Love One Another POINTS T O PONDER


by SAMANTHA NEMANISHEN


I think this past Christmas looked quite a bit different for many of us. I’m pretty fortunate; our immediate family is small, my kids are still little and live with me, and some of our family live far away, and we are al- ready used to not always being together at Christmas time. We are fortunate in this way.


But I wouldn’t say that of everyone. I wouldn’t say that to the daughter who missed


her very last Christmas with her father who is in a home and just turned 99.


I wouldn’t say that to the mother whose adult


children are spread around the globe, and this was the time of year she would have seen them all together.


I wouldn’t say that to the family who says good-


bye to their grandpa and father over the phone, because they can’t all come surround his hospital bed as he takes his dying breath.


I wouldn’t say that to the man whose best friend


just committed suicide because he couldn’t cope with the loss of his business and life savings that he had toiled for 10 years to create.


Instead, I would say, “I know that is painful — and


I’m sorry.” Listen to them. Care for them. Stop trying to rationalize or explain away grief.


That isn’t loving someone. Let grief be grief. It comes in many shapes and sizes. It is not our job to explain grief away, to tell people it’s “necessary,” or to tell peo- ple to be grateful for what they do have instead; even if those things are true. That isn’t love. And the people feeling the grief? They aren’t selfish. They need love just as much as you do.


So, to the teacher who sent your kid home for


coughing, and is doing double the work right now, it’s not: “You signed up for this.” Instead, it is: “I know. I’m sorry. I’m here for you.”


To the kids who just put their folks in a long-term


care home and cannot visit them and are wracked with guilt, it’s not: “Well, that’s for the best.” It’s: “I know. I’m sorry. I’m here for you.”


To the nurse or doctor who is beyond exhaustion


and keeps getting frustrated and angry at seeing people not following public health orders, it’s not: “This is your job.” It’s: “I know. I’m sorry. I’m here for you.”


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To the protestor who will stop at nothing to


vocalize their rights and freedoms and avoid wearing a mask or having restrictions, it’s not: “I hope you get COVID-19.” It’s: “I know. I’m sorry. I’m here for you.”


To the son who just lost his mother to COVID-19


and has to read the comments on social media, it’s not: “It’s a hoax.” It’s: “I know. I’m sorry. I’m here for you.”


To the wife who is on a ventilator because she was


beaten by an abusive husband during the first lock- down, It’s not: “abuse existed before the lock-down.” It’s: “I know. I’m sorry. I’m here for you.”


Do you see what we all have in common? The abil-


ity to experience pain, in multiple forms. Just because someone else’s pain isn’t yours, it doesn’t mean it isn’t real to them.


Look for the pain. And then offer grace. I haven’t done this every time. But today, I vow to


start over again to each person that I know and even those that I don’t. And if I fail, I will restart again the next day.


Samantha Nemanishen is the Canadian financial


secretary for FEBC Canada and attends the Langham Evangelical Bible Church in Langham, Saskatchewan. She is married to Jason Nemanishen and together they have two young boys. Samantha came to Christ as an adult and has a heart for leading others to seek spiritual growth continually.


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