The question I am asked most often right now is: What is the best way to relate to and care for widows and widowers? It’s usually closely followed by, “I’m afraid I’m going to do something wrong, so I don’t do anything.” First, it’s such a good question. Secondly, I struggle to answer it. I know the ways my community has blessed me, but my situation is only mine. I don’t have a complete worldview on this issue. So I turned to my friends who have been widowed in the past year or so and they sent me amazing input. Then I had a conversation with someone who was recently divorced and was struck by how different our experiences were. That’s when I decided to talk to a few people who haven’t experienced the death of a spouse, but they have experienced the death of a marriage. Now, I’m not sure which one is harder – they’re both so difficult and so different, but both leave us all in the same place: the land of the newly single. We’re different than the always-single. Used to being part of a couple and usually part of a community of couples, this strange land is fraught with frustration and heartache and, in some cases, shame.
These ideas are not my own, though I do share most of them. They are the collective thoughts from my conversations with some of the bravest people I know. They are by no means exhaustive nor universal, but I hope they inspire you to new levels of love and compassion toward the newly single in your life. Here are our thoughts:
It’s never bad to invite us to…well, pretty much anything.
Holidays can be hard and lonely, but so can regular old Tuesdays. Events with mostly couples can be hard, but invite us anyway – we’ll decide if we can handle it or not. And even though we’ve said no once or twice or five times, please keep asking us. Our ability to move out into society changes from day to day, so please don’t be offended if we have to decline a kind invitation – it still felt so nice to be asked into your world.
Be willing to listen long.
We have, in most cases, lost our primary processing person. We don’t necessarily need answers as much as we need to be able to talk our way to a conclusion or solution which is why we may cover the same ground over and over again. It’s tempting to want to give a lot of advice and it’s okay to offer some – but those who listen well are an amazing gift to us.
We appreciate your love for our kids – especially when you run it through us first.
Again, this one can be difficult to navigate because whatever it is that made us single has undoubtedly caused heartache for them as well. We have our eyes out for signs of fallout in their hearts and are cautious to expose them to anything else that might be hurtful. Offers to take them to coffee, or school clothes shopping or on your family vacation are so kind, but there may be reasons it won’t work, so just ask us first.
Here’s a tricky one: be careful in your attempts to set us up.
So, so careful. Some of my newly single friends are eager to welcome the involvement of their married friends in their dating lives, others are not. And across the board, my friends expressed a fair amount of shock and awe at how they’ve been set up and with whom. Let’s tackle those separately, shall we? Now understand, please, that I’M not in the dating market, but I’m going to speak collectively for the people who trusted me with their insight and so it will sound weird, but that’s just how this is going down.
- HOW to set up your newly single friend. Here are the don’ts: No blindsiding. No secret invites of other single friends, hoping they’ll meet, mingle and marry (totally going to trademark Meet, Mingle & Marry for a new dating web site. Because I have time for that.) Here are the do’s: Do ask permission. Do be honest about your motives (wanting to introduce two people who may become friends or more is not bad, it just becomes bad if people feel tricked) Do give your friend a way out if they are not comfortable.
- WITH WHOM: This one is a little tricky to talk about, but talk about it we must. We understand that the dating pool gets smaller as we get older. However, that does not mean our standards shrink along with it. We want someone who shares our beliefs and values. We want someone who has character and integrity. We want someone who – and I can’t stress how many times I’ve heard this, so it must really be a thing – is not crazy. I get that crazy can be subjective and a little crazy can be cute to some – but use good judgement here. And here are some random don’ts:
- Don’t put your friend in a situation that you yourself would not want to be in. Ask yourself: If roles were reversed, would I think this person was a legitimate option for my dating life? Then, add in all the pain and sorrow that comes from divorce or widowhood and multiply by 17 and you have the level of caution and disorientation your friend is feeling as he or she faces the whacky world of dating.
- Do not be offended if your friend asks to see a picture or a Facebook page before committing to a meeting. You would want one, too.
- Do not be offended if, after viewing said Facebook profile, your friend takes a pass.
- Do not be offended if, after one date, your friend doesn’t want another. Love and attraction are entirely subjective and what makes sense to you may not make any sense at all to them, and that’s okay. Almost every one of my friends made a comment along the lines of, “I’d rather have no one than settle for something that doesn’t feel right.” In my conversations, people who had lost their spouse to divorce were much more adamant on this point than those who were widowed. Though walking a spouse all the way to the end of his life is difficult, it also re-emphasizes the beauty and strength of committed love. Those who have watched the wedding vows die, on the other hand, do not always enjoy that same faith in relationships.
