The Gift of Touch

Are you meeting a friend for lunch? In a famed study, a researcher observed how many times friends touched each other while sitting at a cafe. He collected data around the world. In Mexico City, couples touched each other 185 times. In Paris, 115 times. In London, not at all. In Gainesville, Florida, twice.

There are obvious cultural differences in communication styles, but studies agree that touching is important to human development. Therapist Ranjan Patel observed the touching behavior of couples who came to him for counseling. He noted that touch “is the stuff that builds intimate trust and loudly declares, ‘I care about you, you’re important to me, I want to give to you, I want to be close to you.’ Touch says, ‘I’m willing to risk being vulnerable.’” 

And psychologist Wayne Dennis observed a group of babies in an orphanage where they were given practically no stimulation, including touch. Most laid on their backs all day in bare cribs placed in bare rooms. They were touched only when their diapers were changed. At the end of one year, the children’s development was about that of a six-month-old. 

Human touch is vital. Without it, we wither. With it, we thrive. And it is good preventive medicine. It is simpler to hold a hand than to hold a medical consultation. A hanging head needs a shoulder under it. A back rub can be the easiest way to get a “monkey off someone’s back.” And the best way to help somebody to keep their chin up is by lifting it with a gentle hand.

One of the best gifts you can give another may be an encouraging touch. And what’s more, it will likely be returned.

-- Steve Goodier

Image: flickr.com/lrutherford03

Grow Antennae

A story, which may appropriately belong to the files of “urban legends,” tells about a Philadelphia legal firm that sent flowers to an associate in Baltimore upon the opening of its new offices. Through some mix-up, the ribbon that bedecked the floral piece read, “Deepest Sympathy.”

When the florist was informed of her mistake, she let out a cry of alarm. “Good grief! Then the flowers that went to the funeral said, “Congratulations on Your New Location”!

It is difficult enough to offer comfort without mixing up the sentiment. So difficult, in fact, that many people simply don’t know what to say to someone who has just unburdened grief or emotional pain. Not unlike the new clergyman who, when a distressed young woman confided that she was pregnant, blurted out, “Are you sure it’s yours?”

Too often, we want to help, but find that our attempts to offer comfort, solace or hope fall short of the mark. But there is something we CAN say to those who hurt that can be helpful and comforting.

One man, whose grandson died accidentally, found genuine comfort when he shared his pain with friends shortly after the tragedy. Of all the well-meaning words of support, two statements helped to sustain and comfort him through the grief more than the rest. They were: “Thank you for sharing your pain,” and “I grieve with you.” After hearing those words, he no longer felt alone in his suffering. He felt as if his friends embraced his grief. He felt better.

“Thank you for sharing your pain” is an honest acknowledgment of another’s suffering. It also expresses an appreciation for the effort it takes a wounded soul to open her emotional wounds to others.

“I grieve with you” is an expression of empathy. It is a way of saying that I am willing to share some of your pain, even for a time.

We can’t fix it. We shouldn't try to offer advice. And we may never know how someone feels who is hurting in a way we have never experienced. But we can give some comfort.

I think James Angell, former president of the University of Michigan, got it right when he was asked the secret of his success. “The secret of success?” he replied. “Grow antennae, not horns.”

-- Steve Goodier

Image by Phil Hilfiker

Who Rekindles Your Spirit?

Image by Sun Designs

An insightful woman, who had lived through numerous dark nights and days, once taught me about getting through difficult times. "I appreciate your outlook on life," I commented to Mrs. Tucker. I was in my twenties and she was fifty years older. In the short time I knew her she became a significant teacher for me. I learned from her remarkable attitude and her unshakeable strength of character, both of which undoubtedly buoyed her through treacherous waters.

"Well, I have been through a lot of tough times," she told me. "In fact, sometimes it was awfully hard for me and my husband. He couldn't always find work. Some days he would come home horribly depressed and say, 'Things are so bad I don't know if I can take it.' And I would say to him, 'Well, you know, things could be worse.' And once he said, 'I've heard that so many times I think I'm gonna die!' I was hurt...but I just hated to see him so depressed. I didn't know what to say. Later he confessed that if I would have wept in despair, he wouldn't have been able to make it. He needed me during those times."

It occurs to me that HOW she responded to her husband's pain was probably not as important as the simple fact that she was there and cared. He knew he could always count on her to be a ray of light in his darkness and a strong hand to lift him when he stumbled or to soothe his hurts. He needed her...and for similar reasons, she needed him, too.

Albert Schweitzer said so well, "Sometimes our light goes out but is blown into flame by another human being. Each of us owes deepest thanks to those who have rekindled this light." During those difficult times they rekindled one another's light.

Who rekindles your light? Who blows your light into flame when it threatens to flicker out? Sometimes this person is a relative, sometimes a teacher, or a pastor, or a close friend. I've learned that if I need the light of my spirit rekindled during a bleak time, there are a few special people who can do it.

I admire some people for their brilliance and I respect others for their strength. But I am indebted to those who can rekindle my spirit. I hope I can be such a person for others.

– Steve Goodier

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Finding the Right Words

Have you ever noticed how hard it can be to find the right words?

It was once said that Al Smith, former governor of New York, was making his first inspection of Sing Sing prison. The warden asked him if he might say a few words to the prisoners.

