By Hallie J Carl

I sat reading, enraptured. I couldn’t stop turning the pages to see what came next. The book I was fixated on was assigned reading. I was moved into the advanced reading group in fifth grade which meant I got to head over to Mrs. Kubaska’s class once a day for reading. I thought this was wonderful because my regular teacher was one of those individuals who really didn’t seem to like teaching all that much (the opposite of Mrs. Kubaska). Although, I do remember him being a reader. He sat with the thickest book I had ever seen at the time (Stephen King’s It) on his desk, head down as we did classwork.

Mrs. Kubaska had chosen Lois Lowery’s A Summer to Die for our class reading. The story of two sisters, one who has cancer. Lois Lowery is more well known for The Giver, but this book, which was her first, dove into a part of her own story, losing her sister when she was young. Lowery shared, “Shakespeare tells us to give sorrow words. But it took me so many years to do so, coming from a tradition such as mine, which taught me not to open a door on such darkness. Having done so—having felt the weight of the closed door lifted—I began to hear from the children and families affected by the book. And only then, for the first time, did I perceive that when I, as a child, sought from stories something that I had no name for, it had simply been unquestioning intimacy I needed. A place to listen with one’s heart. Glimpsed light spilling from a warm kitchen into the dark staircase where I sat alone.”

Photos: Little Hallie with a book; A Summer to Die; Me and Mrs. Kubaska

This is where my love of reading was born. First, by Mrs. K who, by giving an instruction to, “Only read one chapter, do not read ahead,” ignited an interest in me to want to know what happens next. Enough interest to feel tremendous guilt when I finished the chapter and my fingers stroked the page, trying to make a decision. Thoughts of, “What would the harm be?” stood right up against, “She said to not read ahead!”

What is a 11 year old to do? I decided a compromise was in order. Just. One. Page. I flipped the page to the next chapter and my eyes devoured the first few sentences. My heart sunk. I immediately understood why Mrs. Kubaska gave explicit instructions to not read ahead. It was my first understanding of a spoiler alert. There was a massive plot shift and I would hold this news in my heart while my unwitting classmates didn’t know what was coming. What a tremendous burden to carry! I deeply wished I had obeyed.

The second layer of my love of reading was born though the author, Lois Lowery. A woman willing to write about a deeply sorrowful time in her life. To help people to understand what it may be like to walk in her shoes. To feel what she felt. I thought this was very brave.

I have pondering the idea of telling your own story a lot lately. How do you do this well? How do you know what is wise to share and what isn’t? How can you be transparent when there are people that have greatly influenced your life that may be hurt by what you share? How do you write something that will be a map for people to learn from and grow through?

I don’t have all of those answers yet. In fact, I am barely scratching the surface.

One thing I do know is that each of us has a story to share. We are full of moments. Some pivotal, some mundane, some remarkable, some forgettable. My brain has always lit up at certain moments in my life. Time seems to slow down and I know that the moment I am experiencing is one that will remained bookmarked in my mind for my whole life.

I believe that sitting with people who are hurting, walking with them through the pain, and discerning when and how to speak is how we enter into sharing the sufferings of Christ. How we pour love out tangibly.

My family recently watched the program Rings of Power on Amazon Prime. A prequel of sorts to the Lord of the Rings. The character Elrond is walking with the dwarf Durin when Elrond says something profound, “A burden shared may be either halved or doubled depending on the heart that receives it.” I paused the tv when he said it, asking my family if they had heard it. I rewound, and listened again:

“A burden shared may be either halved or doubled depending on the heart that receives it.”

This statement settled over my family. We identified with it so acutely. We had recently been through an experience where we felt our burden had definitely not been halved, but it was more than doubled, tripled, or even quadrupled by the hearts that received it.

How do we become people that half someone’s burden? How doers our heart become one that hears the pain, hurt, injustice and respond in such a way that brings comfort?

The choice of our words matters so much. The following are healthy, kind and loving:

“I am so sorry this happened to you. I’m here for you.”

“Your story is safe here. You can count of me.”

“I’m so sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”

“There’s nothing you could ever tell me that would make me stop loving you.”

“This is so hard. Tell me more. I am listening.”

But phrases like these can be condescending, hurtful, harmful and frustrating:

“God has a plan.”

“Have you tried praying for this?”

“You just need to lean into the strength of the Lord.”

“God will never give you more than you can handle.”

“God helps those who help themselves.”

“Everything happens for a reason.”

We need to be so cautious with our words.

Also, listening without agenda is necessary for a burden shared to be halved. Practicing empathy and compassion is vital for a burden shared to be halved. Empathy* is the ability to understand and share the feelings of another person. Compassion* is a sympathetic consciousness of other’s distress met with a desire to alleviate it. Empathy and compassion are verbs. They take action on the part of the listener. Bearing witness to a story is a sacred work. Very hard, sacred work. Especially if you want to half the burden of the person who shared it.

I believe that loving someone means you should strive to be a person who halves the burden for the person who shares it. I believe that loving someone means you should listen and not formulate an answer while the person is sharing. I believe loving someone means that you try to imagine what it is like for them to experience what they are going through and not try to fix it, but sit with them in the mess. Especially if they have endured trauma. People need safe spaces where their stories are held gently, with care.

Much like Mrs. Kubaska’s instruction to not read ahead, when we don’t wait to hear what the person is saying and we are already preparing a response, we are actually not doing the person’s story any justice. We are making assumptions and ruining the chance to sit with them in the pain of the moment they are enduring. Don’t read ahead. Don’t assume. Don’t spoil the moment.

And much like Lois Lowery, who shared a part of her life with the reader, you can empathize with her. Because your pacing with her. She’s letting it unfold in the timing she can share it. Don’t rush these moments. Be patient. Don’t make assumptions.

*See bonus content by separate post entitled Book Recommendations
*Word definitions are from Webster’s Dictionary