Watch Out for the Barbed Wire

Recently I had a conversation with a woman whose mind lives in a world of great darkness. The doctors are working with her, juggling her meds, as she struggles with hopelessness and depression.

And despair.

I was unprepared for her to share with me, because usually she hides behind a sign in the front of her life that reads:

NO Trespassing! Do NOT Disturb!

And then she strings a fence of barbed wire

Just to make sure

No one gets close.

But the other day she stepped away from her No-Trespassing-Do-Not-Disturb-Barbed-Wire existence and gave me a glimpse of her soul. She let me into her darkness.

I never felt so helpless.

So wordless.

So advice-less.

And I wanted to run the other way

To the sunshine.

Forget about being Mother Theresa-like

Her desperate need overwhelmed me.

Care and compassion can be difficult.

In the book,

The Dance of Life

by Henri Nouwen, he writes that the word

care

finds its roots in the Gothic

Kara

which means to lament. The basic meaning of care is: to grieve, to experience sorrow, to cry out with.

Personally when I care for someone I want to feel strong. I want easy answers and quick fixes. I want to hand this woman a Five Point Plan For Recovery. I want little mess and less fuss and life that can be explained.

Don't we all.

But sometimes all that is required is to be there. To care.

Nouwen writes, "The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not-knowing, not-curing, not-healing, and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is the friend who cares."

I want to care this way.