It was happening again. Round two of the same problem, only this time her hurt was bubbling up in anger. As rage overpowered her tears, she clawed at her clothing as if wanting to rip it—to rip anything—to shreds.
But was her reality real? Ever since I had met her months earlier, I had never been able to determine exactly where reality and her misguided perception began to blur.
And yet, her perception was her reality because it was the filter through which she understood life. Pain and shame were just as real in both truth and misconception.
And the questions I have asking myself over and over are:
What does loving her look like? How can I help? How do I enter into her reality and walk with her through her pain to bring her to truth? What does that look like practically?
That night, I held her baby while she wept and spat out in anger. I prayed for her but after my amen, I still let her ask the question, “Where is God in this?”
When she had calmed down, she stood up to leave. Anguish still twisted her features into a frown, but she thanked me for listening and praying.
Most of the time, loving isn’t easy. I will probably spend the rest of my life learning how to do it well.