In 2012, when my 2-year-old son was diagnosed with leukemia, all our plans for the future were put on the back burner. That baby we were trying to conceive would just have to wait. That house we wanted to build would remain a figment of our imagination.
For nine months, my son’s cancer treatment raged on. It was exhausting and terrifying. Finally the treatment slowed down and it was time to get back to “normal” life.
But I was tender, oh so very tender.
The floor had dropped out of my world when my son was diagnosed, and so I walked slowly back into the “real” world, cautiously testing the ground in front of me with each tentative step.
One day, I called an old friend whom I’d lost touch with in the chaos of cancer. She invited me to her new house and gave me directions the old-fashioned way – “turn left at the gas station” – because their development was so new that GPS didn’t recognize it yet.
When I pulled up in front of her home, my mind went back to the time before my son was diagnosed. I remembered how this friend and I had sat around the table talking about house designs. We had laughed as we realized how similar our ideas were.
Now here I was, pulling up to that dream house that had become a reality for them. My friend greeted me with a smile and welcomed me into her new home.
After giving me the grand tour, we settled down to talk in her new kitchen, with its gorgeous countertops and view of the whole house. Our conversation drifted from topic to topic like smoke trying to find an open window. My friend told me about her new job and how perfect the hours were. I smiled politely and congratulated her on how lucky she was. But as we talked, I felt distracted.
Sitting there in her new house, I felt like I was sitting in a symbol of what our life would have been like without cancer – new and shiny and perfect – and my emotions were swirling.
I was happy for my friend, but I couldn’t help but wish it were me standing in my beautiful kitchen talking about my perfect new job. Instead, I sat on her barstool and answered questions about my son’s diagnosis and those first few months afterward.
I confided in her how hard that time was for me. I admitted how much I struggled to get through some of those days. As I let her see the hurt and fear of the past several months, it felt like my vulnerability was shouting in the chair next to me, dancing on my head, and waving its arms obnoxiously.
I felt so broken, tender, and alone in my pain.
And she could have let me stay there – alone and broken.
She could have allowed me to believe her new house and new job were all parts of the perfect life she was living, and I would have driven away that day feeling alone in my pain.
But she didn’t let me stay there alone. Instead, she took the white sheet off of the hurt and vulnerability she had been hiding.
She confided in me that things were hard in her family. She told me about the deep hurt and pain that was too personal to share with the rest of the world. And as she shared her secret pain with me, it was as if she was saying, “Me too. I’m right there with you, sister.”
Suddenly, neither of us felt so alone. Somehow sharing our hurts and vulnerability – and not just our house plans – had strengthened our friendship.
When it was time for me to go, I walked back through that beautiful entryway, grateful for my friend who was brave enough to say, “Me too.” Grateful for a friendship that had been renewed by truth and vulnerability.
“Instead, speaking the truth in love, we will grow to become in every respect the mature body of him who is the head, that is, Christ.” Ephesians 4:15, NIV
Leave a Comment
Ifeoma Samuel says
Hi Jenni, we don’t have perfect lives any attempt to parade one that is perfect is a perfect lie. i love real people in real world who have real experiences and trust God in their vulnerability. Thank you for sharing your experience.
http://purposefulandmeaningful.blogspot.com/
Jenni DeWitt says
Trusting God in our vulnerability, you are so right, that’s the absolute key!
Rebekah Taylor says
Really needed this today, thank you, after a Christmas and in particular a New Years Eve spent pondering a little too much on other people’s Facebook pages, and what our family life may have looked like without autism.
But social media is often the white sheet of our hurts and pain, and you’ve reminded me that the real, truthful connections with real people have been where the real friendships have grown and where God has whispered “I’m here and I’m with you in this, and it will all be for the good”
Thank you xx
Jenni DeWitt says
Oh yes, social media can be the biggest white sheet! And on top of that, pictures in general. I was going through old pictures on our computer this week, trying to get organized. As I sorted and tried not to get too nastalgic for those years gone by, I realized I’d forgotten a lot of the emotion and extra baggage associated with the moments in the older pictures. I was taking them at face value. The truth behind those pictures – under that white sheet – that truth is where God was working in our lives. I’m so grateful for those moments when others let us see that truth in their lives. Thank you for commenting and doing just that.
Penny says
I’ve been embarrassed and ashamed of some of the hurt in my past for a very long time, but lately I’ve come to realize that it can be the very thing that, if I’m open and honest about it, can present itself as a ministry opportunity. Many women are secretly suffering the same shame, and I have the blessing of being able to show them how God can redeem that pain and bring beauty from the ashes. It’s time for me to stop wearing a mask, so that others may feel safe enough to remove theirs.
Jenni DeWitt says
Amen, Penny! Nothing gives shame more power than keeping it a secret. Talking about it and sharing the pain is the number one step to healing. But that takes trust and bravery. It sounds like you have both. Sending you love and prayers in this new year!
