A Disarming Love



When we are faced with conflict, we have many different ways in which we can respond. With anger, frustration, sadness, compassion, aggression, love, tenderness, or any number of other responses. Lately I have been thinking about how we sometimes respond to conflict with love, and what a difference that can make.

A recent example of what can happen when someone responds with love comes from Georgia, where a bookkeeper thwarted a possible mass school shooting. Antoinette Tuff, the school employee, was inside the school building when the shooter walked in. They had a 10-minute conversation where she helped calm him down, discussed his options, and empathetically opened up to him about her own struggles in life. During that conversation, she was also able to communication with the 911 dispatcher and keep the policemen outside so that she could deescalate the situation. She spoke to him with compassion ("We all go through something in life. You're gonna be okay.") and also with love. "I just explained to him that I loved him. I didn't know his name, but I loved him." You can watch the video here.

Thinking of responding with love, I recently read an article in Scientific American Mind about our negative self-talk. How should we respond to that negative voice? The author, Eleanor Longden, suggested that we treat negative self-talk compassionately, because it usually comes from a place of trauma or of deep pain. She experienced negative self-talk and even heard voices, and instead of responding with more negativity, she explored where it was coming from and responded with love until she didn't experience that kind of self-talk anymore. If I tell myself, "I'm stupid" or "I'm not worthy enough," that may come from a past experience that convinced me of those harmful ideas about myself. Instead of ignoring it or experiencing inner conflict, I can say, "I am worthy, I am loved, but there is a part of me that must still doubt it. Let me explore that so I can heal it from within, with compassion and love." Even the negative self-talk, which I reactively respond to with animosity and aggression, can be treated with love and turned around.

In my own life, there have been a few times where I was having a conflict with a friend and they responded with love, and it completely diffused the situation. In one instance about 6 years ago, a friend and I were talking on the phone, and I was incredibly upset about something. I was emotional, I wasn't thinking rationally, and being in the conversation was like watching a train wreck. But the entire time, my friend was calm and was just listening to what I had to say. And then she gently said:

"Katie, I need to tell you something."
"Okay... what?"
"I love you."

Suddenly the train stopped in its tracks. I took a deep breath and felt so loved in that moment that I didn't have anything else to say. At a time in that friendship where I was being pretty unlovable, definitely not being my highest self, she showed me that I was actually still lovable and that she loved me. We all make mistakes, we all say things we shouldn't say at some point in our lives, and her loving response brought me out of the grave I was digging for myself and up to a place of love and compassion. It was an amazing experience. The other experience I had was a different scenario but similar in the amount of stress present in the conversation, where I came out to my best friend when I was 20 years old. I thought that she was going to end our friendship, or that she was going to be upset or feel uncomfortable around me. I was terrified to tell her. And when I did, her response was simply, "You're my best friend. That's it." Not the response I had expected, but the best one possible, and a reaffirmation that the love was still present and that all was well.

In turn, when I respond in love to someone who is angry or panicked, it tends to soothe the situation. It turns what was seemingly going downhill into a much better outcome. Incorporating love and compassion and tenderness into difficult situations seems to make a huge difference. Even when caring for myself, if I treat myself with tenderness and love, I respond so much better. Instead of becoming angry with myself, I feel loved, I feel confident, and I feel worthy. I don't need to get these messages from anyone else because they are self-generated. And when I treat myself with love and care, I am more productive, happy, and hopeful, because I am not working against myself as often happens with negative self-talk.

Love is transformative. It can turn seemingly dire circumstances around, it can heal conflicts in relationships, and it can diffuse and soothe tense situations. When there is a conflict, it is amazing to see what happens when love is interjected into the situation.

Grief is love unexpressed

Grief is love unexpressed. This is my current view of grief: the seeming inability to express love to someone who has passed, or to feel love expressed from them.

