Your Grief DOES Compare With Mine

 

I bear witness that when we pledge to follow Him, the path will, one way or another, pass by way of a crown of thorns and a stark Roman cross. No matter how wealthy our young ruler was, he wasn’t wealthy enough to buy his way out of a rendezvous with those symbols, and neither can we.                                                                    --Jeffrey Holland, General Conference 10-21

 

I don't know how many times I've used, thought or heard the phrase, "Wow.  That's crazy and oh so hard.   My grief just doesn't compare with yours."

Then there is the obvious follow-up thought: I can't relate to you, empathize with you or truly know what you're going through.  I can't help as much as I would like to.

I have listened to people who have suffered abuse, experienced years of physical pain, betrayal by spouses and many other trials and thought these things.  Sitting across from them--whether physically or in spirit--I have felt helpless to relate and truly help.

While the exact descriptions of our crowns of thorns or stark Roman crosses are as varied as the DNA combinations of the human genome, the above truth from Elder Holland has helped bring to light something that I am coming to believe is true.  Our suffering, our grief and our crosses are similar in how they hurt.  Whatever the trigger, whatever the cause, whether it looks worse on the surface or not, our crowns and crosses are fundamentally the same.

Each one touches our soul in a unique and oh, so hard way. 

And that we can relate to.

Each trial comes to a person already riddled with personality, issues, weaknesses and heartaches.  I used to believe that I could never possibly hope to understand or pretend to share the burden with someone else.  Yes, I've had and am having my own hard trials but to be betrayed and abandoned by a spouse? To have been sexually abused by a parent and others for years?  How could I possibly compare my grief and sorrows with theirs?  And I step back, figuratively hanging my arms by my side in helplessness instead of wrapping my arms around that fellow soul and say, "I know what pain and hurt feel like.  I am here."

My friend pointed out to me that our humble belief that we cannot truly understand another's pain or suffering prevent us from helping each other as much as we can.

I feel that the color of my cross, the weaving of my thorns, don't make them any more or less painful than anyone else's.  I believe that fundamentally trauma feels the same.  You and I know at the core what it feels like to go through trauma.  God has promised that not one of us is exempt.

Physical suffering can result from natural aging, unexpected diseases, and random accidents; hunger or homelessness; or abuse, violent acts, and war.

Emotional suffering can arise from anxiety or depression; the betrayal of a spouse, parent, or trusted leader; employment or financial reversals; unfair judgment by others; the choices of friends, children, or other family members; abuse in its many forms; unfulfilled dreams of marriage or children; the severe illness or early death of loved ones; or so many other sources.--Anthony Perkins, General Conference 10-21

 We are all going to carry a cross and wear a crown.  Let's reach out to each other and just allow the love to flow.

GETHSEMANE

In golden youth, when seems the earth,

A Summer land for singing mirth,

When souls are glad, and hearts are light,

And not a shadow lurks in sight.

We do not know it, but there lays

Somewhere, veiled under evening skies,

A garden all must sometimes see,

    Gethsemane, Gethsemane,

    Somewhere his own Gethsemane.

With joyous steps we go our ways,

Love lends a halo to our days,

Light sorrows sail like clouds afar,

We laugh and say how strong we are.

We hurry on, and, hurrying, go

Close to the borderland of woe

That waits for you and waits for me;

    Gethsemane, Gethsemane,

    Forever waits Gethsemane.

Down shadowy lanes, across strange streams,

Bridged over by our broken dreams,

Behind the misty caps of years,

Close to the great salt fount of tears

The garden lies ; strive as you may,

You cannot miss it on your way.

    All paths that have been, or shall be

    Pass somewhere through Gethsemane.

All those who journey soon or late,

Must pass within the garden's gate ;

Must kneel alone in darkness there,

And battle with some fierce despair.

God pity those who cannot say :

“Not mine, but thine;” who only pray,

“Let this cup pass;” and cannot see

The purpose in Gethsemane.

    Gethsemane, Gethsemane,

    God help us through Gethsemane.

                        —Ella Wheeler Wilcox.