When Words Aren't Enough . . .

"I'm sorry, I just couldn't find the right words at the time," Brandon said in a text.  "What I was trying to say was . . . I really don't know what to say, because obviously I can't identify with what you're going through . . ."

Earlier that day Brandon had walked up to me following the church service.  It was four days after our precious Thomas passed away unexpectedly.  The news shocked everyone.  We were nervous about going to church so soon.  We were afraid of what people might say.  We were afraid people would be awkward.  We were afraid people might even ignore us.  We were afraid people might be afraid to talk to us.  We were afraid all the attention would be on us.  The service was awkward.  Being around people was awkward.  Even "well-seasoned" adults can get weird at times like this.  But Brandon didn't.

He stood back as others greeted us.  When his turn came I reached out to shake his hand as I'd done hundreds of times before.  He has a very firm handshake for a college student.  As we stood there he looked me right in the eye.  We just kept shaking hands.  I could see that he wanted to say something.  He kept looking me in the eye as his eyes welled up with tears and his cheek began to quiver.  Then the  tears began streaming down his face.  He kept shaking hands.  "I . . . uh . . ."  He couldn't do it.  We embraced and he left.

Why do we feel pressure to find words?  What is it about our interactions with others that compels us to describe or commentate nearly every situation?  Why is it so important that our feelings be expressed with words?  Why are we so uncomfortable when we simply can't find the right words?  We have a hard time being silent, let alone allowing that silence to speak for us.

I think a lot of it is our society.  Network television halts all programming just so we can hear a presidential debate.  Athletes respond to a passionate halftime speech made by a coach.  We leave a church service "feeling good" about what we've heard in a sermon.  Billions of dollars are spent each year by companies to bring in motivational speakers.  We've been taught that words matter.  Words might be enough to motivate a work force to better productivity, but they are insufficient for addressing life's deepest pain.

Now don't get me wrong, words do matter.  Who among us hasn't been uplifted by the encouraging words of another?  And who among us hasn't been severely damaged by the words of another person?  Words can move us emotionally.  Words can motivate us.  Words matter, but sometimes words just simply aren't enough.  In fact, in most situations words will only go so far.

"I can't even find the words . . ."

We've heard that a great deal over the past four weeks.  Sometimes it's said in various other ways, but the tenor is the same; people have found it impossible to find the perfect words that will make us feel better, make the pain go away, and make everything right again.   The fact is words simply don't exist that are sufficient to make any of those things happen.  We can't even find words to describe the pain so how will anyone be able to find words to address the pain?  There simply aren't words.  I implore you to stop searching for words.  Words, in and of themselves, do not help.  Words are pretty empty right now.  I'm just being honest.  We're having a difficult time even finding strength in God's Word (since I'm being honest),  and human words can't compare to His.

Brandon's text continued, "But I just want you and your family to know that I love you guys, and that I have been and will continue to pray for you."

Brandon felt bad because the words wouldn't come out.  But what Brandon didn't realize is that his tears said it all.  On his face I could see the pain.  It was gut-wrenching.  He was hurting deeply for my family and I.  I could see it.  I could feel it in his handshake.  I sensed it in his embrace.  Brandon was joining me in my suffering and it was more comforting than any words he could have conjured up.*

Many of you have joined us in our suffering.  It's not the words that mean the most; it's the hugs, the tears, the pain in your eyes, the "what can I do for you," and the time spent on your knees before God on our behalf.

Words have their place in life.  But, if you truly want to help someone who is suffering then join them in their suffering.  Be there for them.  Walk beside them.  Hold their hand.  You might even have to carry them.  It can be ugly.  It can be messy.  It can be draining.  It's not pretty.  Words are a lot prettier sometimes, but they aren't enough.  When you share in the suffering you are a catalyst for the healing process.  Trust me.  

I texted Brandon back:  "Your tears said it all . . . nothing else needs to be said.  Love you, man."


*There have been so many people who have walked this journey with us, and so many who will continue to do so.  I included my interaction with Brandon because it was so raw and real and because I was so moved by the fact that someone has figured it out at such a young age.  I could fill pages and pages with stories of many of you who have carried us through this time by sharing in our suffering.  Thank you for joining us.