For some reason, the past week I have really been thinking about my friend who passed on. Here I am, almost 8 months later, and some days I feel as if I've made absolutely no progress on this grief. Sometimes I have these deep insights, or moments of peace, or a sense of a loving presence... And then some days I feel as if the grief tidal wave knocks me down again, just as strongly as the first time. It is a strange feeling, to be walking along one day or doing housework or coming home from church, and then suddenly feeling a need to sit down before the wave hits me, my body being thrown completely askew by some memory or strong sense of loss.

I have felt so many things in the past 8 months, so many different types of grief, and this current one seems related to the loss of opportunities for love to be expressed. This relationship was so rich, so deep, and there was so much love present. When someone passes on, there is still so much love present, but no longer an obvious outlet for that love. All this love builds up more and more, and without an outlet, without a way to show my friend all this love, I become overwhelmed by all these built-up feelings. This is the best way I know how to describe it.

I miss all the little ways we interacted, the ways I demonstrated my love for her. When I feel the tidal wave of grief, it is when I feel this regret of not being able to hug her again, or send her an email or call her or tease her or cook for her or... All the ways I know how to express love, that are now unfulfilled and just being tossed around in my brain as lost possibilities.

As much as I miss being loving towards her, I also, selfishly, miss the feeling I got when she was loving towards me. Her boisterous, vibrant, accented voice coming through my phone, telling me I was strong and capable, like a lion! I want to experience more of the intensity of her personality and how it spilled into everything she did, from her emails to her physical presence to the sometimes outlandish things she said, always with love and compassion. Or the way she cared and thought about me, the maternal way she always made sure I was eating enough, the way she asked if I had met anyone "meaningful" in dating. "And you know to only date someone who honors you, who treats you with respect, right? You know that?" Making sure I got enough sleep, "Okay, it's late! Go get some sleep. Sweet dreams", asked if I was feeling well, had enough fun in my life. "Go on some adventures. Live your life. Have fun." I miss how special and important she made me feel. And of course, I miss the loving phrases.

My friend used terms of endearment to address me, and they were mostly terms in her native language. The past week I've been revisiting those phrases, and even though I've done so several times before, I've been asking a native speaker what the phrases mean. I keep thinking that somehow, by hearing the translation again, there will be some nuance I missed. Some meaning that was previously unknown to me that will suddenly make the grief more bearable. But it's the same translation I've heard before, loving and personal, but offering no key to the grief.

Me: Can you tell me what it means again?
Her: It means my sweetheart, my daughter, my little cutie.
Me: So... you say it to someone you love, right?
Her: Yes! But you already know that; you don't need a phrase to tell you she loved you.

Nonetheless, I ridiculously cling to these phrases, feeling that they are all I have left. I seem to forget that love can be felt on another level, and does not rely on the 5 senses, because love is more than what we can just feel or see or hear.

Grief is such a heart-wrenching emotion or stage of experience, but there is so much beauty in there somewhere, the longing for what was such a gift in our life, the love that had yet to be expressed, the desire to feel that special way that person made you feel, the wish to tell them even if it's for the millionth time, "I love you soooo much. Thank you for being in my life." So much love to give, and when someone passes on, we are left holding all of this love and it seems as though the relationship was cut short, because how could there be all this left-over love?

Today, after a week of feeling a bit heavy with grief, I had an insight: Is the love really unexpressed? Love can never die, nothing good can ever be lost, and even if I can't see my friend, she still knows I love her. I can't hear her voice, but I still know she loves me too. Even though her physical body is no longer living, she is not gone. All the love I have for her and feel towards her isn't wasted. And if nothing good ever can be lost, how could she not feel this love still, even now? In the past few months, I have felt so much love from her, beyond what the 5 senses can tell me. Also, it is not like she is suddenly gone from my life and I have to stop loving her. She is just as present as before, as strange as that sounds, because the friendship transcends the surface ways that we were previously connected.

I still have such a long way to go in dealing with this grief, but I feel that little by little I am making some progress. Realizing, even at the beginning stages, that the love is being expressed even now, seems like a little step forward.

I've posted this poem before, but it fits with this blog so well that I'm posting it again.


