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| This is how I see most things--there's the scenery, and then there's Marc taking pictures of the scenery or looking at his camera to figure out what settings would be best. |
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| Beautiful Schönbrunn from behind the fountain on the hill. We'd never been as tourists until friends came this week. So beautiful--and the history of the Habsburgs...fascinating! |
I read this in my Bible study this week, and the question I was supposed to answer was, "What did Job's friends do wrong? How did they bruise him?" If you're unfamiliar with the story of Job, he basically lost everything but his life as he was tested by Satan (with God's permission). His friends, well, they gave him a lot of what we might call church talk in response to his misfortune, none of which was very kind. And that was my answer--in a time of real sorrow and tragedy, they were unkind, thoughtless, and unfeeling.
Before we're too hard on Job's friends, let's admit that we've all been there. Something terrible--truly tragic--happens, and we say all the wrong stuff, mostly because we don't know what to say. When my friend, Kimmie's, daughter was tragically killed in a horrific car crash this spring, people said really stupid stuff. Seriously. I had second-hand shame for them. Worse, they said stuff that wasn't Biblically sound and hurtful. I'm convinced (and so is she) that no one meant to hurt her. Everyone was trying to ease her pain--and their own. But in the midst of crisis, some people said the wrong stuff.
The exact opposite of Job's friends was our pastor, Bob Patterson, when Marc and I found ourselves in the midst of real trauma leading up to Sarah Beth's birth. The short version is that in about the 6 1/2 month mark in my pregnancy, out of nowhere my blood pressure sky rocketed. My doctor, looking ashen and worried, sent me home to Warm Springs, Georgia, giving me a list of symptoms to call about immediately, and telling me to stay on my left side and not move. Seriously. Of course, if you've been pregnant, you know that I had pre-eclampsia. (I had it with all three children. Hence, I only have three children.) Two days later, with the admonition to not even stop for gas, I found myself in the hospital, which would be my home for the next two months. Yes, you read that correctly. The next two months. Every morning started with my doctor (who postponed his wedding and honeymoon until after she was safely born) saying, "Well, we won't take her this morning, but probably this afternoon." Every afternoon found him saying, "Well, not tonight, but probably tomorrow." This went on for two months, until my body had done what it could and he delivered her.
Now, twenty-two years later, I can tell you a thousand hilarious stories about this time in the hospital. Marc and the doctor filling gloves with water and throwing them at nurses out my window. Marc almost blowing up the hospital by lighting candles for Valentine's Day. I have a million of these. And I have wonderful stories of people who were so incredible to us, took care of us, loved us, and encouraged us. And yes, I can tell you not-so-funny stories of people who, like Job's friends, didn't always say the right things. We were asked what we'd done to make God mad at us. We were told that we just didn't have enough faith, and that's why this was scary to us. But the point of this post is to tell you about Bob.
He came every week I was in the hospital, usually on Thursdays. He came in, sat with us, told us jokes, brought us treats from our church, and loved us. He did pray with us, but only after he asked, and never touching me. (I am not a toucher. Unless you're basically my family, I feel weird about touching you or you touching me.) He did NOT say that everything would be fine, and we would all be ok--because he didn't know that. The doctor didn't know that, either. (He'd just lost someone in childbirth to the same disease, making him even more cautious than normal.) He didn't tell us God had a plan, because he knew that we were aware of that. He didn't tell us God wouldn't give us more than we could handle, because that was obviously and blatantly untrue. (At 23 and 24, we were 100% unable to handle anything that was happening to us. Trust me on this. Only by God's grace and help did we not lose our minds.) He did not offer platitudes or church speak that we did not need to hear. He did tell us that our little town (population 400 in 1992) was praying for us and loving us. He did tell us funny stories of the local characters. He did make us laugh. And sometimes, in moments of real sorrow, he just sat with us in silence, offering his presence, his encouragement, but knowing that words were not needed or useful. He did every single thing right. And when she was born, and she was only in the NICU for a few days--he rejoiced with us, celebrating that God's plan looked like we had hoped it would.
I want to be more like Bob. In times of trouble, I want to know what to say and when not to say anything at all. I want to guard against telling people things that sound good, but aren't the truth. Most of all, I want to love people really well. Because in the end, that's what he did. He loved us really well, and all these years later, we still smile at the mention of his name. He brought glory to God and helped us not to be angry at God for a plan that we did not understand. He taught us a thousand things about mature faith without telling us he was teaching us anything. I'm thankful for his guidance through a really traumatic season of our lives. I'm also thankful that Sarah Beth and I both survived and regained our health, and that I was able to survive the next two pregnancies with babies who eventually thrived. God is good in all situations--even the ones we don't understand.
Well, friends, there is so much on my to-do list that I'd better get going. I pray that you are blessed with a Bob in your life, someone who loves you well and leads you to know God just a little better. Blessings to you and yours!
His,
Kellye
