Did I share too much?

How do you know when you’ve shared too much?

She walked across the linoleum tiled floor of the old church hall where women sat in a circle in front of her.  The sun was shining through the three side windows which sat high on the wall. It was a beautiful day. Her pleasant appearance, warm, with a small perpetual smile lining the lower half of her face welcomed me into her presence. Our eyes connected. Her short white straight bobbed hair with square cut bangs topped her eyes. One of her hands held a sky-blue two-handled purse and the other hand gripped tight a small rectangular beige pillow like it might drop and she wouldn’t be able to retrieve it. I watched her as she scanned the room for the right place to sit. I had spoken to her once before. We knew each other’s names. Just after she slightly tripped on the edge of the mat, I smiled and nodded my head to the empty chair beside me.

I could feel her fatigue.

“Hello, dear sister.” I started sweetly, welcoming her into the space. She arranged her pillow into just the right place behind her back in the black plastic stackable chair.

“Are you okay?” I asked. “Would you be more comfortable if I asked for a more supportive chair for you?” I had no idea where her pain was, why she needed the pillow, or if anything would be better than the seat she sat on. My heart was preparing to support her:

Is she okay?

Does she have friends to support her?

Where does she live?

Is she retired?

How about her husband?

Does she have children?

Once seated, she dropped her shoulders and let out a deep sigh while directing a smile at me. She still had said nothing to me.  “Thank you,” she sighed, and made deep contact with my eyes.

“I’m feeling a lot stronger now,” she began. “I can walk longer and with less pain.” Her face was downcast, but a glimmer came to her eye as she shared. I was getting curious.

Placing my hand on hers, I smiled and softly responded. “Oh, I’m so delighted to hear that you’re feeling stronger.” I stopped for a minute to consider how to ask her the next question invitationally. “I’m unaware of what you were experiencing before. If you’re comfortable sharing, did something happen in your life?”

“Thank you for asking.” She said and then paused. Her eyes, now clouded, emphasized the depth of her pain. She sighed while she used the opposite hand to the one I held, to find a tissue and wipe her eyes.

The old church hall with yellow walls and brown curtains continued to fill with women, some making a coffee at the kitchen counter to the left, others standing in conversation with a friend and some quietly sitting in their chairs waiting for the leader to start the Bible study. There was chatter and the door to the hall squeaked as each woman would enter but our conversation created an intimacy that lost us to what else was going on around us.

She spoke again. “I always assume that in church everyone knows everything about everyone so I’m appreciative to tell you my story myself.”  Shuffling a little she sat more erect in her chair, gaining confidence and composure of her situation.

It was time for me to listen.

She shifted her hand to hold mine with both of hers. I looked into her eyes to understand her heart and to be ready to receive what she wanted me to know.

I was okay. I prepared myself.

For a minute I felt heavy. The Spirit prompted my repeated refrain. “Lord, you see. You know.”

I felt him. My heart was ready. 

I uncrossed my legs to feel planted.

“I have experienced a lot of aches and pains over the last months,” she said. Her thoughts disorderly recounted her experiences. “I’ve been to numerous specialists to try to discover what is wrong with me. My summer was not a vacation. It was a time in hell. I’ve been to physiotherapists. I’ve seen osteopaths. I even had acupuncture. I thought that I had dislocated a disc in my spine because I couldn’t walk, sit or lie down for a while. My legs were numb for about 2 weeks. My neck had a kink in it for what seemed like forever. My back has been the biggest problem.”  She paused for a moment and looked down at her lap.

I remained quiet. I was okay to hold her emotions. It seemed she had more to say.

She began adjusting her position and rubbing her hands over her pant legs. I wondered if I should ask if she’d like to move to another room.

I looked up to check the time and see what was happening around us to make sure that she’d have time to share more before the leader began the teaching video for the Bible study. More women were seated and ready to begin. Few were standing anymore. The leader moved to the center of the circle preparing her mind to start. She flipped through the pages of her Bible to find the spot.

