The more I interact with people in this messy, beautiful, crazy journey called life, the more I experience heartbreak. The more I feel pain and sorrow for those who are hurting.
I sit with women at Esther’s House as they process trauma from their childhood, the broken relationships they’ve endured, the countless nights they spent trying to get high to avoid the pain, never wanting to be known as an addict. My heart hurts.
I sit on the porch with one of my dearest friends, who happens to be my next door neighbor, almost every morning as we have coffee together and solve the world’s problems. Sometimes we talk about how amazing God is. Sometimes we watch the rabbits chasing each other in the yard and laugh. Sometimes we dream about the future. Sometimes we cry as we talk about the hurts from our past and the struggles in our present. Oh.. if I had a penny for every tear that’s been shed on her back porch, I’d be a rich woman.
I get the phone call from a friend who says her loved one has died and my heart hurts again. I hear of another friend who has relapsed. And another who’s left her boyfriend and sits in her heartbreak wondering if she’ll spend the rest of her life alone.
My heart hurts and I say the only thing I think I can say in the moment….
I’m sorry.
Oh… but they’re not just words. I believe they’re two of the most powerful words we can muster up. They speak volumes to those we sit across from in times of pain.
They say, “I don’t have the answers for your struggle. I can’t pretend I understand your pain. I don’t want to try to fix your problem in this moment and come up with some grand solution that will make everything better.”
They say, “I’m here. I’ve heard your cries. I’m recognizing your pain. I’m hurting with you. I’m here if you need me.”
I like to solve problems. I struggle not to jump in and fix everything for everyone. If you tell me something is impossible, I long to prove you wrong. And there is a time for all of that (except the whole fixing everything for everyone part. Jesus is healing the ugly codependency that sneaks up in me).
But before the time comes for that, sometimes all I need to say is “I’m sorry.”
And hearts melt. And tears flow. And safety fills the atmosphere. And she knows my heart hears her heart. She knows I love her right where she’s at. She knows I’m hearing everything she says, not just listening. She knows I’m genuinely sorry for the pain her heart is enduring.
Those two words may not solve the whole problem, but it provides a healing salve on a deep wound that Jesus longs to heal. Those two simple, yet powerful words opens the door for trust. For grace without judgment. For hope.
I don’t know what you’re struggling through today. I may never know. This may be all I have to offer you, but I hope you know I sincerely mean it.
[ctt template=”5″ link=”2UF73″ via=”yes” ]Two of the most powerful words we can ever say is “I’m sorry”[/ctt]
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for the sexual abuse you endured as an innocent little girl just wanting to be loved.
I’m sorry you were raped by a man who preyed on your weakness and took advantage of you.
I’m sorry your identity was stolen at such a young age and you’re struggling all these years later to understand who you are.
I’m sorry you lost your job.
I’m sorry your husband has been cheating on you.
I’m sorry that man spent years telling you how worthless you are.
I’m sorry he put his hands on you over and over again.
I’m sorry you haven’t been able to have children yet.
I’m sorry you’re still single.
I’m sorry you’re feeling depressed.
I’m sorry you don’t feel like you fit in.
I’m sorry you’ve never felt loved by your father.
I’m sorry you relapsed.
I’m sorry you’re hurting.