offer some advice or words of wisdom but mostly I just remember him validating me where I was at. It wasn’t any loud, boisterous thing (he’s not a loud, boisterous person) it was simply him walking alongside me.

Jon’s been struggling too. Because he is a fixer and he knows how much I’m hurting and it comes from a place of compassion but he’s trying so hard to take away that hurt and just like me, it’s hard to release the right to have answers and be the hero. So then he tries, I get angry, and the cycle goes on. This isn’t uncommon for any of us humans!

I write tonight because it’s cathartic but I hope maybe it can provide some insight for someone wondering how to be there for those who grieve. And really, it’s not even my insight.

“Today, with those who are hurting around us, death means being willing to walk with them, sit with them, be with them in silence. It means being willing not to know. It means respecting their grief enough to hush. It means refusing to dissect the mystery of another, but remaining present in holy curiosity over their experience. It means listening without an agenda. As we recognize the death of our old way, we’ll begin to see evidence of His resurrection life.” Emily P. Freeman