Dear friends,
Another Mother’s Day has passed and Father’s Day is upon us. It is right and fitting to honor those we love.
But what of the orphan, the childless, the widowed, the bereaved, and the estranged on holidays and moments of celebration? Where do they fit, in this jubilant cadence? Shall they suffer in silence, singing softly and smiling sweetly in order to appease us, while secret screams are the song of their soul?
Or will we choose to see them through eyes of compassion as they sway to the music alone, forced to dance solo in a world of duets? Can we set aside our lofty judgements and preconceived notions long enough to notice their reality?
Sweetness and bitterness in the same cup. Glass half full or glass half empty—in the end, it doesn’t matter. They drink it up, because that’s all there is.
Gratitude and grief, spinning, swaying, dancing together. One leads, the other follows. Sometimes synchronized, sometimes conflicted, neither lets go until the final bow.
For some, the music is a distant lullaby, a reminder of a sweeter and gentler time. Salty memories spill from sadness-softened eyes, even as upward-curled lips attempt to mask the dissonance. They sing along through the tears.
For others, pain takes the lead—beating, beating—ever louder than the almost-imperceptible melody of hope. Memories, unkind. Almost too much to bear. Hide away. Escape the day. Hope for a gentler song tomorrow.
Fatherless daughters and sons, searching for identity. Silent, unanswered questions. Why? What now? Who else? Affection starved and feeling abandoned. Afraid. Confused. Distraction numbs the hurt, but the wounds run deep. Suppress the tears; anger, panic, self-harm… it all feels safer than reality.
Solo mom. Hiding fear behind determination. Crying herself to sleep. Lonely. Tired. Aching. Starving. Trying—failing—to be enough. Clinging. Afraid of forgetting. Weary of remembering. Longing for respite. Desperate for peace.
You don’t know of this empty-chair world…yet? Count your blessings. Better yet, share your blessings. Step into the grief tango. Dance with the hurting, the fatherless, the childless, the widow. Sit at their table and drink of their cup. Show up. Keep showing up, until the final bow.
This is the choreography of compassion.
This is what Jesus-people do.
Open letter to the world on Father’s Day, 2024
(For more practical ways to love the hurting, check out my book, INSTEAD, on Amazon)