“It’s my children. I’ve been so stressed.” Her thoughts, again disordered, released deep personal feelings.  “None of them live lives for God anymore. It hurts so much. I don’t know why. I don’t want to blame myself, but I question what I did wrong. My grandchildren don’t sing Christian songs. I want to be close to my children but without a common faith I find it hard. I know we can talk about other things, but it comes to the forefront of my mind when I’m with them. I want to yell at them and hug them all at the same time. I don’t know. It’s all just so hard. I’m so broken. Physically and spiritually.” Her shoulders dropped and a tear fell from her cheek. 

“Okay, let’s get started.” The leader’s voice broke in as my friend barely finished her sentence.

The hall became quiet - aside from the rustle of women gathering their pens and study guides.  The room smelled of coffee, there were smiles on the faces of the attendees but there was one woman who was unsettled.

I had to do … to say … something. I turned slightly to draw closer to her. Grasping both of her hands in both of mine, I smiled with pity and pain for her soul. She shrugged, squeezed back and relaxed her shoulders. I could see she wondered if she should release my hands. I didn’t move. I let her make the first move. The leader’s words passed her ears as she contemplated what she had just told me. It hadn’t taken long to update me, but it felt like we had been united in heart for years. I loved her and wanted her to feel it. I wanted her to experience the Spirit through me holding her.

She didn’t let go for a few minutes. The leader started the video and we settled in. Thoughts continued in her mind. And then another tear fell. That was the signal for her to move on. She released my hands to wipe her cheek. Straightening her posture, she tapped me on the knee and then retrieved her own pen and study guide. I did the same.

But I had business to do. I didn’t close my eyes but I closed my ears. I needed a moment with the Good Shepherd alone. “Father, you see her. You know her. You promise never to forsake. You are her king. She is your daughter. Would you make a way into her heart right now so that through the teaching of your word she would experience your compassionate grace, your abounding love, your never wavering strength and your overwhelming provision of peace?  Father, Wonderful Counselor, Jehovah Jireh, El Roi, please turn her children’s hearts to you!! Touch their lives in ways only you can. And be near my friend. Hold her. Strengthen her to soar like an eagle with complete joy and confidence in you so her children would see her radiating you. Will you, Father?

You can.

I believe.”

The female teachers on the video were talking about a Christian’s security in Christ. “Paul, on house arrest, reminds us that we are, ‘in Christ’, one with him, and we cannot escape that position.”

I prayed.

Oh, Lord, let her have heard that and be encouraged right now.

You are for us.

You chose us to be yours and you want to be with us for eternity.

…The teaching video ended, women began leaving to gather in other rooms for discussion, but something else needed to be finished before the two of us parted from our black plastic chairs.

Taking her hands in mine one more time, I stood in front of her for a moment. I released one and placed it on her left shoulder and then put the other on the top of her right arm. I locked a firm look into her eyes. “Thank you for sharing with me.” I whispered slowly. “I already prayed for you and for your family. I will keep you all in my prayers.”

She stood up heavily with weight in her heart, laid her head on my shoulder and …wept. Her recently shampooed hair smelled of lavender close to my nose and I enjoyed the shared minute. We didn’t move. I had to hold her body and her soul for a moment. “Spirit, release from me and strengthen her.” I whispered the words, and I don’t know if she heard them, but I know she felt them.

Women continued to leave the room while some rearranged the available chairs to sit close for their discussion in the room. I imagine some of them saw us, but they were mature women and were comfortable with our situation so did not interrupt.

Pulling back from me, her eyes were tired, and …soaked. “Thank you!” She spoke tenderly but emphatically. Her eyes secured in trust on mine.  “I was afraid I had shared too much.” 

She picked up her sky-blue, two-handled purse in one hand and her beige rectangular pillow in the other hand to again cross the linoleum tiled floor of the old church hall to exit.

Do you ever hold back from sharing your heart because you’re afraid of sharing too much?

How do you know who to trust with your story?

Would you have said more than me in response to what she shared?

What do you think it was that moved her to share her story with me?