Nudges

Recently, things have caused me to take a hard look at where my life without Weston is headed. Some of them are outward expressions of my love for Weston, which I talked about here, but others are more inward-focused, relating more to the evolution of a new perspective on life. Which could change daily. Nevertheless, I will call them nudges, and I believe these nudges are coming from God.

Things have been hard in a different way lately. I have been missing Weston even more than usual lately, and my c-section scar hurts almost daily. With help, I put it together that I was pregnant with Weston this time last year, although I didn't know it yet. I knew the one-year milestones were about to begin, but my subconscious reminded me that they have actually already begun.

But, on to the nudges. The first one I have already mentioned: a certain person unexpectedly reached out to me recently. It is someone I see semi-regularly, but we are not close and have hardly anything in common. The communication revealed that this person clearly cares deeply about how I'm doing, which, frankly, surprised me. It shook me to my core, in a positive way.

Then, last week I was at Starbucks. What is it about me and profound experiences at Starbucks? Anyway, we are members of a fairly large church with a new-ish pastor who has been there a little over two years. I saw the pastor waiting for a drink at Starbucks. I had never met him, but I recognized him immediately. He did not see me. My initial reaction was to go introduce myself. (Pre-Weston, I would have done this without hesitation. Remember, I am an extrovert.) Then I hesitated, and around and around I went.

A few posts back, I mentioned that, since Weston died, I hide from people I know when I see them out and about. And I don't even know the pastor. So the fact that my initial reaction was to go talk to him is quite out of character for the sad new me.

I should also mention that I do not agree with a decent chunk of what this pastor says. He is clearly smart and educated, and his sermons are well-researched and well-prepared, but I simply have some different views than he does. One of our differences is on an issue that is very important to me, but it's not enough to make me want to leave the church.

But I decided to listen to my initial reaction/gut instinct/God and go for it. He was very pleasant and seemed to recognize both my face and my name when I introduced myself. Then he tried to remember how he knows our family's name (I think over 1,000 people go to our church, so I certainly don't expect him to know everyone). And then I dropped the bomb: "Our name probably sounds familiar to you because we are the family that lost our son last summer." If you can drop that bomb on anyone, it should be a pastor.

And then my tears started. I was crying in the middle of Starbucks to a virtual stranger. This is the unbelievable reality of my life. But I was very pleasantly surprised by the pastor's reaction. So many people try to hide behind the typical Christian platitudes of "God has a plan", "This was God's will," "God needed another angel," etc. But he didn't. He actually said the opposite: "I'm not going to spout off any platitudes to you, because I know they are not helpful. I am just so sorry." He wanted to know if the church had taken care of us in the weeks surrounding Weston's death (it had), how we are doing, whether we need to talk to someone, the details of Weston's medical issues, etc.

Coming straight from bereaved parents themselves, the research indicates spiritual leaders are quite ineffective in the face of such tragedy, or worse, are downright hurtful. This is a huge issue, one that I am not going to tackle in this post. Fairly or not, I might have been expecting the worst from my pastor as well.

So, these two encounters have left me quite humbled. One person cares far more than I thought. And the other, a virtual stranger, offered true comfort and was willing to be with me in my uncomfortable sorrow in the middle of a busy Starbucks. People care, and no one is intentionally trying to hurt us further. With these two encounters, I think God is trying to tell me to give people a break. They care more than I know, and most sincerely want to help. I don't always have to be so scared and expect the worst. Intellectually, I have always believed this, but now my heart is lined up with my head on this issue. Today, at least.

And I was finally able to go to church again, today. I came late and quickly slipped out the side door after the service was over so I wouldn't have to talk to anyone, but I was there. It was very, very difficult, and I almost left as soon as I got there. Finally, I took off my coat, reasoning that it would be harder to leave if I had to go through the extra step of putting my coat back on.

The last time I went to church, Weston was alive. I remember so clearly: there I was, avoiding people again because I didn't want to answer a million questions about how Weston was doing, and I left early to take my dad to the hospital to meet Weston.

Today, everything hurt. And when I thought it couldn't get any worse, the pastor told a story about his daughter, who was born barely three weeks after Weston died. But it became tolerable after that, and I made it through. I don't necessarily know if I'll be able to go back regularly yet, but going today was a huge step. It was quite unlike my first trip to church after having Caroline: I had no baby to show off today (or that one time last summer). Just empty arms, and a still-broken heart. I am grateful for these nudges; they help me put one foot in front of the other.