Thinking today
About love
And intensity and strength;
And wondering what we all need.

It comes from within
And comes from above
But still, still...
Everyone needs someone in their life
Who says, "I adore you."
"You're the best."
"You make me laugh."
"I love you." 

 Otherwise, God would have made
7 billion little islands
Instead of 7 continents.

The Coin in the Fish's Mouth

In the past year or so, I've been trying to find solutions to some challenges in my life. It seems everywhere I turn, I come up against another roadblock. Last week, I hit the wall and was very frustrated with a couple of long-standing issues. While talking with a friend about what was going on, she reminded me of the story of Jesus and the coin in the fish's mouth.

When Jesus and his disciples came to Capernaum, the tax collectors came to Peter and asked him to pay the taxes. Jesus said to Peter, "Go to the lake and throw out your line. Take the first fish you catch; open its mouth and you will find a 4-drachma coin. Take it and give it to them for my tax and yours" (Matthew 17:27).

My friend supposed that Jesus wanted his disciples to look for answers in unexpected places. To keep an open mind to what good, what possibilities, may be present. To not lose hope even when things seem dark or scary or without a way out. This story of Jesus, and this explanation, brought me so much inspiration and hope.

I thought of other times in my life when an answer came in an unexpected way. One example is that there have been a couple times in my life where people have given me a used but well-running car when I needed transportation. What a gift, to find yourself without a dependable car, and to have someone suddenly say, "Oh, I have an extra car. You can have it." Another example was when I needed some help with something, and the help was donated by a group of people, the majority of whom I didn't even know. It was very unexpected, but so needed and so full of love. That night, after talking with my friend, I immediately thought of many examples of unexpected solutions that had blessed my life, things that seemed unimaginable but nonetheless came into my experience. People who came into my life and helped me and blessed me more than I can say. Healing experiences, moments where I felt God's presence, seemingly impossible situations where the answers were finally uncovered. Such gifts that were there right when I needed them. "Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning" (James 1:17).

Sometimes when I am so focused on finding the answers to problems, I tend to look at the problems instead of to the solutions. I focus so much on what is before me, the challenge or the pain or the conflict. What I want to do, what would probably be more beneficial, is to keep an open mind about every possible solution that might be out there, and also know that many times, the solution that will come will be something I hadn't even thought of. Maybe Jesus is just encouraging us to think outside the box, and to keep praying, because we never know how the answer will come.

There are still a couple of issues I am facing which I don't know the answers to. And everyone has some challenges, maybe even some incredibly overwhelming problems, that they are dealing with, things that do not seem to have answers. And I think it is common to begin to lose hope after we struggle and fight, and search for solutions, and still the problem doesn't seem to be yielding. But after being reminded of the story of the coin in the fish's mouth, I suddenly felt so much hope again. For myself, for my friends and family, for people in my community who are all searching for answers. God has so much good, so much love, and infinite ways to express it and pour all that good into our lives.

The Little Things

When I graduated from college and my best friend and I had to reluctantly live in 2 different cities, I found that my main concern was that I would miss the little things about our friendship. How, every Tuesday and Thursday, we would go for a walk after school. How we would leave little notes for each other to find, or uncannily be able to track each other down on campus even before either of us had a cell phone. And if I needed anything, how I could just leave my front door, walk 20 steps to the right, and knock on her front door. The day-to-day stuff that was small but enriched the friendship with details that were dear and meaningful to me.

I didn't worry about the big stuff. I knew we were important in each other's lives, and that she was like a sister to me. That she would do anything for me. Those were the big themes, the foundation, the structure and sturdiness, of the friendship. No matter where we ended up in the world, I knew those were unshakable. Why worry about something set in stone? But I knew the little things would disappear once we both moved away. My friend tried to tell me that the little things didn't matter in the overall picture; I somewhat agreed with her, and I still do. But I sort of loved the little things.

