For the last few days, I have known that something significant happened in her life but she hasn’t been able to tell me what it was. At this point I am quite worried. So when I see her last night (we are meeting at our church to go to a young women's conference) all my fears pour out. I gasp, and we hug for the longest time. I tell her I have been worried about her all day.
“I’m fine.”
“But love, I don’t even know what happened.”
Her step mom is sitting nearby and says, “Liz, she’s fine.” I soon realize that the only thing I can do is say, “I’m glad you’re okay,” give her another hug, and pray. So I do just that.
So we go to the conference, and it is in the back of my mind that something is going on. I think I might know what happened, but I don’t want to ask. Most people seem to know, in the way they talk with her and pray with her. I worry more.
So, as we are sitting next to each other in a session, I notice that she is crying. I don’t know if it is because of something that was said, or just something she is thinking about, or what. As I’ve done with her many times before, and what now seems routine, I wipe her tears off her face and give her three kisses on the cheek. I then rest my head on her shoulder as she rests her head on mine. I feel her breaths and simply let her know, without saying a word, how much I love her. We listen to the speaker, and I begin to imagine her never telling me what happened, until ten years from now when I say, “Hey what DID ever happen that one time?”. It is right about that time when she pulls out her journal, and writes in it, everything that happened.
The funny thing is, I know it all.
I know I am getting sidetracked - but when I was into my eating disorder I had asked for prayer from a woman at my church without saying the reason. A few days later, she asked if I had been purging. There is no other way to explain how she knew but by the Holy Spirit. I’m NOT saying that my sister in Christ is going through the same thing (she’s actually not), but it is amazing to see God do the same thing with me almost three years later.
Then the session is over, and we can speak. The Holy Spirit just starts chatting up a storm through me. I love you. You are so precious to me. I’ve been there, dear. I know. It sucks. Let’s talk.
So we talk, for a good while. The Holy Spirit. It is so amazing to experience that. I don’t even know what I’m saying, it just comes out. Wow.
I pray with her, and then we go to our breakout sessions. You’d think that after finding out what happened I would be even more concerned about her, but I’m not in the slightest. I have this supernatural reassurance that she is going to be okay, this is beautiful, this suffering is beautiful. How great a feeling that is.
After our breakout sessions, we meet back up, and take some pictures. Those pictures will forever remind her and I of this day, those tears, fears, talks, experiences, memories. But most importantly, the God who was there in it all.
Last session - amazing. I love it. I don’t know if it speaks to her or if she’s too numb to take heart. I watch her write in her journal, words of disgust about herself, her family, her God. She is angry at God, she tells me. Suffering is beautiful. Tears roll down both of our cheeks as the warmth of a heavenly Father comes closing in. Again I wipe her tears, kiss her cheek. It is at that moment that the speaker, Dannah Gresh, tells girls to come to the altar and lay their burdens down. Make confessions. Cry. Pray. And for their friends, to pray for them, because that is so healing, not just because the obvious reason that God answers prayers, but because that is such an intimate moment of a sisterly physical embrace.
She gets up almost immediately, and I take a few moments to breathe before following her to the altar to pray. I kneel behind her, laying on of hands. I pray for her, weeping on my sister’s back. I watch our youth leader Jill do the same. And I think.
This is empathy. I am in so much pain right now. This is beautiful.
She has a talk with Jill, and I can’t hear over the faithful worshippers, but I rub her back, weeping and smiling at the same time. I go back to my seat and worship.
A few minutes later she comes back. “Thank you.” Another hug and kiss. She takes her seat, and we worship. Every word resonates with me.
And like that, it’s over. Just a glimpse of what’s to come.
At that moment I feel the need to say to her,
I’ve never felt so much empathy in my life.
She seems to have an unpleasant look on her face, so I hug her and whisper in her ear,
I am feeling so much pain right now, your pain. But I don’t want you to feel guilty, because it is the best feeling in the world. It is so good to feel your pain, to resonate with you.
Now I don’t want you thinking I enjoy suffering (as in unhealthy) or anything. To clarify, I’m not exactly a fan. But it is beautiful.
She tells me she is leaving, and I give her yet another long hug. I tell her I love her, she knows she can call me, I’m praying for her. And she leaves. There’s nothing more I can do.
Thank You Jesus. Thank You Jesus. Thank You Jesus. You are beautiful.
“But whenever anyone turns to the Lord, the veil is taken away. Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.”
2 Corinthians 3:16-18.
