The other morning when I sing-songed, “Time to get dressed,” my able-bodied son groaned.

“Mom, can’t you help me?”

“Your pants are right there, John.”

“Help me put them on.”

“You’re 10 years old. Ten-year-old boys dress themselves.” I left the room. Within a few minutes, he bounded down the steps and into the kitchen. Pants on. Shirt on. Socks on. And, I presume, boxers on too.

Had I helped him dress, my unspoken message would have shouted, “You incompetent, kid! You can’t even do something as simple as pull on pants.”

When you comfort a friend — or she comforts you — do you cross a boundary and help her do what she can?

Respect her self-worth and yours: Help her only with what she cannot do.

This is an expression of real love.

You see this concept of boundary-setting all over Scripture. Among them, the parable of the Good Samaritan in Luke 10. An expert of the law asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” Jesus answered with this story to illustrate a biblical principle.

While a man (very likely a Jew) traveled from Jerusalem to Jericho, robbers jumped him. They took his clothes and beat him, leaving him half-dead at the side of the road. A priest passed on by, then a Levite. Finally, a Samaritan, considered scum by Jews, saw him and stopped.

Here’s a list of what the Samaritan did:

bandaged his wounds
treated his wounds with the “medicine” of the day
lifted him onto him donkey and brought him to an inn
nursed him for a day
paid for the man’s extended stay at the inn
paid the innkeeper to watch over him
promised to pay extra expenses when he returned

Here is the one thing we know he chose not to do: Halt his own travel plans. He didn’t think, “Poor guy, I better stay with him or else he may never get better, so I must stop everything for him. . .even if that means neglecting my family and my work.”

The Good Samaritan had good boundaries.

Good boundaries keep the good stuff in and let the bad stuff out.

After telling this parable, Jesus asked the expert in the Law, “Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?”

The expert in the Law said, “The one who had mercy on him.”

Jesus said, “Go and do likewise.”

This is what real love to is looks like.

Question: What does real love look like to you? Please leave a coment if you have a moment.

You Are Loved,

The morning began like any other. A shower, a bagel, a cup of tea. Death was near. I just didn’t know it. . .yet.

“Time to get up, Sweetie,” I told Laura. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “Do you want to wear your purple sweater to preschool? It’s very cold outside.”

“OK, Mommy. Could I have toast for breakfast?”

“Sure.” I padded to the kitchen and grabbed the Butternut.

Steve called from the bathroom. “We need more shaving cream.”

Then the phone rang. A phone call now? Strange. No one calls this early.

I answered and heard a woman’s voice, all business. Her words made no sense. My mom? Dead? Looks like a heart attack?  “Is this some kind of sick joke?” I blurted.

The woman repeated the horrible words I didn’t want to believe. I dropped the phone and fell to my knees. Tears rushed like a stream.

Fast forward two weeks.

Life seemed normal again after the funeral. I was back at work. Steve too. Laura asked fewer questions about Grandma Carol. But life was crazy on the inside. Crazy-bad. I knew I was grieving. I just never knew it could be this bad. I sped from denial to anger and flat-out asked God, “Why did you kill my best friend? Didn’t you know I needed her?”

You may think my questions were irreverent. Maybe they were. I don’t know. I only knew that I hurt deeply and that my God is sovereign. He picked the hour of her death. He was responsible. I didn’t like him very much right then.

Fast forward a few months.

It was Mother’s Day and tough to be in church. The ushers handed out roses. I gave mine to Laura. Sadness covered me like a wet, wool coat. Beyond uncomfortable. I wanted out. My days were dark. My nights darker.

Fast forward a few more months.

I visited my mom’s gravesite and traced the words on the polished stoned with my finger, slowly: Carol Gale Kuper ~ November 7, 1931 - January 10, 1994 ~ Through Death Into Life. And I cried. Again. Yet something was different. I was different.

You see, on this day, as I touched the stone, I made the decision to hope, to live again. I no longer allowed sadness and anger to rule my thoughts and feelings. I put them in the safe hands of God, the same God whom I accused of killing my mom, my best friend. He didn’t kill her, he called her home to heaven. He’s not always likeable.

But he loves. . .

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. (John 3:16)

Death is a terrible thing. It hurts.

Has death come near to you?

Whether you’ve lost a mom, a baby or someone dear to you, please, please be kind to yourself. It’s OK to grieve. Open up to a caring person when you feel the need to talk. Listen to music that soothes your soul.

Look at photos. Remember happy times. Remember sad times. Talk to God about deep things.

When meaningful dates approach — the loved one’s birthday, Christmas, Thanksgiving, Father’s Day, Mother’s Day or any day that has special significance to you — expect your emotions to fly any which way. You may be sad for no apparent reason, or you may be quick to yell. It’s a sign you’re grieving; don’t be too hard on yourself.

Reminders of death may mess with you too.

A friend told me a story that he had become very upset when his young son’s pet duck died. He couldn’t figure out why. He wasn’t attached to the duck. It was just a duck, he said. As we talked I learned that he and his wife had a baby who died in utero a few years before. His mind made a connection between the duck’s death and his baby. He still grieved.

And that’s okay.

Grieve well, my sister. God understands. He’s been there. He wants to comfort you. 

You are loved, Lucy