I find the same struggle when dealing with grief. Thinking of a friend who passed away a few months ago, I find I am missing the same little minutia of the friendship. The random voicemail or text message that made me laugh and brightened my day, the little jokes we had, the ways we touched each other's hearts and cracked each other up by a small gesture or comment. The phrases we repeated to each other because they were meaningful to the friendship; stupid, ridiculous little things that would mean nothing to anyone else, and yet somehow I attached so much meaning to them. Again, I don't seem too bothered by the big things, as those are solid. I know she loved me, I know she isn't really gone, and I know I will see her again. But what I wouldn't do for 1 more teeny tiny voicemail, one more message that was full of the vibrancy and intensity that was her; as if that encompassed the friendship in any way.

On the other hand, the little things have saved me time and time again. On particularly rough days, when it seems all I can do to just simply work my way through 405 traffic and stumble into my house, I remember all of the little blessings in my life. A kind word from my boss that day, a funny email from a friend, a kiss from my puppy Vinnie. Again, these do not encompass the relationships, but they are the small kindnesses and gifts that actually seem so big at the right moment. Last year, during some rougher times, I didn't seem to be able to see the big gifts in my life, but for some reason I was able to see the smaller ones. After a horrible day, I would sit down and think about what redeeming qualities that day had. A coworker complimented me on a report I had written. Someone sent me a card in the mail. A friend invited me over for ice cream. And I would think, "Okay, this day was okay," and that would allow me to have energy and hope for the next day. I am grateful to be able to see the big gifts now, but appreciate that at that point in my life, at least I was able to see the smaller things. Which, actually, were pretty huge for me. 

There is a part of me that wants to get to a point where I see the big picture, and not get bogged down in the details. And then the other part of me sees so much beauty and love and life in the details. All the little things that I would otherwise take for granted, would not notice, would brush off as being unimportant. I do have a tendency to let the details consume me sometimes, but there has to be a balance between the two. Seeing the big and the little and finding the gifts in each.

For now, I'm so grateful for all of the ways that love is expressed, in the monumental and the minuscule. There is so much love, and so many different ways to see it and experience it.

Forgiveness

If I could change two things about myself (and somehow, these two things are closely related), I would want to be more forgiving of myself, and to be more forgiving of others.

Those of you who know me, who spend a lot of time with me, know that I am constantly apologizing about mistakes that I make, or mistakes that I perceive I make. And often, I apologize more than once about the same thing. It's like I feel guilty about something, something I can't quite figure out, and so am spending my whole life apologizing about every little thing I do. But no matter how much I apologize, I still feel guilty. A part of my heart, maybe my soul, always carries a tinge of guilt. Have you heard the term "apologizing for existing"? Often this term is used to describe people who apologize for everything, almost up to apologizing for breathing. Sometimes I think this is me. In any case, I wish that I would quickly figure out what I need to forgive myself for, and do it already, so I can stop apologizing all the time.

I also want to work on forgiving other people. It seems that the closer a connection I have with the person, the harder it is to forgive them. Maybe because the closer they are to me, the more vulnerable I allow myself to be around them. Any perceived offenses, then, are emotionally deeper than anything that could occur with an acquaintance or a stranger.

I recently went to a lecture on forgiveness. The speaker was Dr. Fred Luskin, a Stanford professor and well-spoken, brilliant man (also author of Forgive for Good, among other books). One thing in particular that he said that stood out to me was, "Jesus was less ruffled by being crucified than we are having to wait 5 minutes in the grocery store." What a shocking, but true, analysis. Even in the last hours of Jesus' life, he said, "Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do" (Luke 23:34). In comparison, how often do we get bent out of shape if someone takes a little bit longer getting exact change for the checker at Safeway, or cuts us off in traffic? These minor slights, not even personal attacks against us, can often leave us fuming.

A friend recently reminded me of Jesus' words to Peter, to forgive his brother not just 7 times, but 70x7 (Matthew 18:22). My friend hypothesized that maybe it was because someone may offend us once, but we play it over and over in our minds, reliving the offense 70 times, essentially eternity. And what does that do for us? Sometimes I think it is because we are searching for something; a reason behind the offense, some explanation we must have missed. Or maybe we become filled with such righteous indignation and it makes us feel better about ourselves to replay the event, affirming our position as the "wronged" or the "victim." I am not sure, but I do feel that each time I replay an offense, I suffer just like when it first happened.

