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Print Dear Gabby, I am not giving my real name or state because I don’t want my church talked about or any individuals hurt. My pastor is well respected in our district, and rightly so. Our church has been going through “growing pains” for so long. We always seem to be on the brink of revival, and then, suddenly, something happens and it falls through. Recently, we had a couple of small crises at our church, and since then, a couple of families have left, including one directly related to us. These people left without being on good terms with the pastor. I won’t go into the sordid details here, but needless to say, this has been a very difficult thing to go through. The people who left were very involved in our church, and their leaving has definitely left a void. Added into the mix, I have a 16 year-old daughter who is especially affected by this situation. One person who left was a relative whom she admired. She feels abandoned and is dealing with hurt feelings and growing resentment. My wife and I are afraid that this could push her more toward her school friends and activities, and away from the church. My wife and I are third generation Apostolics, and we have seen this type of thing happen down through time to people we grew up with and dearly loved. I don’t understand how supposed adults can become so selfish and callous that they make harmful decisions that send painful spasms to the church body, sometimes for years to come. What can we do, in addition to prayer? Hurting in ... Dear Hurting, My wise Mama and Papa made a conscious decision to ignore trends and to raise their children on their own terms. That’s why it was such a surprise when they bought me a teddy bear when I was eight years old. The first teddy bears were created in 1902, just three years before I was born. As you probably know, they were named for our president at the time, Teddy Roosevelt. You remember the story where the president had been invited to go bear hunting but, during the hunt, they didn’t see any bears to shoot. Then someone captured a bear and told the president he could shoot that one. He refused. His sportsmanship captured the imagination of a cartoonist and that cartoon started the whole teddy bear trend. Before many years had gone by, all the fashionable children had a teddy bear of their own—except, of course, my sister Susannah and me. Our dolls and spinning tops were enough for us, our parents told us. Then, in the autumn of my ninth year, my grandfather died. He had been my favorite person in the whole world and was the only one who had the time (or the desire) to hear about the whims and wishes of a little girl. He lived at our house and the two of us spent many afternoons sitting on the front porch, Grandpop in his rocking chair and me perched on the top step, chatting about my dolls and my friends and the frog I’d seen and my annoyance with my new little sister. Grandpop listened to it all, with patience, asking pertinent questions and taking me seriously. But he died, slumping over in the rocking chair, and I was so distressed, I didn’t speak to anyone for three weeks. My parents tried everything to help me. My Mama cooked my favorite foods and put pretty ribbons in my hair. My Papa let me ride with him to town and offered to give me piggyback rides. But nothing could penetrate the brokenness of my heart, and I sat in Grandpop’s chair, rocking and rocking for hours at a time, tears streaming down my face and dripping off my chin. One afternoon, three weeks after Grandpop’s death, my Papa returned from town and, after jumping down from the wagon, strode to where I was rocking on the porch and put a package in my lap. I peered through my tears down at the package and then up at him. “Open it, sweetheart,” Papa said to me gently, reaching out to wipe the tears from my eyes. So I did. Inside was a fuzzy black bear with button eyes and nose and a sewn mouth. It had the cutest ears and a fluffy tail. Dropping the wrapping, I hugged the bear to me, more tears spilling from my eyes and dripping onto the bear’s head. Papa scooped me (and the bear) up in his arms and sat down with us on Grandpop’s rocking chair. “It’s very hard to lose someone you love, huh, sweetheart?” he said to me in his big rumbling voice. I nodded, clutching the bear and swiping at the continuous tears. “Do you know why I bought this teddy bear for you?” he asked. I shook my head. “Because I wanted this little guy to remind you that, sometimes, when bad things happen, there’s no way to fix it. You just have to ‘bear’ it. This is one of those times. You realize that I’m also very sad that my own Papa has died? I want to cry, too, and I have, when I’m out in the fields by myself, but I also know that I have to keep on living. Even though it’s hard, I have to ‘bear’ it.” It was quiet for a few moments, while I considered what he’d said. The only sound was the creaking of the chair and my sniffles. Then, in my tiniest voice, I said, “I understand, Papa. Thank you.” He squeezed me really tight, and I cried a few more tears. Then, I climbed off his lap, teddy bear in hand, and went into the kitchen to ask my Mama if she needed help with something. From that day to this, I’ve kept “Bear.” He’s helped to remind me, many times, that sometimes, you just have to “bear” things that happen in life. And that’s what I want to say to you and your family. Sometimes there’s no way to fix a problem. You just have to stiffen your backbone, take a deep breath, and bear it. It’s the only way. And, after you’ve done that for a while, the pain eases a bit and you realize that you’ve made it through the hardest part of the difficult times. Whether you buy your own teddy bear as a reminder is up to you. Sincerely Sincere, Gabby ninetyandnine.com © 2005, ninetyandnine.com ---------- Gabrigail VanBurden has been offering advice for longer than most of you have been alive. Email your practical Apostolic life questions to Gabby@ninetyandnine.com and be prepared for some straight answers! |
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