Sit.

6/19/21

This word has been rolling around in my mind like a shell turning in the ebbing and receding of water.

Sit. “To be or remain in a particular position or state” - Oxford Online Dictionary

“Come sit with me in my room.” She said. A mere 12 hours since he passed. In that same room. Inviting us into her grief. Into a sacred place. Physically. Emotionally. Spiritually.

Sitting is not something we do very well in our culture. Moving, however. Moving is.

We go and go until we no longer know how to sit. Rest. Stop. Put down our phones and our planners and our to-dos.

Being. Remaining. In a specific. Certain. Position. Being. Remaining. In a specific. Certain. State. Maybe during sleep we do this.

“Come sit with me in my room.” More than an invitation to just sit. An invitation into grief. Heartache. Loss. Pain. Truthfully, one of the most raw and broken invitations. Yet. Truthfully. An invitation that should be honored. And held.

Sitting with someone in their grief. With words or no words at all. Is not easy. Everything in us that cannot even sit for the joyful and fun things. Grief, especially when it is not ours, creates a position. A state. Posture of fear. Of I-can’t-be-bothered. Of selfishness, really. If I cannot sit for my everyday life, how do I sit with someone whose life has stopped?

“Come sit with me in my room.” A simple sentence. With so much weight. So much meaning. With so much at stake. Asking us to sit. With her. In the rubble.

I think as humans, our instinct is to run. Run from the hard. The mud. The fear. The evil. From death. If it is not mine or doesn’t affect me. Then why do I need to go running into the rubble? Into the fire?

“Rejoice with those who rejoice [sharing other’s joy], and weep with those who weep [sharing other’s grief]” Romans 12:15 (AMP)

Before this verse. Paul urges us. To not be conformed to this world. To not think more highly of ourselves. We, who are many, but one body. One body in Christ. Love is to be sincere and active. Love is being devoted to one another.

We are called to be different.

“Come sit with me in my room.”

And we walked down the hall.

And into the room.

And sat in the corner on the carpet.

Legs’ criss-cross-applesauce.

Close enough for knees to almost touch.

Sitting. Remaining. Being.

In that sacred place.

Of rawness and grief. Of worship and stories.

Of tears. Of weeping.

Weep with those who weep.

Grieve with those who grieve.

Maybe the reason we are commanded to do this. To truly know what it means to sit. To truly know what it means to be human. To truly know what an honor it is. How sacred it is. To sit with someone. In their brokenness and loss and rubble. Is to show the world what love is.

Thank you to my dear friend, Cynthia. For allowing me to share just a piece of her story. To encourage others.