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Known: A Personal Essay On Asking And Listening
Apr 27, 2025
I attended a dinner party last week. I don’t go to this particular church but the girls there have deemed me their honorary small group member. One of the discussion prompts went something like this, “Looking back over the past year, what is one thing you are praising God for and one thing you are still seeking His help with?”
One of the women shared how depressed she had been after the sudden loss of her father. How difficult it had been for her to get out of bed, to continue to homeschool her three young children. The tears poured out ambitiously as her face burned red with the kind of sorrow that only grief recalls. I was stunned by the reaction of the other women at the table. They had no idea about her level of grief and shame. Each one murmured something similar to this, “But, you seemed happy. We saw you almost every week and you looked put together. We’re so sorry for not noticing—for not asking.”
How many times have I been the girl at the table crying? And, how many times have I been the one apologizing for not noticing something I should. Why do we feel the need to isolate from others, even in the most intimate relationships? Even our best friends? Is it fear? Fear of being looked at differently? Fear of judgment? Of rejection?
God cares for the lonely. He talks about it in the Psalms and He proves it in our real lives. Sometimes, it’s true, we need to be alone. I’m writing this from a cafe, alone. Jesus often withdrew to think and pray, alone. As most of us do. But I don’t see anywhere in the Scriptures where God says, “Those who are suffering and in great pain and sadness, go be alone and don’t tell anyone about your experiences.” That lie comes from certain cultures, backgrounds, demographics, and personalities. That lie is destroying transparency—and therefore closeness—in our relationships.
I’m not sure I have the solution, but I have a suggestion. In a world where you can talk to someone without actually saying what’s true, I urge you to live differently. To treat every day with a rarity, a purity so real that your authenticity impacts everyone else at the table. Once you start speaking truthfully about what you’re going through—to God and to others—you’ll experience a level of grace that you’ve likely thought was reserved for others.
Living life with an open heart is not about the antics or the attention-seeking behaviors for approval or sympathy. It’s trusting God when He says that He’s close to the broken-hearted. As I’m practicing this kind of intimacy, I can see that I’ve always wanted to live this way. Out of fear—and social norms—I have fought and clenched and laughed things off. Now, I’m not. I’m only laughing when something is funny. And I’m asking the people in my life about the deeper things and I’m listening intently. I’m also sharing when I need to, asking for help as I watch my I-can-do-this-by-myself-pride fade in the distance. I’m having the difficult conversations and God is healing old wounds. I’m seeing things in myself and others that I never expected. And when I lay my head on the pillow at night, I’m resting.
Jesus Himself said, “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me.”
What a solid example of strength in humility. I suppose it’s easier not to reach out to someone, to keep everything walled up, to not appear weak or broken. Real strength, I’m finding, is knowing when you need someone to stay, and having the courage to ask.
