It's a tough world out there. We have friends dealing with cancer. Dear neighbors who just had to put down their beloved dog. Friends confronting destructive addictions. Friends who have lost loved ones. Then there's the wear and tear, the weariness of living on this broken, old planet: Disappointment. Defeat. Depression. Not to mention plain old exhaustion that can make cowards of us all.
So what do we do? Well, here's one ridiculously simple thought--give the gift of encouragement. I wish I were a better cook and could craft meals that would bring sunshine into dark corners. I wish I were a talented musician who could bless and strengthen with joyful songs. Or maybe a skilled surgeon who could somehow, someway, make that cancer...or that sorrow...or that worry disappear and never come back.
But I'm not. Here's what I can do--use what God has placed in my hands and heart--the gift of words and the gift of presence. The same gift every single one of us possesses. Words that can strengthen the burdened and encourage the fainthearted. Words that heal. Words that give hope. Words that point to the Burden-Bearer. And the gift of presence--to hug, to hold, to sit with, even in silence, to share tears and divide the pain.
Such simple things, really, but God revealed Himself to us in the Word. Jesus is the Word made flesh. God used words to reveal Himself to us...and He used His actual physical presence in a bodily form to come and save us. So words and presence are powerful, beautiful things when used to love and bless, strengthen and save.
So a simple question for today: who needs your encouragement right now? Because there's no greater gift you can give someone else than the gift of encouragement--with your words or with your presence. You know, the word "encouragement" means "to pour courage into." Isn't that what we all need...especially when we're struggling? A dose of courage, an infusion of hope.
The other night, my husband and I sat at dinner and somehow the subject came up of two indelible memories from Janie's time in the hospital. Both were brief vignettes...but both were unforgettable. Both involved encouragement, yet in both the encouragers probably had little idea of how their simple actions and presence meant so much.
The first--the simple sight of Will Page sitting in the ICU waiting room in the wee hours of the night. My husband, Richard, said he walked out of Janie's room, bleary-eyed, worn thin...and there sat Will, all by himself in the darkened, quiet waiting room. When my husband saw him, he gasped in surprise. Will merely smiled and said "I'm here."
And so he was. Day after day. As was his dear wife, Beth. Often just sitting out in the waiting room, praying, reading the Word, ministering with the beautiful gift of their presence.
Brings tears to my eyes even today to think of all the ways our friends and family ministered to and encouraged us in the midst of a dark, challenging season for our family. My dear sisters and brothers, dropping everything, so that one or two of them were always with us at the hospital. Our wonderful friends doing everything from cooking to cleaning to carpooling to praying fervently. They'll never know how their actions, their words, their prayers, and their presence quite literally poured strength and courage into our weak and weary hearts. And day by day, kept us going for another day--that's what encouragement can do for you.
Maybe encouragement is really just putting on skin and flesh and being the gift of Jesus to someone else.
Oh Lord Jesus, make us encouragers.
The second vignette was a harder, far sadder one, but poignantly powerful. When Janie was moved from the ICU to a regular room in the hospital in Chapel Hill, she was first moved to the Children's Wing of the hospital. Never have I seen such dedicated, kind, remarkable nurses. They were caring for some very sick children--many with cancer or with other illnesses and issues that far exceeded what Janie faced.
Sometimes, in the unlikeliest of places, one recognizes that you are in the presence of the holy...and you tread gently and gratefully. Such was this place of sickness, heartbreaking sorrow, and beautiful compassion, love, and encouragement.
My husband was there for this hard, but holy moment, and he described it to me later. Right on our hall, even as our child recovered, other children and their families fought on.
One afternoon, Richard saw a young mother smile brightly at her precious, but very sick, young child. This little one hobbled along on crutches, bloated, pale, and weak from his treatment. He was leaving his mom to go down the hall with a nurse. This dear, brave mama lent her child her very best, her very last ounce of energy and love and encouragement, as she smiled and waved gaily, and he gave her a little smile before slowly rounding the corner.
As soon as he disappeared from sight, this brave woman hung her head, covered her face in her hands, and wept. Even now as I write it, the tears flow. She had given her child all the encouragement left in her worn and weary heart...and now that broken heart spilled over.
And again, the ministry of presence as a nurse immediately ran and embraced her. They stood there in the hall, clinging to one another, the love and compassion of one woman flowing into the emptiness of the other. Yes, pouring courage into her simply by her presence and her love and her caring. The skin and bone of Jesus--the Word made flesh--embracing, holding, upholding, loving.
We will never forget it.
Forgive me, Lord Jesus, for how often, in my busyness and preoccupation, I miss Your God-ordained and holy moments to encourage someone else. To share Your love, Your grace, Your courage, Your strength, Your hope with someone who desperately needs it.
Oh make us encouragers, Father. Make us Your hands and feet and heart in a hurting world, so that the world may know how good and great and kind and strong and loving You are. You are the God of all comfort. Make us willing and available vessels to share that comfort with others.
To God be the glory.
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