tread softly

Believe me,
every man has his secret sorrows,
which the world knows not;
and oftimes we call a man cold,
when he is only sad.
(H.W. Longfellow)


I like stories. Pretty often, when my mind fails to find more productive ways of entertaining itself, I find myself making up stories about the people I see. Whether I'm walking through Wal-Mart, driving down the road, sitting in a restaurant, or waiting for a concert to start, interesting people almost never fail to show up, and once they show up, I can hardly help but think about them. I imagine who they are, where they came from, where they're going, what's going on in their lives, what awaits them in the future. Sometimes I wonder if this is an entirely ethical pastime, but I've reached the tentative conclusion that it's fairly harmless, since I don't actually believe any of the things I'm making up are anywhere near true. I just use the impressions people give me as a launching pad for fictions constructed entirely out of thin air (and generally forgotten more or less immediately). All the same, I suppose it's kind of a silly thing to do.

The thing, though, is that people really do have stories -- true stories that I know nothing about. Every single person you or I will ever meet has a life, and it's just as real to them as mine is to me. My existence is so self-centered, I often forget that. Think of all the cars you pass on the highway on a given day. I don't suppose most of us take the time to actually think it through very often, but isn't there kind of a subconscious assumption that once a vehicle has whooshed past you and vanished from sight, it and its occupants (because it does have humans inside, believe it or not) cease to exist? Well, the fact is that they don't. To them, you are the flash of speeding metal, barely noticed and immediately forgotten. Every single person in every one of those cars, everyone living in all the houses and apartments you pass, everyone walking down the sidewalk, everyone at the store -- every single one has had moments of joy, moments of pain, moments of suffering, moments of refreshment -- all these moments making up a life. And every single one has a soul that cannot die.

It really struck me today, a year after my sister's death, how little most of us really know about each other. In some ways, that's just as things must be -- each of us can only live one life, and we can't share equally in the suffering of all those around us, or I suppose it would kill us. It isn't required of us to remember all the birthdays and anniversaries of loved ones people have lost, or to keep up with everyone's struggles and heartaches, sharing acutely in all their pain. It just isn't possible. Yet I was convicted, on the other hand, of keeping too much to myself, of not reaching out to others when I can, or at least thinking and behaving selflessly when that's all I can do.

You see, we just don't know. We don't know what other people have been through, or what they're going through now; and even if we do have some idea what's going on, we can't understand what it's like until we've been there. Sometimes as I'm driving to Spencer, I remember May 4 of last year, when we drove that same route, trailing a distant ambulance, and nobody else knew where we were headed; nobody knew our lives had just been shattered. Sometimes, then, I look at the car ahead of me and wonder where they're going: is it an ordinary errand, or are they staggering through tragedy? Who am I to know? If someone flies by me going twenty over the speed limit, maybe he's just late for a dentist appointment; or maybe his wife is about to give birth to their first child; or maybe his child is dying. If the car just ahead of me is poking along at a maddening pace, I wonder if I could take a deep breath and be patient, instead of tapping on the wheel and growling under my breath. It could well be that the driver just can't see the road through her tears.

Death touches more people than you might think. Sometimes I stop at the cemetery where Addy is buried on my way home from work, or when I'm driving by, and there's almost always a fresh grave, or one that the grass has yet to grow over. Every time, someone's world fell apart. And it doesn't end there; the grass is green over Addy's grave, but our hearts still ache. Life goes on; the world forgets, but we never will.

So when the lady ahead of you in the checkout lane can't find the right change; when there's a tired, screaming toddler at the next table; when the gas station attendant all but snaps at you about your purchases; when the cars ahead of you take half the morning to make their left turns ... consider carefully before you assume anything, because there is much that you don't know.

The painful truth is that you're not the center of the universe, and neither am I. None of us is the main character, and most of us probably aren't even in the supporting cast. We're props and makeup artists and piccolo players in the band -- each of us has a part, to be sure, but frankly, it's not about any of us. God made every single one of us in His image, and the sole purpose of that was so that we could glorify Him and enjoy Him forever. For those of us who have been redeemed, it's all "about" our Heavenly Father, and loving Him by obeying Him, which means loving each other. That's the only reason any of this matters.

And for those of you who suffer, for those of you who grieve, for those of you who feel alone in your pain -- take comfort and remember that you're not. "For we do not have a High Priest who cannot sympathize with our weaknesses, but was in all points tempted as we are, yet without sin." (Hebrews 4:15) He was forsaken, the Heidelberg catechism assures us, so that God might never forsake us. In fact, Hebrews 13:5 says the same thing: "For He Himself has said, "I will never leave you nor forsake you." And in Isaiah 61:1, ""The Spirit of the Lord GOD is upon Me, Because the LORD has anointed Me To preach good tidings to the poor; He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted, To proclaim liberty to the captives, And the opening of the prison to those who are bound."

We may be many things, but when we belong to Christ, we are never alone.


Tread softly, for you know not what an ill-feigned smile conceals;
Be patient: think how far away a troubled mind may be;
Speak kindly, for you cannot know the pain another feels;
And love -- for there is always more to life than you can see.