At a cocktail party earlier this week, a woman asked me what we typically ask each other, “How has your week been?” She had no idea what a loaded question that was for me.
Our house flooded early Sunday morning due to a collapsed storm drain in our back alley. We have been back in our house only a month after living in an Airbnb for three months because of a slab leak that surfaced over the holidays. Now we face Round 2. A couple hours prior to the cocktail party, I learned from the city’s insurance adjuster that according to a state law the city has immunity. What!? So this would mean we must foot the $50,000+ bill for something the city should be liable?
How has your week been?
I am also in the middle of a work transition moving from one counseling practice to another. Heavy on my mind from two days prior at that point was the uncomfortable conversation that moving forward with my transition required. Bogged down by all the extra administrative work needed for notifying my clients and getting set up with my new practice I felt short on time and exhausted.
My kids were in finals, worried about grades, texting and calling me for encouragement of which I had little in my tank to give.
My friends want to help us with places to stay, but we have a big dog and cat. It all feels complicated.
How has your week been?
In a split second I needed to decide—Will I be honest about my week, or do I gloss over reality and pretend I’m fine?
Surely, my problems of the week are not what she really wants to hear, not at a cocktail a party. But then I think, if I say nothing and she hears what’s happened with our house and the flood, wouldn’t she think that strange that she saw me and I mentioned nothing about it? I know I have been surprised when I’ve learned something significant about someone after just speaking to them. Besides, how can we really know each other if we refuse transparency and vulnerability?
So I gave her the real answer: “This week has been too much. I am totally overwhelmed…”
Interesting, the next day while at church for a meeting, a staff member commented to me about how much she appreciates my husband;s forthrightness about all we are going through. She said it was refreshing. This tells me living transparently is not normal.
I know that—in the community in which I live I see that. As a counselor, all the time I hear from clients bearing their own burdens because they don’t want to inconvenience or weigh someone else down with their trouble.
I also think pride is mixed in.
We don’t share, sure, because we want to “protect” others from feeling burdened by our stuff. But is it not also (depending what it is) that we don’t want to look bad? We worry we will be judged? Or, like a true self-sufficient American, we think we need to grin and bear and figure it out for ourselves?
This isn’t the way Jesus intended us to live. God made us for connection, not to live as an island. In his image, as each member of the Trinity revolves around the other, we too were made to revolve our lives around one another. We need others and others need us. God gave us then the body of Christ as a gift. The body as a gift so we don’t have to bear our burdens alone. The body as a gift to be his hands and feet. The body as a gift to reflect his care. To live otherwise is anti-human. Anti-image of God.
This week the body has reminded me: We are not alone. We are loved. We are thought of and cared for. Our circumstances haven’t changed but the body has helped me endure. People texting, calling, stopping by, and praying for us has served as great encouragement, and a reminder for me to do more of these seemingly small (but not) things.
Had I not shared my week with anyone, we would’ve missed out on the loving care of the body and the body would’ve missed out on an opportunity to love us in a way that tangibly brings Jesus near. We miss seeing and knowing each other when we keep our masks up and conversations light. I for one leave a cocktail party glad I went, when meaningful conversation is had. I don’t have time for talk about everything that is “just fine.” Let’s lean in with one another more than that.
