Sometimes,
the hardest thing I have to do as a missionary is listening. I have heard life
stories. I have heard joys and shared smiles. I have heard trials and
tribulations. I have held people’s hands and let them cry. I have sat there and
said nothing.
Sympathizing
with people in desperate need of empathy seems… hollow.
What
do you say to the person sitting in the chair next to your desk crying because
they’re overwhelmed with shame? How do you comfort someone who doesn’t believe
themselves to be more than their disease? How do you hold back tears as you
listen to them cough, watching their chest depress every time because they’re
skin and bone wondering whether or not it will kill them? What do you say to
someone letting their disease consume them?
I
wish I had the answers. This is why listening is so difficult.
It
isn’t easy opening up to a complete stranger; to spill your deepest fears to a
person you met not even a minute before. It takes an amazing amount of courage.
I
could spend all day telling them what they should do… Take your medication. Eat
regularly and eat well. Surround yourself with love and positivity because
there is nothing to be ashamed of. You are more than your diagnosis. You are
strong and courageous. You have purpose, and the world is made better because
you’re a part of it. The problem is, unless they believe it, those words are
empty. It’s hard to give advice when both of you know in the end, the disease
will win. How do you fight that? What do you say? I can’t force someone to take
their medication. I can’t make sure they eat. I can’t give them a job, take
their pain away, or instill in them a sense of belonging and hope.
I
can only listen and pray.
