Proof The Bible Is True

The men’s grief-support group met one evening a week at a hospice facility, sometimes just one or two guys, rarely more than four or five. My job was to help the chaplain keep the conversation going when things got too quiet. Sharing their feelings doesn’t come naturally to most men. Some guys, their pain forms a shield and they hide behind it.

 

Right away I pegged Tom as one of those guys. The first night he shuffled through the doors, I recognized him. I was surprised to see him. Years earlier we’d gone to the same church. He would come with his wife and two daughters.

 

I didn’t know him well, but I’d heard he’d had some rocky times in his marriage. It seemed he and his wife had put that behind them when she was battling cancer. A battle she lost two years before. I hadn’t seen Tom at church since.

 

Our eyes met. He nodded to me. He sat down in one of the six metal folding chairs the chaplain and I had arranged in a circle, and stared at the floor.

 

“Welcome,” the chaplain began when everyone had arrived. “We appreciate you coming out. Everything you say here is confidential. There’s no pressure to talk at all. Whatever you feel comfortable with. To start out, let’s go around the circle and introduce ourselves and say why we’ve come here tonight.”

 

I shared how I’d lost my father suddenly when I was only 23. Then it was Tom’s turn. He never looked up. His voice was barely a whisper. “My name is Tom. My wife died. I can’t stand it.”

 

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