Empathy or Advice? — Spring Church

Hey everyone! This blog belongs to the “Lent Series” that’ll run until Easter. In this series of fictional short stories, I’ll be revisiting characters from the Advent series (which you can find HERE) who are folks from various walks of life—from college grads to business executives to those in recovery. These stories will engage with how these characters can be good friends and neighbors to people in their lives who are suffering. What happens when friends are turned into suffering people? Enjoy!

Empathy or Advice?

Helen sat down opposite Rebecca, nearly falling into her chair.

“I’m so sorry,” she said breathlessly, untangling her sunglasses from her platinum blonde hair and trying to keep her purse from falling on the floor. “The hairdresser ran later than I’d planned because the dye took too long to mix, and then I couldn’t find a parking spot—do they make these chairs tall on purpose?”

“No,” Rebecca said with a muted smile. “You’re just short.”

“Oh, that’s right,” she replied. “Thanks for reminding me.”

It’d been an interesting few months for Helen. Approaching fifty, she’d thought she’d been pretty done with the friend-making business. She had her women’s group, PTA group, wine and book club, and the few friends she’d kept from college. She had her job, her friends, her kids, her husband, and her routine—and God—and that was enough. But after having a random conversation with her coworker Rebecca right after Christmas, they’d sort of gravitated toward each other. Helen had always thought Rebecca was annoying (and there were certainly things that still bugged her, like the other woman’s expensive veneers) but they’d become friends of sorts. Rebecca had even come to Helen’s church a few times, and with Easter coming up, Helen hoped Rebecca would be asking more questions about Jesus.

“So anyway,” Helen said, “what’s up with you? I don’t mind, but we did just see each other at Tuesday trivia.”

Rebecca hesitated, which was unlike her. She was a very tall, very thin woman with owl-like eyes, made even more wide by the largest glasses Helen had ever seen a person wear. Rebecca tapped her fingers on the table.

“You remember how I told you Ronnie was getting a bunch of tests done last month?”

“That’s right,” Helen replied. “You were worried he wasn’t just tired like thirteen-year olds are.”

“Yes. Well, we were all called into the office yesterday, and Ronnie had leukemia.”

Helen stopped breathing for a moment. “Oh, Rebecca,” she finally said. “I’m so sorry. How’s Ronnie doing?”

“Devastated, to say the least. He wasn’t doing all that well this basketball season, but now coming back is out of the question. Mostly he’s talking about the eighth grade trip to D.C—I don’t have the heart to drill into him just how serious this is.”

“Of course you don’t,” Helen replied automatically. She paused. Holy Spirit help me right now. How do I help my suffering friend? They sat there for a few moments, watching the street pass them by through the coffee shop window. It was one of the first sunny days in a while, April giving them a glimpse of what the summer would hold.

“Do you want empathy, or advice?” Helen asked. “I can also just sit and process.”

“What?” Rebecca replied. “I don’t…huh?”

“Uh,” the other woman stumbled. “I mean, it’s this thing my family always did. Like if you’re upset or something happened, you don’t always want solutions. Sometimes you just want to be sad.”

“Huh. Then I think I want the process one,” Rebecca replied, wiping at her eyes. “I just…why did this happen to us? To Ronnie? Right now? It all feels like a terrible, awful joke.” Her lip trembled, and she stared down at her coffee.

“It shouldn’t be happening,” Helen agreed. “It’s all wrong, and if I could take it away, I would.”

“I know that. I think…I think I’m just so angry right now because I can’t do anything about it, but God could. Like, I grew up Catholic or whatever, and all the time they talked about God’s goodness and power. So if He’s so good and powerful, then why is my boy sick? I haven’t done anything to deserve something like this, and neither has Ronnie!”

Helen reached across the table and held Rebecca’s hand. “Right again,” she said, holding the other woman’s gaze. “It shouldn’t be happening, and it’s okay that you’re angry. It’s normal, even. Healthy.”

“But I don’t know what to do with it!”

“Take it to God,” Helen said. “I promise, He can take you being angry with him.”

“Really? I don’t know, that seems weird.”

“Really. I promise.”

Rebecca sighed. “It’s all so confusing. Thinking about God again, Ronnie being sick…even sitting down and talking to you about it. You know, I’m pretty sure you used to avoid me.”

Helen mocked offended shock. “I did not.”

“Eh, pretty sure you did.”

Helen laughed, and sensing that Rebecca wanted to talk about something else, needing distraction more than anything, launched into a story about how, at a Christmas party, she’d sat on a tray of Jello while trying to avoid Rebecca. They laughed, and through the window, a passerby would not have known that a crucial moment had taken place, of seeing and being seen.

Previous Posts