- Do not offer the possibility of finding a mate as a source of comfort. “Don’t worry, you’re young – you’ll love again” just really isn’t comforting. It implies that what we lost is replaceable and often times, the thing we lost was our faith in the safety and sanctity of marriage itself. So “again” is loaded with all sorts of emotions.
Speaking of people who have been through a divorce or difficult break up: This one is very tender. Every divorced friend I spoke with had a word in their lexicon that the widowed group did not, and the word is a powerful one: shame. They are carrying the weight of failure, whether perceived or actual. They are often locked in bitter battles for children or property or reputation. They haven’t just lost the friendship of a spouse, each one expressed the depth of pain in losing half their friends or their church or their in-laws. Sometimes they feel that married people eye them suspiciously when they get near their spouses. It is sorrow on top of sorrow.
Widows and widowers usually receive an outpouring of love and sympathy (at least initially), but divorced people are often tragically neglected as communities choose sides and scatter. The bottom line here, however, is love. Be willing to love your divorced friends without condition and without needing explanations or apologies. And in those situations where the social dynamic must change in your relationship (you probably won’t keep having your ex brother-in-law over for Christmas dinner), refuse to get caught up in the mudslide of gossip and slander that so easily rolls through communities (and social media!) in the aftermath of a marriage breakdown. Refuse to throw mud. And love instead. For the sake of broken hearts and hurting children and in honor of the grace of Jesus, choose generous, covering love.
Finally, stay in the game.
Many I talked with mentioned feeling that their friends gradually began to slide out of the picture. Sometimes it’s friend fatigue, sometimes it’s just forgetfulness. Once the initial shock is over, the surrounding community returns to their regular lives while the newly single person stands in the wreckage, wondering if rebuilding is even possible. If you’ve lost touch with someone you love who is rebuilding, it’s never too late to reengage. So many people have told me how sad they are for neglecting to stick close to their hurting friend and that they’re now too embarrassed to reach out. Don’t be that friend. Reach out. No need to over-explain or over-apologize, just say, “Hey I love you and I miss you and I want to get together whenever it works for you.” And then make it work. Because we’re all in this together, guys. And from my side of the newly-single fence: I need you. And I’m so glad you’re in my life.
And hey – single or formerly-single friends – comments are open: what did we miss?
Okay, yes. I know social media is an obsession and I know too many of us are fastened to our phones. I also get that we are presenting an overly stylized version of our lives. I don’t have to prove to anyone that our technology often outpaces our good sense. How many pictures do we need to see of your kid eating avocado? But, still…I remain unapologetically happy that millions of people are recording evidence of their existence, and their children and even their coffee.
I mean, you want to love your beautiful latte and remember how it looked next to your leather journal? Fantastic. I’m with you. Actually, I am you! I remember a day last year, right after Steve went on hospice when I, feeling broken and beaten, stumbled into my favorite little cafe and ordered a cappuccino. I actually only ever drink plain, black coffee, but I ordered a cappuccino because I knew my friend, Mekenzie, would make it look lovely and on that one day, it was the only lovely I had. It’s what I could hold and look at and hope into. Here’s what I posted on my instagram account that day:
I captioned it, “Money can’t buy happiness, but it can buy this.” It took its place next to the millions of other pictures of coffee cups that day, but this one is mine. It represents a breakthrough of hope on a truly hopeless day. It means nothing to anyone else, but it means about a thousand things to me and – honestly – I owe it to a social media-obsessed generation. They’ve taught me to look at small things with big love. They’ve taught me to preserve moments of life in the face of death. They’ve taught me to scan for beauty and capture it. And, yep, they’ve taught me that sometimes it’s okay to wrap sharp edges in gauzy, grace-y filters.
A couple of weeks ago I went through my instagram account, poring over pictures of Steve and grandboys and trail runs and sandwiches that made my heart sing. Some were well-liked by those who follow me, others were barely noticed, but you wannna know what? I don’t regret a single one. Each photo sang a special song to me of a really brutal and beautiful season. In fact, my only regret was that I hadn’t taken more – and the reason I didn’t was because I worried that I would annoy people. I feared showing a piece of my life that seemed unworthy of the bandwidth, but now I understand there is no such thing. Not for me and not for you. Our lives are worthy and wonderful. And they may, in fact, annoy other people, but I am here to tell you: I will be a witness to your existence. I will cheer the big moments in your life like weddings and vacations and I will love the small moments like that baby and that avocado. I will love that picture of your open Bible, even if you didn’t have time to read it.
And I can’t linger long over your photos, but I will watch and wave as they go by and wish you a meaningful journey – on your perfectly filtered family days and on the deeply dark and un-photographed ones. Because, friend, you matter. You matter much.
