In addition to being kind to ourselves, we also need to open up to the gentle presence of others in our lives. There are so many people who, during the day, care for us through little words of affirmation or other small ways. But we take them all for granted and miss the power of their wonderful support.
It may take the form of family and friends saying a kind word. They may call just to let us know they are thinking of us. Or, they may do a small chore for us so we don’t have to do it ourselves. Often these are unrecognized graces. We fail to recognize them because we are used to them, maybe too used to them. Then we miss them when they are gone.
Being grateful for the wonderful people in our lives now would certainly change our behavior toward them. As in the case of all graces, it would benefit us as well as them. With an appreciation of the kindness that is around us, we can be clearer about what we need to improve about ourselves without being pulled down by those realizations. We can also feel as loved as we truly are by the people already present in our lives. They provide touchstone experiences to remind us that we are not alone.
A teacher once told me the following story about her high school days that I think illustrates my point.
I was a sophomore in high school and played on the girl’s basketball team. Being insignificant sophomores, our practice time was scheduled from 8:00 to 10:00 at night. I lived relatively close to school, so after practice every night I had to walk home in the dark, and I hated it. I hated it because I had to walk up this long, steep, dimly lit hill that had a thick wooded area to the left of it. Even though the neighborhood was very safe, as I walked past the woods I always imagined that someone was in there watching me and waiting to attack me. I could work myself up pretty well with these thoughts. So often I would go home and plead with my mother, “Can’t someone come and pick me up?”
Her answer always was, “No.” My father was taking night classes at the time and my mother worked a night shift so the car just wasn’t there. I was so bothered by the situation that I considered quitting the team and I told her. My mother would always respond, “Don’t quit just because you’re afraid.” So I continued to go to practice and I continued to complain until one night when I was at practice we had a torrential rainstorm.
This particular evening as we were finishing up our final drills my dad came walking through the gym doors. When I met up with him I said, “Dad, what are you doing here?” And he said, “My class finished early because of the heavy rain. So, I thought I’d come and pick you up.” I was delighted, so I grabbed my stuff and we headed out the door, got in the car—and eventually drove up the infamous dark hill.
As we drove about halfway up the hill we both noticed someone standing at the top of the hill. As we got closer we noticed that it wasn’t a stranger, it was my mother! So I jumped over the seat into the back as my dad rolled down his window a little bit. Then, when we got closer to my mom my father stuck out his head and asked, “What are you doing out in the rain?” My mom quietly replied, “I’m waiting for Cindy.” From the back seat I yelled, “Mom, I’m right here, get in the car.”
When she got into the car I quietly asked, “Why were you waiting for me?” And I’ll never forget what her answer was. She said: “I know that you don’t like to walk past the woods at night, so I thought if you saw me standing here as you climbed the hill in the dark, you wouldn’t be afraid.” I sat in the back seat stunned. In this torrential rainstorm, my mother came out to be with me so I wouldn’t be afraid. All that kept going through my mind was, “I really am loved! Not just by my parents, but I am truly loved by God.” It was a depth of knowing that came from that experience that I had never felt before, and I felt so alive.
This experience remains as clear and powerful in my mind today as the day it happened eighteen years ago. It is a touchstone for me. Something I can reach back into and be reminded of God’s loving presence in my life, especially during those times when the sun seems to set and the darkness prevents me from moving on, and I am tempted to fall asleep . . . and to forget. It’s as easy to forget that we are loved as it is to miss the precious daily opportunities to love others, particularly when we are preoccupied with our own problems.
To illustrate, Mother Teresa once told the following story:
One night a man came to our house and told me, “There is a family with eight children. They have not eaten for days.”
I took some food with me and went. When I came to that family I saw the faces of those little children disfigured by hunger. There was no sorrow or sadness in their faces, just the deep pain of hunger. I gave the rice to the mother. She divided the rice in two, and went out, carrying half the rice. When she came back, I asked her, “Where did you go?” She gave me this simple answer, “To my neighbors; they are hungry also!” I was not surprised that she gave—poor people are really very generous. I was surprised that she knew they were hungry. As a rule, when we are suffering, we are so focused on ourselves, we have no time for others.”
As a matter of fact, even when we are confronted by the difficulties of others, we often get so quickly lost in our own schedules, needs, and little problems, that we can’t respond in a generous, genuine, and helpful way. This is very sad because we are capable of so much good. And when we are self-less and other-focused, we feed the good-heartedness in ourselves in a subtle but rich way. People who are truly sensitive to others find their hearts filled with peace and joy. But it’s so easy to miss these chances. We run on automatic, acting and speaking out of self-interest without even recognizing it.
