Snow was falling fluffy, but fast, lit orange by the streetlights outside the hospital room window. It was late and though I was tired, I was glad for the dim lighting of the room. L’s somber face barely hid her broken heart and spirit, her helplessness and hopelessness permeating the room. We had brought her baby guitar and my sister strummed as I sang sad songs from a Peter, Paul and Mary record we’d listened to as children. As we stood to go, the palpable sadness became even heavier and I found myself struggling to ask:
“Can I pray for you?”
Five simple words that I was afraid to utter for fear of what they might convey—either that I was being opportunistic in her sadness, trying to inject a sunny, happy God into her life or that I was offering her a false and shamanistic solution to depression. L, in her gentle way, closed her small mouth with a teary half-smile and nodded yes.
My worries kept me from saying all—that I hoped she might know God more. That I knew God had a plan for her, far greater than what she could see around her at this point, for healing beyond what mere medicine might offer. And yet, that I knew God’s timing was different from our own. My hand was probably trembling when I laid it on her shoulder.
Somehow, though, she knew I wasn’t faking or being pushy. I know, because my sister told me how thankful L was that I wanted to pray for her.
“She likes that you have real faith and it’s not gimmicky.”
L knew. And her observation hit the nail on the head as to why I was afraid to even ask to pray for her. Donald Miller puts it this way:
“Nobody will listen to you unless they sense that you like them. . . .
When I am talking to somebody there are always two conversations going on. The first is on the surface; it is about politics or music or whatever it is our mouths are saying. The other is beneath the surface, on the level of the heart, and my heart is either communicating that I like the person I am talking to or I don’t. God wants both conversations to be true.” Blue Like Jazz
L has had a hard life, far more difficult than I can readily understand. I don’t know what it is to be physically mistreated by my family or to have any sort of doubt about the love my parents have for me. I don’t know what it is to rely on alcohol for solace or on the opinions and love of others for my self-worth. I don’t know what it is like to live with bodily pain that prevents me from doing the most ordinary things to take care of myself. But I can understand longing when I see it. I understand what it is to want to be known and loved and to do the same for others. I know what it feels like to feel alone, as though I have no one with whom I can share my thoughts or perspective. And I know what it feels like to feel hopeless, even if for only a moment.
Funnily enough, those are the exact emotions I was going through at the time I accepted Christ into my heart. And it’s funny how worried I become when it comes to sharing about that part of my life sometimes. I worry that I’m making that person a project, even though I have the best of intentions. It is a dangerous trap to fall into. . . and at the same time, it is dangerous to be too worried about project-ing, because the intentions of helping draw someone closer to Christ are secondary. Hopefully, the secondary conversation, the one that says we like that person, for real, comes through. And we should not be paralyzed by fear in situations where we can act in ways that demonstrate love.
It’s a tricky thing, balancing love and project-ing, wisdom and action. But there is a fine line, and the only way to truly delineate it is to keep trying. Take the risk, because it is well worth it. But please check your heart before you open your mouth. . .
Since, then, we know what it is to fear the Lord, we try to persuade men. . . .
So from now on we regard no one from a worldly point of view. . . . All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation: that God was reconciling he world to himself in Christ, not counting men’s sins against them. And he has committed to us the message of reconciliation. We are therefore Christ’s ambassadors, as though God were making his appeal through us. We implore you on Christ’s behalf: Be reconciled to God. God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God. 2 Cor 5:11, 16, 18-20.
(Author's Note: An old entry that I've been meaning to edit more, but realize I cannot make perfect nor wise through editing. And therefore I share its imperfections for the sake of stirring conversation. . . )