As for me, I am taking a photo every day which I am tagging #ProjectYestoLife. I have no plan each day for what I will snap, all I know is that it will be something I said (or am saying) yes to. I will record this year – still brutal, still beautiful, still standing, and I hope you’ll wave as my moments go by, but I won’t be sad if you don’t. Because this is my Yes and only I can say it and live it. In the end, I just want to remember that I did.
Here’s my question today: how are you recording your life? Words? Photos? Photo albums? Choreographed dance? I’d love to know!
With so much hope and so much Yes,
I love passion like Oprah loves bread (and I also love bread.)
The feeling of passion that inspires deep love, desire, anger, hatred, outrage, exasperation, reminds us we’re alive and kicking. This is good. For those of us who have experienced the lethargy of grief, these sparky emotions create a sense of something that may not be called “pleasant”, but could be called Phew.
When sorrow kicks in the door and we employ all our numbing agents to survive it, it’s often a huge relief just to feel anything other than sadness. Even being mad at the political system has been a welcome change of emotion for me from sadness. It’s a spark, and I don’t think feeling the spark is bad. But it can become bad if I respond to it without discipline because, for me, passion fuels words. And words start fires. (For other people, passion can fuel relationships or addictions or extreme decisions or fantastic decisions – it all depends on how we channel it.)
As I move further into this new life without Steve, I feel myself slowly waking up – a little like the way the anesthesia wears off after a root canal. I always want to eat as soon as I start to feel again, but I forget that I can’t feel enough yet to not bite my own cheek. And I’ve found that it’s possible to do a fair amount of self-injury, coming out of the sorrow stupor if I haven’t built in some boundaries for channeling passion in healthy ways. For me, the boundaries are:
- Truth-telling friends who are given plenty of opportunity to speak into my life.
- A determination to get myself out of my comfort zone (aka: my quiet house) because I’ve learned that things grow very, very big inside my own head and when I take those thoughts out into the real world, they quickly shrink down to their real size.
- A first-thing-every-morning meeting with myself to answer one main question that will order my day and my decisions: what does love require of me? Because love gives purpose to passion.
And even with these guard rails, I feel like I still blow it at least as often as I get it right. But passion is real and powerful, and feeling it is a gift. My big prayer at this stage of the game is to channel it well and wisely and my second big prayer is that our good and gracious God will keep the fallout contained when I don’t. He’s good that way, I think, even when I’m not.
“We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, therefore, is not an act but a habit.” -Will Durant
I’ve been reading a lot about habit-building and I’ve discovered a problem with me: I’m great at identifying big things that need to change. I mean, great at it! I’m a world-class goal-setter. But I lack the attention span to institute wholesale changes in my life. I really need bite-sized goals that can be done repeatedly over the long haul. These sorts of stepping stones to change are more achievable and less soul-crushing should I – gasp! – fail for a day or a week or entirely. So, as I’ve identified the bigger things I want to accomplish or change, I’ve tried to break them down into micro habits that feel doable and will still feed the larger goal. I’ve been amazed at the effectiveness of this system so far. Here’s an example of one (that I recently mentioned on Facebook that generated a lot of emails and questions and led to this post):
Big Goal: Eliminate Clutter (it’s a really big goal for me! I’m super cluttery.)
Micro habit: I will wear the very first outfit I put on in the morning for 21 days.
The thing is, I really love clothes and I have too many options. It is not an exaggeration to say I sometimes change five to ten (!) times (I know), which means my bed was always piled high with the mess of rejects and who has time to hang all those up when you’re trying to get out the door? This one bad habit was creating six days of clutter in about fifteen minutes, which I was coming home to at the end of a long day. It also created stress. The more I changed, the more I felt my blood pressure rising from frustration and insecurity with my decision-making abilities. Finally, this one little habit was breeding discontent. I had trained myself to believe my first choice couldn’t be the best choice, which created a nagging dissatisfaction with a perfectly good wardrobe and worse, with myself in general.
So, I did it. I made the micro habit an essential part of my day and, as I mentioned, it was hard. It was especially difficult on days when I was speaking and felt the pressure of the big screen weighing heavily on my outfit choice. But I stuck with it and you know what I discovered? Once I left the house, I never really gave my outfit another thought and – here’s the bigger piece – neither did anyone else! No one pointed or laughed or told me I should have taken another crack at it. Turns out, at the root of my clothes-changing-addiction is an unhealthy self-focus. (You probably figured that out like three paragraphs ago, but I’m a slow processor.) I wouldn’t have called it pride before, I would have called it insecurity – but they’re really just two sides of the same coin. Here are the wins from this micro habit:
- I have a new awareness of the role clothing plays in my identity. I needed a wake-up call there and didn’t realize it.
