Culture

If you’ve experienced loss or the death of a friend or loved one, you’ve probably wondered how to deal with grief or how to draw close to God in grief. You may have Google’d “how to deal with grief in a healthy way.” Keep reading to learn how to deal with grief in a godly way and how to draw near to God in times of sorrow. How to deal with grief in a healthy way when it seems like too much I had a series of losses over several years. Deaths of beloved friends and family. A sight-threatening eye infection that required months of treatment to control. A function-threatening hand injury that required emergency surgery. I didn’t finish grieving one blow before the next one landed.  Then COVID hit. My team and I quickly found ourselves immersed in community outreach and food distribution in hard-hit, low-income areas. Less than a month after the pandemic began, I awakened with a sore throat, headache, and a slightly increased temperature. The symptoms were mild, for the moment, but I knew I had COVID. As a board-certified internal medicine physician, I knew how to treat a wide variety of medical problems but this…nothing prepared me for this. Hospitalized patients were dying at a quick pace, so I stayed home and treated myself. Many times I thought I’d die. Sometimes I wished I would die but, in the midst of it all, there were times when God felt as near as my next breath. The tight fist of grief, loss, and anger One afternoon, still recovering, I sat on the back patio and reveled in the spring sunshine as I counted the number of friends and acquaintances who had died in the last few weeks. Tears trickled down my cheeks. Too many were gone. A gentle breeze stirred the already overgrown rose bush, buds barely visible, as the scent of the rosemary hedge wafted through the air. The day was beautiful but a tight fist of grief, loss, and anger diminished my joy in the beauty around me. Laptop before me on the patio table, I felt the kiss of springtime sunshine and heard the serenade of songbirds. They were almost loud enough to drown out the click of my fingers on the keyboard but not the pressing need of my heart–how to deal with grief in a godly manner and how to draw close to God in grief.  My emotions were directed at a target as intangible as the air through which it was transmitted and all the havoc it wrought.  Deaths. Loss. Economic uncertainty. Isolation. Loneliness. One question echoed in my head: Not just how to deal with this grief but how to deal with grief in a healthy way?  How to deal with grief in  a healthy way: The Blessing of Mourning When I chose the Sermon on the Mount for my “passage of the year” a few months earlier, I didn’t expect to land on the fourth verse with a resounding whack and struggle to find my way past, but I did. Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted. Matthew 5:4 There’s quite a difference between “comforted” and “comfortable,” isn’t there? We prefer the latter but are only promised the former. Like you, I didn’t expect a novel coronavirus to invade my comfortable life, but it did. As the number of cases and deaths mounted on the other side of the world, the novel coronavirus was renamed. COVID-19 became our mutual, relentless worldwide enemy. My first reaction was skepticism. I’ve lived through reports of many deadly viruses. None of them seriously threatened my nation. My state. My little section of the world. But this one did. Fear gripped me long before COVID-19 hit Italy with a vengeance. This virus was much different. It brought destruction indiscriminately and it was headed our way. Unexpected Comfort When COVID-19 cases overwhelmed Italy’s healthcare system, doctors died, and bodies piled up, my fear and desperation hit a peak. I wrote impassioned posts on social media. If they did any good, I couldn’t tell it. Since my posts didn’t help, I thought, maybe words delivered in a different format and setting would. Thus, I started morning Zoom sessions called Whisper Connection, a 30-minute online gathering designed to build community and offer encouragement and connection in a time of unprecedented isolation. (After two years together, this is now a deeply connected group and no longer open to new members.) Our first session focused on my personal stuck-place, Matthew 5:4. Blessed are they that mourn. I recognized a deep well of grief in my own soul. As it turned out, I was not the only one. We needed help figuring out both how to deal with our grief in a healthy way and how to draw close to God in our sorrow. Comfort begins with recognition of our grief We were entrenched in dense worldwide grief and we still are. In college, admittedly a few decades ago, I studied Kubler-Ross’ landmark