Basketball season is in full force, and our high school teams are fun to watch. Recently during a rivalry girls’ game, a hush rolled over rowdy spectators as one of the opposing players made a basket – in our basket. Two points for us, a surprised pause from the stands, a few giggles and moans, a shrill whistle, and the game continued. The second half had just commenced, and no doubt the player was still focused on that same basket she’d been shooting at for the past half hour when she took the open shot.
My thoughts transplanted me to Birchman Baptist Church’s gym, circa 1988, 8th grade church league basketball. One of the only baskets I made all season – and into the wrong basket. As the ball arced towards the net, my stomach dropped with the realization that I’d taken a shot at the wrong basket. I heard the same hush, the same giggles, felt the quick spiral of exultation to embarrassment.
I haven’t thought about that basket in years – YEARS – and yet it took my brain .5 seconds to take me back. The only thing I felt, watching the remainder of last week’s high school game, was that I wanted to hug that girl.
Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction so that we will be able to comfort those who are in any affliction with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. 2 Cor 1:3-4
In my times of suffering, those who have provided the most endearing comfort have surprised me – it was not necessarily from the closest of friends (although I am deeply grateful for those), but more so those who knew similar suffering.
Stephanie appearing on my porch, ringing the doorbell and offering a hug. Didn’t know the details, didn’t ask for details, but wanted me to know I was seen.
Susan not giving up calling, even going so far as to say, “You don’t have to answer, but I’m going to keep calling.”
Juanelle’s prayer-prompted phones calls, “just checking in.”
Misty unpacking and organizing our pantry when sadness paralyzed my efforts during a move.
Pain breeds Empathy.
And empathy is different than kindness, different than compassion. Kindness is defined as a good or benevolent nature. Compassion, a step richer, is a feeling of deep sympathy and sorrow for another who is stricken by misfortune, accompanied by a strong desire to alleviate the suffering.
But empathy, in regards to comfort, is king. Empathy is the identification with or vicarious experiencing of the emotions, thoughts, or attitudes of another.
Empathy shapes the way we care for, pray for, attune to others.
The gift of empathy is that you have to some degree walked in those shoes. But the molding of empathy requires personal suffering.
After recently reading Cheryl Christopher’s Forget Me Not – A Survival Guide for Grief, I emailed the author to thank her for pouring out her heart on the pages. In addition to her children and grandchildren who are still with her, Christopher’s two sons and a grandson await her in Heaven. She and her family are deeply acquainted with grief. In our email exchange, Cheryl said,
“We have learned that God comforts us not to make us comfortable, but that we may comfort others.”
For the sufferer, the forging of empathy will not feel worth it. But the uniquely-fashioned rivets of understanding and attunement are a life preserver to the recipients of their care: “I made it through, you will too, let me walk this path with you.”
Last week – I didn’t find the player after the game to give her a hug. I imagine she’s just fine. As a high school athlete, she would have recovered quickly from that minor mistake, and she will go on to score lots and lots of baskets for her team. But I would also expect that years from now, cheering on her kids and their friends, she’ll have a marked sensitivity to errors on the court.
Heavenly Father, thank you for the gift of comfort. You bring comforters to us, in human form, in our times of pain. Please keep our eyes open to how we might do the same for others ~ friends, acquaintances and strangers.