- I make more intentional decisions about what I will put on in the first place, which is leading to greater levels of intentionality in other areas as well.
- I have more peace and less frantic in the mornings, which means this is good for the boy who shares my home as well.
- Remember when I said “I love clothes and have too many options”? Yeah, that became the subject of my next micro habit which I may write about soon.
- There has been SO much improvement in the clutter situation – and I’ll remind you this was the only reason I started this experiment in the first place. Turns out, I got so much more beauty than I bargained for!
Have I stuck with the habit? Yep, pretty much. I still have relapses, but I always notice them and recognize the negative things they produce and I think that’s a win as well. Overall, I’m thrilled with the results of this one tiny, little, baby step. So, enough about me – are there any new micro habits in the works in your life? How’s it going?
With hope for powerful habits,
PS: Books I read and really enjoyed on this topic:
The Power of Habit, by Charles Duhigg
The Happiness Advantage, by Shawn Achor
Before Happiness, by Shawn Achor
It’s Monday and Monday is usually a fresh start for me. I love Mondays.
Today, I woke up feeling hunched over. Pushed down. And the funny thing is, it’s not my immediate circumstances that feel weighty. My life is really pretty solid right now. It’s the stuff outside and the process of determining what gets to come inside.
Politics are driving me crazy. I’m passionate about most things – it’s a good and bad thing in me – and I therefore have a pretty strong opinion about every thing I read or see flying around on facebook. I even have an opinion about your opinion, though I’m better about letting that go than I’ve ever been. Today I’m wondering, how much should I care about this Very Big Deal in our country? How much should I pray, how much should I say, how much more noise does this thing really need?
Social issues are weighty and pressing. Syria, orphans, human trafficking, racial tensions and our country’s divided view of their reality, ALS and other deadly diseases, lack of clean water, the need for young women to get an education…everything is important. Most of these things even carry life-and-death consequences.
And people. People right here in my city are hurting – longing for connection and community. I get emails nearly every day, asking for a coffee meeting to talk about why I think the Bible is absolutely true or could I call someone’s friend who was just diagnosed with cancer or connect with someone’s daughter who just moved to Bend and has no friends. They are all good, kind requests and any one of them is possible in my schedule, but not the bulk of them and so the decision about what to let inside becomes a weight in itself.
When Steve died, I sat down and wrote some things I definitely wanted for my new, single life. At the top of the list: Well-ordered priorities. In my world right now, the priorities are currently:
- My own health and healing – spiritual, emotional, physical. If this one doesn’t work, none of the rest work either.
- Parenting well – the sense of responsibility I feel as the only parent is not something I could easily describe. It’s just very, very real.
- My job, which both pays the bills and provides a great sense of purpose and fulfillment.
- My tribe. They are people who have been with me through thick and thin and have a voice into my life. They often serve as a Steve surrogate, listening to my heart and helping separate the wheat from the chaff. I would say there are about two dozen people in this category and they are GOLD to me and not easily replaced. But like all relationships, they don’t maintain themselves. They require time and nourishment and conversation.
- The ALS Community. I will almost always push an ALS need to the top of the pile. The disease is so vicious and rare, that those going through it are desperate for mentors and encouragers and I want to be one of those, but I do often wonder how to fit it all in.
And then there’s Number 6. Number 6 is where my problems start. It’s the blank space, the open territory that could be occupied by politics or coffee with young women who want to be pastors or research on the Syrian civil war. Number 6 could be almost anything, because after the first five everything else is somewhat equal. But the problem is when, like today, Number 6 becomes weightier than the main list. There’s something about it’s lack of definition that makes it noisier than those others. Maybe it’s because the first five have been around a long time and can seem like they’re doing fine compared to Syrian refugees. That blank space has an of-the-moment appeal that moves my short attention span toward shiny things.
One thing I know for certain is true: I only have a certain amount of seed (time, talent, treasure) to sow and I can’t magically create more. I can only use what’s left after the others are well cared for. Number 6, therefore, is a daily exercise in listening to the Holy Spirit for what I should do with this handful of seed. Where will it land and grow most effectively? What are my motives in sowing? I recently spent hours on a blog post about my current political leanings only to realize: this isn’t going to help anyone. My motives in writing it were, frankly, to spout off and look smart. The end result was two hours of seed, thrown to the wind. Sigh.
So, that’s my thing today. What to do with Number 6. Have you found a good way to order your priorities and deal with the onslaught of seed-hungry opportunities? I’d love to hear about it. Help a sister out.