The Flip Side

"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God." - 2 Corinthians 1:3-4

I grew up pretty sheltered from divorce. Sure, I had friends here and there with divorced parents, but within my own immediate and extended family, divorce was pretty rare. And even among my friends, I never had a friend whose parents got divorced during our friendship.

And because of this, I didn't really understand it. I figured anyone who got a divorce was probably sinning. I approached divorcees with judgment.

And so, faced with the decision of divorce in my own marriage, I wavered for a while. When we finally decided it was over, it had been a couple years of the idea coming up. One of the big things holding me back was my fear that others would judge me the same way I'd judged others. I couldn't stand to think that I'd fit into this "divorced" category. I didn't want that label, because I feared how others would view me.

Ultimately I decided it was between me and God, and if other people wanted to judge me, that was their problem. If I was clear with God, that was all that mattered. And that's what pushed me to make that decision.

Now I have a whole new view of divorce. Having been through it myself, I know that there's always more to it than people may be willing to share. And that's OK...there's no obligation to share it or prove to anyone that they're OK before God.

So lately I've found myself in a role I never quite envisioned: people going through divorce have been coming to me when they need someone to talk to. People I would've judged 5 or 6 years ago, I now have a heart to help. And I'm psyched about it. Of course I'm not psyched that others are going through a difficult phase of life, but I'm psyched that God is using my troubles to help me bring his comfort to others. I said from the beginning of this path that I wanted it to be something that would bring glory to God.

I'm working on starting a divorce support group at my church. I feel like I want to embrace this role and help others who are struggling through some of the same things I did. The logistics, the emotions, the fear of being labelled, the need for someone to talk to. I'm so thankful that God can use my brokenness to minister to others. It's an affirmation that he can take anything and turn it into good.

Comfort

I always felt bad for Job, not just because he loses all of his stuff, but because his friends won't shut up about how he must've done something terrible to deserve this tragedy. Some friends!

But then I think, although we don't tend to offer quite the same message to our grieving friends today, we do have a tendency to try to fill the silence with cliches. "Just trust God." "God has a plan for you." "Just pray about it."

It's not that any of those phrases are incorrect. It's just that sometimes, things suck so bad that you just don't have it in you to trust God or hope in his plan. Sometimes, you can't even muster the strength to pray. And cliches and Christianese aren't going to change that. Sometimes those cliches make you feel like a worse person, because you don't want to trust God at that moment. So now you're grieving and you've got a guilt trip.

I was going through a bad break-up in college and facing these kinds of comments from my well-meaning friends. It was certainly better than Job's friends, but I just wanted someone to commiserate, not try to fix it.

And then one day, I wandered into the room across the hall. To be frank, I can't even remember who lived there now. But she knew what I was going through, at the time. I sat down on her bed, crying, and she just got a box of tissues and sat down next to me. She didn't try to fill what was probably an uncomfortable silence for her. She just put her hand on my back, handed me a tissue, and let me cry.

That was the most comforting thing anyone has ever done for me. That was the thing that made me feel like I could get over this. (That and a full-sized carton of Edy's ice cream that had to be eaten in one sitting since I didn't have a freezer.) Not the cliches, not the Bible verses, but the silence of someone who would just let me express my grief without making me feel like I was a bad Christian for being sad.

Sometimes the most comforting thing you can do is nothing. Don't spout out Bible verses and Christian cliches. Just grab a box of tissues and let the griever cry it out.