Empathy

Today I had lunch with my sweet long-lost friend Christina. The story of how we became friends is a topic for another day but suffice it to say that we bonded immediately and dove into deep waters right off the bat. Unfortunately, life sort of got in the way and we hadn't seen each other in a year until we had lunch today. The last time we had lunch was right after my miscarriage and though we had spoken some over the past year, we had a lot of catching up to do. She asked how things were going and I told her all about how God is using this time of waiting to draw me nearer to Him. Over the course of the conversation, she told me that her sister was going through a very similar situation. She had unfortunately just lost her second pregnancy. As we talked about her sister's situation and mine, it made me think of Collette. Christina is the younger sister who is not quite at the stage of life where she wants children but is watching her older sister painfully sort through the emotions of infertility, much like Collette is with me. As she talked about it, I could hear the pain in her voice and see the hurt in her eyes as she reflected on how devastating this time is for her sister.

It is very rare to have someone empathize so well with infertility when they have not been through it themselves. I think it really shows the depth of a relationship when you can feel so deeply for another person. I know that Christina's sister is so lucky to have her, just as I am to have those that empathize well with me. I thought about the difference between those that can empathize (i.e. my sister who has not experienced infertility) and those that can sympathize (i.e. my sister-in-law Beth who has actually experienced infertility and knows what it is like). Then Christina made such a poignant observation...God does not empathize with what we go through. He does not look at our situation, our feelings of longing and despair, and think "That must be terrible for you." He does so much more than that. God does not just sympathize with what we're going through either, although He knows exactly what it feels like to lose a child. God does more than both of those things...He actually feels it with us. When we are one with God and Christ dwells in us and us in Him, He feels what we feel. He experiences what we experience. Romans 4:15 says "For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet was without sin." What an amazing God we have. He doesn't want to just empathize or just sympathize with our troubles, though that alone would be amazing enough from the creator of the universe. He wants to experience it with us, being one with us. Philippians 2:1-2 says "If you have any encouragement from being united with Christ, if any comfort from his love, if any fellowship with the Spirit, if any tenderness and compassion, then make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and purpose."

This realization is not new to me but it sank in so deep today and filled me with such a feeling of peace, joy and comfort. I went back to my book and found an excerpt from when I first realized that we do not have a Father in Heaven that feels bad for us, we have a Father in Heaven that feels bad with us.

An excerpt from my book, Waiting in Months: Finding Hope Through Infertility.

Chapter 3 (partial), "Why?"

"It was a few weeks after my miscarriage and as I got ready for bed that night, I started crying as I often did. That night, we had been out with some friends and in their attempt to be compassionate had asked how I was doing. I have always appreciated the friends that care enough to ask how we are doing but every now and then, their concern would catch me off guard and I would begin my downward spiral. This was one of those nights. As my girlfriend asked how we were doing, I could hear her husband complaining to another friend about his children. He had two beautiful children, the first of which had taken over a year to conceive. They had just begun to research fertility treatment options when they found out that they were expecting. The second child came without any problem. That night, someone had asked him how work was going and he complained about the long hours he was having to put in lately because of layoffs that had left them short-handed. He jokingly said how lately he had not minded too much though because it was better than going home to two screaming kids. As he said that, I thought about how badly I wanted to have the cries and laughter of children fill the halls of my home. As his wife inquired about my emotional state, I let the pity sink in and overtake me. We left the party early because I knew that I would not be able to control the tears any longer. In the privacy of my own bathroom, I let them fall freely and found that once I started, I was not able to stop. I told Parker that I would need a little while to control myself before going to sleep so he went to bed and I started a hot shower. I sat on the floor of my shower weeping until the hot water was gone. As I cried, I prayed that God would console me. I was too exhausted to go through my normal list of questions. Why me, why us? Why did you allow us to get pregnant and with hopeful anticipation, celebrate and enjoy it for nine weeks if you were just going to take it away? What purpose does this tragedy serve? Psalms 6:6 says, “I am worn out from groaning; all night long I flood my bed with weeping and drench my couch with tears.” That night, I did not have the strength to ask any of them. I simply wept.

As I asked God to comfort me, I imagined what it was like for Him to look down at me in this exact moment as the loving Father I still knew that He was. That is when I remembered John 11:35, “Jesus wept.” I knew that whether God had caused this or whether He simply allowed it, He was weeping with me. As I felt the warm water fall in drops over me and blend with my tears to wash them away, I imagined being showered with His tears. The tears of a loving Father seeing His daughter in immense pain and anguish. At first, I wept harder as His comfort came washing over me. Then, after a few more minutes, it subsided and I stopped crying. In the Message version of the Bible, Psalm 56:8 says, “You've kept track of my every toss and turn through the sleepless nights, each tear entered in your ledger, each ache written in your book.” Sometimes it is not the answer to the “why” question that we really need. As we weep through the pain of it, sometimes we just want someone to hear our cries and sympathize."