I was 22 the first time I walked with someone through cancer treatment.
I was in grad school and frequently did my homework in a local Mexican place that had killer burritos. With time I got to know the family that worked there. They were a community to local Spanish speakers and eventually, as I was constantly eager to practice my Spanish, so was I. There weren't so many things in place back then to support non- English speakers and so I often helped folks fill out forms or read important mail.
One day, the matriarch of the family needed to go to the clinic. She was not feeling well and bruising easily. I rode along to help, just in case. The blood pressure cuff caused a circular bruise around her arm and she was given a one way ticket straight to the ER. The following days and weeks I spent with her as was diagnosed with leukemia and went through treatment.
Walking along someone and truly seeing them as life unfolds - the joy, suffering, sorrow, grief, laughter and boredom that marks a chapter of life - is a gift. It carves into the soul creating space for all those beautifully human experiences.
In the gospel of John, Jesus repeatedly says "come, and see. " to bear witness to the lives of humans, to the work of God, to that which binds us together. From calling of the disciples to the grief of losing his friend Lazarus - Jesus invites us into the spiritual practice of bearing witness.
This practice has given me strength and resilience and has made it easier to see God at work in my own life after seeing God at work in the lives of others. Birth, motherhood, facing health challenges, adversity at work. The sacred moments I've born witness in the lives of others have come to mind in times of hardship and have comforted or strengthened me. They've given me grace to bear witness to my own story with some distance and compassion.
A few weeks ago I was locked in embrace with a friend who was headed off to the hospital unsure of what would happen to her father in law who was in critical condition. Over the following days I prayed hard for their family. Holding vigil from a distance. One evening, I texted to see how things were going and what I could pray for. "He's too tired to give me an update. He just got home from the hospital and went to bed. "
"Someone needs to get that guy a beer." I thought. So I decided I would. I stopped at the craft beer store around the corner and dropped ofI a couple beers and some snacks.
He texted me later with heartfelt words. That beer was simple and something he could have gotten himself, but it meant something coming from me.
The other side of bearing witness is being seen.
And there is something sacred about truly being seen for who we are as we live out our own story. Been seen in our grief and vulnerability, being seen in our accomplishment and victories. Being seen in those milestones - decade birthdays and life events.
I was on my way to school to pick up kids when a text came through:
"At Costco, need anything?"
I smiled. Andrew was sitting shot-gun and I asked him to text back
"Eggs, milk and a rôtisserie chicken. "
I smiled.
I had gotten this exact text from this exact person in the worst of the pandemic. She was working as a physician assistant and was out in the world while I was mostly cloistered at home with my little brood and my growing pregnant belly.
At that time there wasn't any bread so I asked her for flour. Like the rest of the world, we had turned to bread baking and a Costco sized bag of flour would last a while even with my growing boys.
I was almost in tears when she left that flour on the front porch and waved with her masked face through my picture window.
In that moment someone had seen me. Someone had seen the worry in my heart. Someone had thought of me locked away with 4 small children losing my mind and had paid me an act of deep kindness. Every time I baked with that flour, I felt less alone. I felt seen in my story.
Today I was sprawled on the couch trying to work up energy to clean the living room. She showed up with the groceries and a lasagna for dinner.
That same welling up inside. I remember that she has gone through health challenges and she knows something of what my body is feeling. And that sacred spiritual practice of bearing witness allows her to be the hands and feet of God to me.
I had the strangest sensation of vertigo all day and had been pushing myself through. And this unexpected gentleness, this being seen, was a moment of grace and a moment of the softness of God.
This, I believe, is why faith is best practiced in community. This breathing, living, hands and feet of God that we become for each other is in synergy with the more private practice of prayer. For in prayer we ask God to act in the world. In showing up for each other, we become the answer to each other's prayers. In prayer, we ask for our hearts to be changed , softened and reformed. In bearing witness to each other's stories, we are changed by the courage and sorrow of others.
I have been changed by the giving and I have been changed by the receiving.
I've gathered stories of courage and love and tenderness and those stories have strengthened and encouraged me.
May you have eyes to see the lives unfolding around you and be invited into acts of love and kindness. And may someone see you in your moments of struggle and offer the gift of being seen.
You can always call me.
And Patty, thanks again for the lasagna. You are a special human.
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