Surprisingly, this is more a sin of the wealthy than the poor; more apt to be a fault of the religious elite than those of simple faith. A number of years ago my wife needed immediate surgery for a serious illness. Because of it, I needed to cancel a speaking engagement to a religious gathering to be with her. To let the conference organizer know, I called the main conference office. The telephone operator told me I would have to call Baltimore where the conference was being held. I did, and there was no response. So I called the woman back and decided to tell her the problem that necessitated the contact. In response, the telephone operator gave me a group of phone numbers so I was sure to get someone. But before I got a chance to thank her and hang up so I could try to get through to the conference organizer, the operator said in a quiet voice accented by a southern Washington, D.C., lilt: “I’m sorry for your troubles.” I was deeply moved by her concern—especially since I really needed support even though I’m a professional helper. After hanging up, I dialed the first number on the list and got through immediately. Relieved, I introduced myself, told to the woman who answered I would have to cancel my talk because I needed to be with my wife who was having surgery. She said: “Oh, you’d better speak to one of the persons in charge.” When that person got on the line, I told my story. She was clearly distressed and responded, “Oh my, oh my. . . .” She paused and I thought she was going to add a word or two of consolation. Instead she said, “You know, we’ve advertised your appearance really widely.” I was stunned—too shocked in fact to respond by saying something nasty or sarcastic. I could understand her thinking something like that, but to actually say it to someone whose wife is going into surgery stunned me. So instead I quickly mumbled, “Well, it can’t be helped,” and hung up.
Later in reflection and prayer, I felt my anger rising. I also sensed God gently chiding me, leading me to an awareness that I had done worse when people needed my support. Instead of anger, I needed to have compassion for the woman who had missed the chance for “a caring moment.” As a matter of fact, only two months later when a colleague couldn’t review something I had written because her mother had been rushed to the emergency room, I responded just as dismally. Rather than feeling compassion for her, I felt disappointment for myself. For a few fleeting seconds I even thought, “Well maybe she can look through the manuscript in the hospital waiting room.” Amazing!
How sad when we miss opportunities to encourage and support each other because we are lost in our own world of tasks and agendas. To dismiss such chances is to fail to be awake to the real challenge of true good-heartedness. Feeling and sharing both joys and sorrows in our lives is a good and simple challenge—but unfortunately because of our compulsive conditioning, it is not a very easy one to meet. This is sad because the combination of good support from friends and a deep, dynamic relationship with God can help us to move through even the darkest moments in ways we never expected.
In the following written reflection by a pastoral counseling student who lost her child after a long illness, we can see how her view of God became more rich and dynamic. We can also see how her appreciation of her fellow students set the stage for her to deepen her own compassionate nature—not in spite of her own pain but because of it.
One Lenten season when I was struggling with my daughter’s illness, I tried to focus on Christ’s sacrifice. As I drove along I prayed, “Thank you God for sending your son to die for me.” In less than a moment I was answered with, “Thank you for taking care of Becky.” It was a very real moment and I know it was the Holy Spirit who spoke within me. I will never forget the split-second feeling I had of God’s vulnerability. It came and went so quickly it was almost as if it hadn’t happened. He was trusting me to take care of one of his own lambs. When I meditate on that time now I find myself asking, “What was it like for God when my daughter died?” I had never considered that before. I am still not ready to explore that question in any depth. When I can, I know it will increase my understanding of God’s vulnerability and humility.
She then went on to write:
Although I am looking forward to my graduation, the feeling of accomplishment I associate with that day is coupled with a sadness that I will be leaving behind the weekly opportunities to be with others who are in the Loyola College Pastoral Counseling “community.” In Compassion, the authors (Nouwen, McNeill, and Morrison) point out that “faith in God’s compassionate presence can never be separated from experiencing God’s presence in the community to which we belong.” I realize that I will need to make a conscious effort to retain and add to the ties to others in the community of caring that I have benefited from at Loyola. The presence of community, along with continually seeking to know myself better and knowing the presence of the Holy Spirit’s wisdom and guidance, are what enable me to be present to others.
Her insights into new understandings of herself, God, and others would all be needed in her work with others in the days to come. However, in reaching this point, she didn’t realize how soon and personal her challenge would be to do this in her own family.
She continued:
On Good Friday, 2001, my cousin called me, distraught and confused, to tell me that her six-week-old granddaughter had died that morning. This tiny new person had been sleeping between her parents and was apparently accidentally smothered. I listened and then asked what I could do. I was asked to help with funeral and cemetery arrangements as we had done this for our own child. On Saturday morning as I drove to meet my cousin and her son and his wife at the cemetery, I tried to think of what to bring to them. What would comfort them? What I had was myself and that, I decided, was the best gift I could give them. I found myself praying, “Lord, be present in my presence as I am with these grieving parents and this baby’s grandmother. Holy Spirit, help me to know how to be truly present to them.” I learned on that day that I was stronger than I thought I was, I have more to offer than I thought I did; and that writing this paper has enabled me to pull together a lot of loose ends in my spiritual beliefs, enabling me to see where the source of my strength and renewal originates. I can’t do the work of pastoral counseling alone but, thank God, I don’t have to do it on my own.
She recognized in this moment that when she absorbed the love of God and her family and friends in new ways each day, even in the most difficult situations, she was and is enough. When we realize and live this way, we are all enough. Our own experiences and memories of kindness and love to us will bear out the lesson. Great love is more often found in small deeds done than large actions about which we only dream. By remembering this when we are called to give or are privileged to receive some gestures of love, we will not step back but make the most of them.
This excerpt from Riding the Dragon: 10 Lessons for Inner Strength in Challenging Times is reprinted with permission of Ave Maria Press.
Psychologist and popular speaker Robert J. Wicks is the author of more than sixty books for individuals and professionals, including the bestselling Riding the Dragon.