Dr. Luskin had a different take on 70x7. He said that the act of forgiving someone benefited us; that Jesus asked Peter to forgive his brother 70x7 times because that would be good not only for the offending person but also for Peter, for his character and his soul. The repetitive forgiving would give Peter ample practice, and each time he forgave someone, he would get better at it and it would come more easily the next time. Practice makes perfect, right?

Jesus told his disciples, "If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also" (Matthew 5:39). During a discussion at Luskin's lecture, one of my table mates shared something he had read. It wasn't that Jesus was advising his disciples to let people walk all over them and abuse them, but he was telling them that if someone wanted to hit them a 2nd time, make them think about what they are doing. So many times when people become angry, they lash out verbally or physically, often without even thinking about it. If someone hits you suddenly, and you turn your other cheek towards them, they now have to think about it before hitting you again. What was at first a spontaneous, maybe uncontrolled action, now must become something thought-out. This is especially true if we consider that the left hand was usually used to strike (on the "right cheek") and for a second strike, the offender would have to use their non-dominant hand, making it a little more difficult for them and requiring them to be more conscious about it, and also taking more time to figure out how to strike with their right hand. This argues that Jesus was not advising his disciples to allow others to take advantage of them, but to make it more difficult for the offender to strike again, and maybe eliminating that second action.

As Luskin was preparing a research project at Stanford on Forgiveness, the way to get participants was to make it all about their health. How forgiving people will increase their longevity, lessen their stress levels, improve their complexion, help them lose weight... He thought it was so interesting that people were more concerned about their body than their soul. Maybe, even if we feel we are healthy and don't suffer from any health conditions, maybe we could still improve our capacity to forgive as a way to benefit our soul. Also, Luskin made a point that at times we get so caught up in being right, that being right is more important to us than grieving. For example, if we feel we have lost something (a friendship, a marriage, a possession, an investment, our image), we focus on the fact that we are right and they are wrong, instead of just working through the grief of our loss. If we allowed ourselves to grieve and heal, we wouldn't worry so much about who was right or wrong.

Another person at the lecture brought up the point that we have all done things we wish we hadn't. And we get angry sometimes at other people. But Jesus was clear about what to do: Love God, and love each other. No matter what other people do, we are still to love them. Spiritual writer Anne Lamott talks about the table of eternity in Heaven, and wonders who she will have to sit next to. With horror, she ponders, maybe George W.? She recognizes that he will be at the table as well. What if we had to sit between the 2 people we had the hardest time with? While some people immediately think, "That wouldn't be Heaven, then," I sort of get the idea that that's exactly where God would place us. Wouldn't He want us to evolve past our grudges and hurts, and forgive and love each person as another co-creation of God? God wants us to be the best, and that probably includes forgiving those around us before we can sit at the table. The idea makes me uncomfortable... It seems so much easier to just avoid the problems altogether. As Lamott says in one of her books, "Why couldn't Jesus command us to obsess over everything, to try to control and manipulate people, to stomp away to brood when people annoy us, and then eat a big bag of Hershey's Kisses in bed?" But the idea that God creates the seating chart does make me head more in the direction of forgiveness than righteous indignation.

One final thought. Can we forgive someone who doesn't acknowledge that they have offended us or hurt us in some way? What if they have passed on, or are no longer in our lives? Luskin said we can indeed forgive them, as the act of forgiveness doesn't lie with them, but within us. What do they have to do with what happens in our mind? We can choose to forgive at any moment, and in some ways, it has nothing to do with the other person. It is our experience, the unforgiveness or forgiveness in our hearts.