Kim says
Wow, I just read and pondered Ephesians 4:1-16 this morning. Vulnerability is often scary. Something I have struggled long with, but have gotten better at in the past year. If we give and receive in Christ’s love, vulnerability can become our friend and growth our gift. Thank you for sharing your story.
Jenni DeWitt says
Thank you, Kim! After I saw your comment, I went back and read all of Ephesians 4:1-16. What a rich passage. I just love it! You put it beautifully “vulnerability can become our friend and growth our gift.” Thank you for joining in the conversation. I hope you have a Happy New Year!
Beth Williams says
Jenni,
I am so blessed to have wonderful friends. One person in particular is my vulnerability partner, if you will. We share everything–our ups & downs good times and bad. We talk about 3 or more times a week to check on each other and family members illnesses.
I am blessed to have her in my life so we can pray for and support each other.
Blessings and Happy New Year@
Jenni DeWitt says
Oh Beth, those friends are priceless! I’m so glad you have someone like that in your life.
Marty says
When our youngest son was 2 years old, he was diagnosed with cancer. An ugly, malignant tumor the size of a man’s fist was growing out of his liver. We had 3 other children at home, and we were in shock. Surgery, chemo, hospitals, doctors…I could barely string together a sentence. I totally “get” where you were coming from when you wrote this post. I had some great and understanding friends during this time. Thank you for this great reminder that someone needs our encouragement today…and that sharing our heart breaks down the walls. 🙂
Jenni DeWitt says
Marty, my heart goes out to you. When a child gets cancer, it’s such a terrifying whirlwind. With this experience, I feel like we’ve had a crash course on life. I wrote a book about the first 40 days after my son was diagnosed. It’s full of lessons I learned from God about how to let go of fear and grab on to trust in Him. You can find my book on Amazon. It’s called Forty Days by Jenni DeWitt.
Stacey Hughes says
Hi Jenni,
Thank you so much for sharing, for being open, real & vulnerable….this does take great courage. I find it incredible that God is speaking such similar words to all of us – his daughters – encouraging us to step up & out & share our true selves – despite the fear & doubts that can threaten us…
I am in the process of starting my first ever blog to do just this – be authentic & share from my heart in an open & real way – in the hope that I am following a God given direction & I will encourage & support others along their journey of life.
I hope your son is going well & I hope & pray for all of you that God may always be your strength, grace, love & comfort through experiences we may never understand.
Love Stacey
Jenni DeWitt says
Stacey, I find it amazing when others write messages that God has whispered to me in the silence. It’s neat to hear you experience the same thing! I’m so glad you are planning to spread God’s love and support to other women. We are all His daughters — sisters in Christ — and I’m sure it makes Him smile so wide when we show each other love!
Kiowa Smith says
I stumbled on this website I thought by accident. Ha! I thank you beautiful souls for sharing. I just keep crying because the pain is so real, so intense and I really don’t know where to start. I know I’m not alone but I guess I can say me to…
Jenni DeWitt says
Welcome Kiowa! I’m so glad you stumbled onto this website. God knows what His daughters need, and He brings them to it! We are glad you are here. Stay in touch and know that you’ll be in my prayers!
Susan Shipe says
Shiny granite and polished stainless steel cannot quiet our hearts nor put warm arms around our necks – only friends can do that. I’m so glad your friend opened up to you.
Jenni DeWitt says
Thank you, Susan. So am I! And it’s kind of a pay-it-forward situation. As we all open up to each other, we can spread the true love of friendship!
Carmen Horne says
Jenni this is beautiful! The support group for pain has many members. You pulled me and had my heart from the first line. Thanks so much for sharing your heart – for being vulnerable. Love you friend!
Jenni DeWitt says
Thank you, Carmen! It’s so true, there are many members to pick us up when we fall on painful times. I’m grateful for the wisdom and vulnerability you share with us too!
Melanie says
Jenni thank you for your courage. My heart hurt hearing your story. I love how He uses it all to transform us and soften. Your vulnerability is beautiful.
a spirit of simplicity says
I have found that sometimes all I need is some one to stand next to me and more importantly, there are times when I must stand next to some one else. I grow weary of these days when everything is abut what others do for us and there is so little about what we do for others. Your story reminds me of another quote from the bible
KJV
1Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me. 2In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. 3And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also. 4And whither I go ye know, and the way ye know.
Tina M Wright says
Jenni, wow, your courage is so inspiring! Thank you for writing truthfully about your struggles, especially with such a sensitive subject like the health of your lil one.
“…sharing our hurts and vulnerability – and not just our house plans – had strengthened our friendship.”
This quote inspires me. I struggle with being an introvert, but your wisdom has reinforced my need for community. Thank you for posting; God Bless!