A Twist in the Conversation

It’s usually a lot of fun realizing you have a connection to someone you’ve only just met. Yesterday, I visited an international church and went to a restaurant afterwards with a group of (mostly American) twentysomethings. While walking over, I chatted with a girl who said she had dated a guy who lived near Philly, and we realized he’s actually from my hometown. I’d never met him, but his last name sounded familiar. „His mom was a teacher,“ she told me. My heart sank. It was the same one I remembered from my middle school hallways.

I started to probe with more questions. She had dated him for four years and had been close with his family, but had stopped all contact with them since the breakup. So she didn’t know. Could I tell her? I had to. I fumbled for another minute or two, then spit it out: „Something really terrible happened with his mom this year...“ Is there any good way to tell a recent acquaintance that someone they care about has committed suicide? Her face crumpled. I felt as though I’d run her over with an SUV.

Since then, I’ve been angry with myself. How could I announce it so abruptly? Why hadn’t I waited to pull her aside when we got to the restaurant? Why hadn’t I just said that his mom had passed away, and waited for her to ask for details when she was ready, instead of mentioning suicide right away? Why hadn’t I sat down with her later on to pray for his family? It was the wrong place, the wrong time, and I was definitely the wrong person. I felt so clumsy and immature.

I’ve been interpreting my time abroad this summer as highly symbolic of my transition from college to whatever’s next. Each tiny victory here, from buying cell phone minutes to clearing up expectations with my boss, is exciting because it says, „I am a capable person. I can figure out life in a new situation.“ Yesterday illustrated that life isn’t always so manageable, even without grammar difficulties and cross-cultural confusion. I needed that jab to deflate my pride-filled bubble, and to remind me that my identity has nothing to do with my perceived success or failure. Since then, I've been holding on to what the apostle Paul writes to the Christians in Corinth:

„But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong.“

Foolish? Weak? Those traits are more familiar than I’d like to admit...overwhelmingly so yesterday. I work hard to cover them up so people admire me and like me. But God’s not interested in me proving myself – my painfully obvious limitations accent his wisdom and strength. As I overanalyzed yesterday’s events, it was a relief to see things his way. There’s someone who embraces the real me, complete with my insufficiencies, poor choices, and all-around awkwardness. And despite everything, he's not afraid of me messing things up. He still wants me on his team, passing on the love that I've found in him.