Specific Prayers

I don’t know if I believe in specific prayers: Asking God for something specific, something that I feel I need or desire, and thinking that it will be, likewise, answered very specifically. Well, I believe in it somewhat as I tend to pray in this manner every so often. But sometimes I don’t know if God answers specific prayers, or if He instead responds to “the earnest of the spirit” (2 Cor. 1:22) and gives us what we really need instead of what we think we need.  

I have had many instances in my life where it appears that God has answered a specific prayer. Now, I know that God answers all prayers, but the prayers I am talking about now are the ones that He answers in the way I want them to be answered: either a “Yes,” or an “Of course!” or some bit of information that I need at that moment. And I can think of 2 examples off the top of my head where I felt that God answered my prayers pretty specifically.  

 

The first example is from when I was 17 years old. I was struggling with a major dilemma: I had some information of wrong doings, and I wasn’t sure what to do with this information. If I shared the information with someone, I would negatively affect dozens of lives. If I kept the information to myself, I risked damaging my own sense of well-being, safety, security, as well as a handful of people around me. It was a struggle; each day I woke up with 1 thought in my brain: What should I do? And the problem with situations like that is you can’t ask anyone what the best solution is. First of all, they wouldn’t really know as they are not in the situation, and second, once they know the information, the cat has already been let out of the bag, so to speak. The choice of speaking or not speaking is no longer relevant at that point.

I was stuck, and I was miserable. I wasn't sleeping properly, I couldn’t concentrate on my homework, or on anything. I even remember how I felt at Senior Prom. While I had a good time and am glad I went, that was really the only thing on my mind. I was, and still am, horrendous at compartmentalizing.

Then one day I just said, “God, help me. What should I do?” I closed my eyes and was quiet. And then, about 10 seconds later, the answer came. It was so clear, and it came in the form of an image; no words, no judgment, just an image that portrayed, “You have to tell someone. And this is the person you are going to tell.” I was so certain that it was the right thing to do. I asked the person in the image, an adult mentor of mine (remember, I was still a kid at this time) if we could talk. I shared the information, no lives were ruined, and it was immensely helpful and undoubtedly life-changing for me. Looking back on that time, and how quickly the answer came, I am sorry I didn’t ask God sooner. I was religious, I went to church, I prayed every day… But for some reason, I didn’t pray about this specifically. I was so focused on figuring out the answer by myself, using my own brainpower, that it didn’t even cross my mind to ask God for a specific answer.

When I was 13 years old and in youth group in, I got a bible for attending 3 weeks in a row. Every teen got a bible for fulfilling this easy attendance requirement. It was a great incentive. And in each bible, 1 or 2 verses, specific to the recipient, were outlined. My verses were, “Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened” (Matthew 7:7-8). I seem to forget about this passage when I’m struggling for an answer, but it’s an important one to keep close.

The second example came a few days ago. I wanted $123 to buy something for a friend. Technically, I had that much money in my bank account, but I knew that using it for this particular thing was maybe not the best choice right now. So I simply said, “God, I want $123. I don’t need it at all, but I’m just going to put it out there and see what You do.” And then nothing happened. About 3 or 4 times that week, I thought about this money; and just said, “If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be. So, again, it’s $123.” Reminding God of the amount, as if He could ever forget anything. And then I waited some more.

And then a week later, 2 wonderful things happened. I got an increase in hours at my part-time job (I know, probably not exactly the best for me, but it’s only a slight increase in hours), and I also had a change in my financial situation that is going to save me thousands of dollars in the future. Not a monetary gift, but something that will eventually save me quite a bit of money nonetheless.

In the second example, the specificity of the answer is a bit different; I think it's specific because it came relatively soon (1 or 2 weeks after I prayed), but it's also unspecific as it's not like I opened my door and found an envelope with exactly $123 inside. But, as a friend pointed out, the $123 was a limited view of the abundance that is there, that is everything I ever need and want, and more. Why stop at $123? Why limit God to $123?  

I know almost nothing about prayer. I sometimes get answers right away, and other times I have to wait a bit. I’m still waiting on answers to some questions. But I do know that when I pray, when I talk with God, I have peace in my heart. And sometimes it feels like He’s talking to me, or answering me, in a language I can understand. When this happens, it’s an amazing feeling, and I’m so grateful.

