Wade into the Water – Reflections on Grief

I continue to work my way through a book I’ve been reading since the summer.  I’ve never been one to devour books and blaze through them at a rapid pace.  So here I am a few months later, finally approaching the last few chapters of “Becoming Elisabeth Elliot” by Ellen Vaughn, a biography of the life of the missionary to the Waodani people in the jungles of Ecuador.  Elisabeth, or Betty, as she was called by those who knew her well, had gone to Ecuador with her husband, Jim, in the 1950s.  But in January 1956, Jim Elliot and four of his friends and fellow missionaries were killed by some of the Waodani people.  Even after her husband’s murder, Betty stayed in Ecuador with her young daughter, and continued on in the efforts of bringing the Gospel to the Waodani.

It may seem that she was superhuman, that she was above the struggles of grief and loss and confusion because she stayed in Ecuador and didn’t retreat to the North American comforts of home.  Yes, it did take a perseverance and strength to remain in her missionary work.  But Betty wasn’t superhuman, the pages of this biography describe her struggles and challenges.  She wrestled with grief and the painful waves in brings in life. 

This morning, I read a chapter about how she was burdened with her grief and the response and treatment she received from those in her life.  Here is an excerpt:

“All the odd letters and dim, cliched condolences she had received over the past five years swirled in her mind….  It seemed to her that while Christians were quite comfortable talking about “missionary martyrs,” they were uncomfortable with the suffering in those who were left behind.  So they compulsively explained it away.  She had heard too much from Job’s chatty friends, so to speak.  People weren’t at ease with mystery, nor with silence, so they filled the awkward spaces with talk.  She had not had a friend who had sat with her, empathetic and silent, at rest within the bruising reality of grief.”

Wow!  When it is put so plainly from the mouth of someone who experienced deep grief one can see how poorly we treat one another.  How poorly I have treated people who were wrestling with loss and the confusion that accompanies tragedy.  In our effort to bring comfort of some sort, we can often make things even harder.

The author continued her reflections on the mishandling of the grief Betty experienced:

“It was as if her fragile, egg-shell canoe had somehow survived murderous rapids.  She was soaked, bruised, bloodied by jagged rocks.  Others had shouted, from the shore all kinds of advice meant to be encouraging. But no one had waded into the rolling water and gotten in the boat with her.”

How often do we shout from the shore instead of wading out to get in the boat?

I know I’ve done it before and I know I’ve experienced it before too. 

When I picked this book to read, I figured I would gain a new understanding of a missionary story I had heard about since I was a child.  But I didn’t expect to be convicted on how poorly we walk through grief with one another.  But it doesn’t stop there with, “Boy, we’ve really messed this up haven’t we?”  No, it doesn’t stay there.  I’ve heard it said, “When we know better, we can do better.”

So here’s my encouragement to myself and to you – maybe we can do better in walking alongside people in grief. 

Maybe it’s time to stop shouting from shore and instead wade into the water to sit with someone in the “bruising reality of grief.”