Witness

Yesterday, I flew home surrounded by 16 men who were returning home to Idaho and Oregon after an 18 month deployment to Afghanistan.  For some reason, I was seated dead center- right smack in the middle of them.  Now, I love me some men in uniform, so I was more than happy to be where I was.  After the initial flirting and fun, they started talking, and for six hours, the words just spilled out of them.  They talked and talked and talked.  They told me all the funny stories they knew about each other, having 18 months of close contact to inform them of each others' habits and idiosyncrasies. They showed me medals and told stories of bravery, of courage, and of heartache.  They told me about their buddy who had died protecting some school children who were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and showed me pictures of his young daughter who will grow up without him.   Some showed me pictures of their babies who they had yet to meet, and another showed me photos of his wife, the only woman he had ever loved, but who decided she couldn't handle being alone, and so she sought comfort in another man.  She filed for divorce last month.  He told me this and held my hand when tears filled my eyes for him. He told me he'd already cried enough, that he had to move on.  They told me about how scary it was to get into a humvee, even after they swept it for UXO, because so many of them had seen this type of explosion.  They showed me a video of their friend who ran his first marathon, aided by a prosthetic leg.  They told me about watching the SuperBowl in the middle of the night, and how they all loved Modern Family.  They showed me a matching tattoo they all had on their knee, in honor of their fallen brothers. So many stories, so much of these men's lives, all came tumbling out between takeoff and landing. 

When the plane landed in Utah, I stood and hugged each and every one of them.  I told them how honored I was to have spent those hours with them, and that I wished them all the best.  One of them, the shy, quiet major who told me of his impending divorce, thanked me for listening to him and his 'men'.  He said that most people clapped and cheered for them, but not too many had really just listened. 

His last words to me were "You listened.  It's so great to have someone really listen." Then he hugged me and I went on my way, his words ringing in my ears. 

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My shoulders ache tonight.   It's been a week with too much travel, too many nights in a hotel, too many meetings.  My whole body is paying the price of too little exercise, too little sleep.  And despite a weariness that is bone-deep, a heaviness that has saturated every muscle,  I can't settle into sleep. 

My heart is heavy, too.  Heavy from the internal struggle of trying to reconcile intolerance and injustice against someone I love, handed out by an institution that I love.  Heavy with the growing debate on whether women of my faith can/should/will wear pants to church on Sunday (I know- it's comical, but it's real.)  It's heavy with the news of violence that seems to be growing exponentially each day, and mostly, it's heavy with the senseless death of so many innocent children. 

I've spent this evening thinking about these things that are weighing on my heart, reflecting how to move forward and how to make sense of all the craziness that seems to be in every corner of my life. 

I'm not suggesting that any of the things that weigh heavy on me today are actually my burdens.  I am not the one who feels that he has to choose between a church he loves and who he fundamentally is.   I will wear whatever I want to church on Sunday, and feel fine about it, because I have already settled that particular debate in my own head and heart.  I did not lose a child or a friend in today's shootings.

The question that weighs on me tonight is what I can do to make these things better for those who are really hurting, to find some sort of grace in the space between, because I can never make these things right. 

The word I keep coming back to is witness.

By one definition, witness means to observe and experience a particular event or situation, and by this observation, to be able to stand in confirmation of something  (example: he was able to witness that she signed the document.) 

And I think that the best thing that I can do right now, with these particular situation, is to act as a witness.  
To be present and to observe.  

I can be present and I can observe the pain my loved-one is feeling from simply being who and what he is. 
I can't change it.  But I can witness his pain.  

I can be present and I can observe the courage it takes for someone to go against a cultural norm, to take a small step towards what their heart says, because they feel like it's time their voice is heard.  
I can't change the norm.  But I can witness the courage it took for her to make her decision and to act.

I can be present and I can observe the grief that is bubbling up for so many today. 
I can't change the outcome.  But I can witness the heartache and the anger that many are feeling, that I myself am feeling. 

So why does it matter?  Who cares if all I can do is be present and observe?  How does this help?

Too often, we offer platitudes that are supposed to be comforting, but instead are just patronizing and annoying.  Instead of listening to the one who needs to talk, we yammer on and on, trying to convince them that we are right, that we know what to do, and that our way is the right way. (I had this experience this week- I needed to talk and the person I chose to talk to spent a good amount of time trying to convince me that what I was feeling wasn't real or valid.  It hurt.  A lot. And did nothing to make me change my mind.)

In my experience, one of the most healing gifts is to have someone witness your pain, your grief and your struggle, and be able to stand in confirmation of it.  To confirm that yes, you are hurting.  That yes, you are grieving.  That yes, you are confused.  That yes, this was terrible.  That yes, this is real.  

They can witness that you took those steps, that you felt those feelings and that this struggle was, in fact, real and worthy of all the pain and struggle and grief.  It's validating.  It's empowering.  And when we are hurting and greiving and struggling, we need validation.  We need empowerment.  We need to someone to listen. 

We need a witness. 

I finally found my witness tonight, and was able to lay out some of what I was feeling to her.  She  was present and observed.  She listened to me rant and cry and be angry and upset.  And although she offered no solutions, she really heard what I was feeling and stood in confirmation that yes, it was real and that yes, it really sucked.  And I feel more whole, more validated and more empowered because of her standing as my witness.  

So, I'm moving forward with the intention to be a witness for others.  
I can't change the awful tragedies, the injustice, the anger and the pain. 
But I will be a witness to it.  
I will be present and observe and be ready to stand in confirmation of what is happening and what those around me are feeling. 
To be a witness to their grief, their struggles and hopefully, also their happiness and their joy.  
To validate and to empower.  


It's what I can do now.  
It's what I will do now. 

And once once we have listened and heard, once we have validated and empowered -  then we can move on.  

But for now, for me, it's time to stand as a witness.