A Selfish Grief

So 4 months after I experienced a pretty big loss in my life (a dear friend passing away), I had some major breakthroughs in my grief. In the past couple weeks, I felt like I finally made some progress on dealing with these feelings. 

Recently I realized that there were 2 factors that were making this loss so hard for me:
1) I felt some regret and guilt about the last couple of interactions I had with this person.
2) The reasons I was feeling so much grief seemed very selfish to me. I'll explain below.

The regret factor was easy to figure out: I wished I had handled things differently the last time I talked with this person. Also, there was a time when I should have called, was urged by the circumstances and by my own intuition to call, and I didn't, and that turned out to be a mistake. What I've noticed with loss is that when there is guilt involved, I tend to grieve more... Not only do I miss the person, but I have all this other stuff to deal with as well. The grief becomes sorrow and shame at my own shortcomings and the ways I perceive that I failed the relationship, instead of just remaining as grief with missing the person and having their physical presence in my life.

But really, what use does regret have in our lives? It may prompt us to do things differently in the future, to take opportunities when they come and follow our intuition, but it doesn't change past situations. Regret coupled with someone passing away is, in that way, a pretty cruel emotion. It's like twisting the knife in an already horrible situation, when we are already feeling so much sadness.

The selfish side of the grief? Well, I miss my friend. But at this point, I am not overly concerned for her well-being. What I mean is, I know that she is doing just fine and that she has moved on to the next stage of her existence. I know without a doubt that she is close to God, as she has always been, and that she is surrounded by love and grace. I know that while her physical body has died, her existence, her identity, hasn't really gone anywhere. Love never dies, and she was all about love and she still is. But I am still sad because, although I'm confident that she is doing well and continuing on in her eternal existence, I miss having her physically here. I want to touch her hands, hear her laugh, tease her, hug her. My sadness is not out of worry over how she is doing, but about our friendship and how relationships must necessarily change when one passes on.

There is another part of the grief that seems selfish to me. My dear friend thought well of me, of course, as our dear friends tend to do. She was so effusive in her compliments of me, so loving and tender in her comments, always seeing the best side of me. When she passed away, I felt part of my good was lost as well. This makes about as much sense as if some part of a person can be lost just because their mirror breaks. But because she saw so much good in me, and I was doubting how much good other people saw, it was like I lost part of my self-esteem. Another friend of mine told me that all my good was not wrapped up in her. Her passing didn't mean that I suddenly lost some of my own innate worth. I don't know if this makes sense to anyone else, but my friend's comments helped me immensely.

Another friend asked me if I ever talked with my friend even though she had passed away. I could still talk with her; she wasn't really gone so why not? And my friend asked me if I had let her know that I was going to be okay. This was a new insight for me; I didn't realize that maybe my friend, although she had passed on, might realize or be cognizant of the fact that I was having a hard time with this grief. Suddenly, I didn't want my friend to worry about me anymore (if people can even worry after they've passed). I wanted her to feel content and continue on down her path, not worry about her family or friends still here. That same afternoon, I talked with her and let her know that although I missed her, I was going to be fine. And I told her that I would see her again sometime, so all was well. I got a wonderful sense of peace after this. I'm not exactly sure why this was, but I was so grateful.

Finally, another friend recently told me that this existence, this reality, was not all about the mortal. If that was all we had, this mortal experience that was in front of us, what was the point? What was our purpose? This was very helpful as well. There is so much more than can be seen with our human views.

As strange as it may sound, realizing that my grief was selfish was sort of comforting. It almost made the sadness seem less intense. With this realization, I can now remind myself that she is doing fine, that I just miss the connections we had when she was occupying a material body. It is reassuring to remind myself that, although I am struggling with the grief sometimes, it is not a bigger issue (eternity, her love, our emotional connection) that is in question here. Those things are all intact and are part of the truth of God and the truth of our friendship.