Facts vs. Feelings

“Now Stephen, a man full of God’s grace and power… And all who accused him saw that his face was like the face of an angel.”
Acts 6:8-15

Dear Friends,

Within that ellipsis holds a number of facts and details about what happened: they stirred up the people, they told lies, they seized Stephen, they put him on trial, they acquired false witnesses maligning his character. That ellipsis is annoying to me because there’s nothing to grab hold of. There’s no jagged edges sticking out where my mind could get caught, like sweater thread entangled on that darn nail in the wall, getting pulled apart. Facts and data do not draw me in and leave little impact on me. The story feels sterile like bullet points on some timeline of things that happened. Don’t tell me about what Stephen did. Tell me about who Stephen was. (Or we can put any name, including my own, into this).

Don’t tell me what you did. Tell me who you are. Don’t just tell me what happened. Tell me whathappened.

Oftentimes, though, I have to name the facts before ever being able to access the emotions behind the facts. Sometimes who I am is buried so deep within me that I have to start naming the facts about what happened and collecting data about that experience of loss. I must bullet-point information along the way to even begin to make sense about who I am because of it. 

Matthew had been with us for a month—our first baby after being chosen by his birthmother. Sadly, the adoption was unsuccessful and we were no longer considered his mom and dad. In a hazy-dream of grief I continued forth as I needed to. I still prayed and went to church and went to work and to the movies and beach and did life in the same ways but with a shattered heart. I continued to live into the facts of my life without taking account of who I was in this life. I could tell you the details of what happened but I couldn’t tell you what happened. 

But friends, years later when I began writing a book about what happened—we went here and there and filled out paperwork and met people and brought our baby home and learned his needs and consulted lawyers and social workers—a new friend read my writing. She told me how the details were helpful but she wasn’t able to find me in there—like I was missing from my own story. She told me to filter through the details and dig into those painful-tender facts and, I bet you’ll find Bethany in there. Her gaze intently sought mine as she said, “She’s in there if you’re willing to look hard enough.”

Sometimes we have to tell what happened in order to get to what happened. Facts tend to keep me distant and protected because there’s nothing to get caught on or pulled apart when just reporting the facts. But sometimes I need to begin with the facts in order to get to the person, pain, trauma, and grief hidden deep within it all. 

As I looked deeper, sifting through the details of what happened, I began to see someone else was there in those details. 

It was me! I had been there all along. 

My mind began to hold out what happened to begin experiencing what happened. And it was then I saw that Christ was with me in that bleak wilderness space where I could see what looked like the face of an angel.

With (love),
Bethany