Today I read these words by the late Fr. Henri Nouwen:
When we honestly ask ourselves which persons in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares.
I cannot think of a better description of what the members of our group strive to do for each other. We can't cure each other, but we can help each other "face the reality of our powerlessness," and know that we are walking together.
Beautifully and just about perfectly expressed. There are times when one must tell a story and not have it minimized by facile "solutions" or glib "pieties" -- but instead, have the story received by listening ears and compassionate hearts. Silence is often a balm in such instances, and words can abrade.
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