"Sorrows That The Eye Can't See" *

 *(From Hymn #220  “Lord, I Would Follow Thee)

A few months ago, a friend confided to me some struggles they were having in their family.  No one knew, and they weren’t going to tell.  We discussed how distressing the situation was, but no one was bringing in dinners or sending notes of encouragement or offering to give service to help the family through the tough time. Of course, no one knew . . .

Seeing others struggles, feeling others pain, and understanding others in a way I never knew could be possible is one of the unforeseen benefits of going through these trials. I didn’t even know what I didn’t know before all of this began.

For the last 8 months we have lived a challenge that is very visible to others.  Countless prayers have been said in our behalf, many meals prepared, and much service rendered.  Untold kindnesses have helped us through the tough times.  All the while, many others have children struggling with addiction, family members with mental illness, or private personal physical challenges they have chosen not to share publicly.  So, to the outward eye, they look like fine, functioning families. But there are many sorrows that the eye can’t see.

When Brendan’s bone biopsy results showed metastasized bone cancer, Cathy, a dear friend, came to visit.  She had lost her little one to cancer 2 years ago.  She knew, she understood, she could empathize.  But she still had no words to say — she just understood and gave me a hug.  We compared experiences.  We talked about how many people want to help, but don’t know what to do. (I was glad to hear that even she wouldn’t know what to tell people who asked what she needed-- I thought it was just me!)   She taught me that when others follow the promptings of the Spirit, they know what to do and we are benefitted by their service.  So, when asked, she always told people, “Just follow the Spirit.”

Well, sometimes we feel prompted to do something for others, but we think they don’t need anything.  Think again.  There may be something they need that we aren’t aware of — sorrows that the eye can’t see.  I know I’m going to try harder to “see” the needs of others.  But even more than seeing — I hope to act when I “feel” someone needs something I can give. 

 The majority of Brendan's day was spent like this.  A lot of pain.  A lot of sleeping.

The last few hours of the day (when we celebrated half-birthdays for Kristen and Loren - because they always get short-changed in December) Brendan was willing to get up for a little bit.

 How many of your kids give you this look when you offer them ice cream?  That's what I thought. . .

 Ever since Brendan beat the occupational therapist and Sarah and I at Blokus after his brain surgery, he has loved this game.

 Yep, he beat everyone again tonight.

Since coming home from camp, Brendan has been weak and tired and sore.  New spots of pain are popping up in his bones.  Mostly he copes by just holding still.  Occasionally, he feels well enough to get up and move.  Here is what climbing the stairs looks like. He got half way up these stairs and laughingly said, "Now why did I attempt this?"  

It's so hard to see his frustration and pain.  It's so wonderful to see his smile and moments of joy. I've especially appreciated the time his siblings have spent keeping him company, rubbing his feet, and trying to make him comfortable and included in what is going on.  They are amazing and have also learned a lot on this journey.