The governor began, "My fellow citizens." But he suddenly felt confused about whether the inmates may have forfeited their citizenship. So he took a second stab at it: "My fellow convicts.” There was a roar of laughter and now he became flustered. He gallantly tried a third time: "Well, anyhow, I'm glad to see so many of you here." There is no record of what he said after that.

I have frequently struggled to find the right words. And there are times I am certain the right words do not even exist. Like when I’m trying to say something hopeful or comforting in a particularly frightening situation.

More than once I have been called to a hospital emergency room or to be with a family surrounding the bed of a dying relative. And more than once I’ve been at a loss for words. What is the right thing to say at a time like that? What can I say that doesn’t sound hollow or trite or like I’m just not in touch with the feelings of others who are hurting?

A lot of us really don’t know what to say at these times. And too often the professionals who work daily with people on the ragged edge of hope have become so desensitized they have lost any ability to comfort.

A wise obstetrician at a university teaching hospital once made a comment about comforting those who suffer. Someone asked the doctor what advice he offered his students, future doctors and nurses, when caring for mothers who gave birth to stillborn infants.

The doctor paused for a moment in thought. Then he said this: "I tell them that they need two eyes. One eye is not enough; they need two eyes. With one eye they have to check the I.V. And with the other eye they have to weep. That's what I tell them," he said. "I tell them that they need two eyes."

That may be some of the wisest advice I’ve ever heard. We may not always need to figure out what to say; we really only need two eyes. In Emily Dickinson’s words, “Saying nothing... sometimes says the most.” And this from a poet whose life was all about finding exactly the right words.

I agree with the doctor – empathy goes a long way. And somehow finding the ability to feel, even for a few moments, what another is feeling may speak more loudly than the best words I can choose. It speaks to the fact that I care; I understand. It says that I am willing to share their pain so they do not feel so alone. It says I want to be fully present with them and to walk alongside of them, difficult as it may be. My presence is something they can draw real strength and hope from.

Come to think of it, maybe Dickinson did get it right: saying nothing... sometimes says the most. And saying nothing at all may be saying just the right words.

-- Steve Goodier

Image: freeimages.com/John Greene

When Someone Grieves

What do you say to someone who is grieving? ("Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how did you like the play?" probably tops the list of the kinds of conversation starters that should be avoided.) And actually, there are a lot of ways we can go wrong here -- saying something that isn't appreciated by one who hurts. Even when we are trying to comfort.

But chances are, we have been, or will be, put in the position of trying to comfort someone who is experiencing a painful loss. That is an important role we all play from time to time. So, what do you say to someone who is grieving?

I often remember a story told by Joseph Bayly when I struggle to say the “right thing” to someone who is hurting. Mr. Bayly lost three children to death over the course of several years. He wrote a book called VIEW FROM A HEARSE, in which he talks about his grief. He says this about comforting those who grieve:

“I was sitting, torn by grief. Someone came and talked to me of God’s dealings, of why it happened, of hope beyond the grave. He said things I knew were true. I was unmoved, except to wish he would go away. He finally did. Someone else came and sat beside me. He didn’t talk. He didn’t ask leading questions. He just sat with me for an hour or more, listened when I said something, answered briefly, prayed simply, left. I was moved. I was comforted. I hated to see him go.”

I have found Joseph Bayly’s experience to be excruciatingly typical. Both men wanted to help. Both men cared. But only one truly comforted. The difference was that one tried to make him feel better, while the other just let him feel. One tried to say the right things. The other listened. One told him it would be all right. The other shared his pain.

When put in the difficult position of comforting someone in emotional pain, sometimes what needs to be said can be said best with a soft touch or a listening ear. No words. And though at times the quieter approach has felt inadequate to me, I have come to realize that it can make a bigger difference than I may ever know.

-- Steve Goodier

Image: flickr.com/Jessica Lucia

When Others Grieve

People should never have to suffer loss alone. Yet, how do you comfort those who hurt? I think that offering genuine support and comfort is one of the most important things we can do for others. And sometimes one of the most difficult.

Experts tell us, among other things, to simply say, "I'm sorry" or "I love you." They warn us against trying to explain away the death or loss; against theologizing or philosophizing about it. Often, the less said, the better, so long as you are present, you care and you listen.

American poet Edgar Guest told of a neighbor by the name of Jim Potter. Mr. Potter ran the drug store in the neighborhood where Edgar Guest lived. Their relationship was cordial, if not deep. Mostly they smiled and exchanged greetings when they happened to see one another.

One tragic night the poet's first-born child died. He felt crushed and overcome with grief. Several days after the death, Guest had reason to go to the drug store run by his neighbor. When he entered, Jim Potter motioned for him to come behind the counter.

"Eddie," he said, "I really can't express to you the great sympathy that I have for you at this time. All I can say is that I am terribly sorry, and if you need for me to do anything, you can count on me."

Many years later Edgar Guest reflected on that encounter. He said, "Just a person across the way -- a passing acquaintance. Jim Potter may have long since forgotten that moment when he extended his hand to me in sympathy, but I shall never forget it -- never in all my life. To me it stands out like the silhouette of a lonely tree against a crimson sunset."

As the poet thought back to that unhappy time, one vivid memory of a brief and genuine moment of comfort still lingered years later. It was a moment that meant everything to a grieving father.

Those who comfort others bring no less than a piece of heaven to earth.

-- Steve Goodier

Image: flickr.com/Erick RO