work. She described five stages of grief. Although her work has never been verified by peer-reviewed data, the emotions she described are valid and found in almost all grief: Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. (1) I saw clear evidence of my own shock, denial, anger, and bargaining in my posts on social media and in the turmoil in my heart. Unfortunately, my anger was mostly directed at the nameless masses who were (or so I thought) making it worse by their refusal to distance and isolate themselves. They definitely made my efforts to feed hungry children harder because of the hoarding. Grace, not more anger, was the more appropriate response but I found my outward-bound supply of grace sadly lacking. Just as we returned to post-COVID normal, the war in Ukraine began. More sorrow. More grief. It took me a while to see the actions against which I railed in the early days of the pandemic were merely symptoms of our global grief and fear. How did we

While we enjoyed a sweet time of repentance, revival, and retreat at the Whisper Gathering, a man I can’t understand slaughtered worshippers at a Jewish synagogue in the name of I-don’t-know-what. I returned home to a Facebook feed filled with justified anger over this wanton act of anti-Semitism and yet another mass murder. This time, it hit close to home. I’m not Jewish, but I love plenty of people who are. The thought that someone might enter their synagogue and massacre them fills me with horror. Friends despite the differences I grew up in my grandmother’s home across the street from Mrs. Alice, one of the sweetest women I’ve ever met. Mrs. Alice and my grandmother were great friends. One Jewish and one Christian, those two women talked about religion, recipes, family, and life. They probably disagreed about a few things, including religion, but my staunchly-Southern Baptist grandmother never mentioned it. I don’t know how Mrs. Alice felt about Grandma, but I know Grandma loved her, and I did, too. Mrs. Alice’s granddaughter was one of my friends growing up. We hung out together after school and in the summer. Our group of friends spent time at her home many Saturday nights. We didn’t get together on Friday nights because that was “church time” for the Katz family. No, the Katz family didn’t call it church. They called it synagogue, but, back then, I didn’t see the difference. We didn’t get together on Sunday mornings or evenings either because most of the rest of us had church then. There were lots of different church buildings. The place the Katz family worshiped was just one among many. We didn’t like or dislike anyone based on the building in which they worshiped nor the God they served. Liking and disliking were based on the kind of person you were. It still should be. Their home was a cool place to be, and we were safe there. Mr. Ralph and Miss Carolyn were two of the most elegant, loving, kind people I’ve ever met. I’ve always wanted to be more like them, but I still have a long way to go. Anti-semitism still exists. Someone slaughtered people like the Katz family? On purpose? Because of their religion? The terrible deed sickens me. I longed to help in some way, but how do you help in the face of this kind of evil? I wanted to write something heartfelt and moving. Something that could somehow make the hurt and horror better. I worked for weeks to write a blog post sufficient to catch the essence of my Jewish friends’ heartbreak. It took a while to realize I will never speak with their feelings or from their faith perspective. Instead, I’ve decided to try to communicate with mine because it’s what I know. My faith informs every part of my life, just as the faith of my Jewish friends informs every part of their lives. That’s how it should be. Jewish people of America (and of the world) I’m so sorry about the anti-Semitism and hate you’ve endured and the evil done to you. I wish I could undo the great wickedness you’ve experienced, but I can’t. Instead, I offer my deep regret and sorrow, but I recognize it’s a paltry gift. I wish I could promise this kind of evil will never happen again, but, unfortunately, I can’t. I don’t understand why he slaughtered the people in your synagogue. There is no excuse strong enough to justify such wanton destruction. There is no reason sufficient to bring sense to a senseless act of stupid, evil wickedness. No matter your faith background, “Do not murder” seems an extremely reasonable tenet to follow. Enough already. I’ve seen enough vitriol spewed the last few years to last me more than a lifetime. Enough anger, hate, evil, and killing. Enough. We reached the point of “enough” a long time ago, America. I’m angry and disappointed and, in truth, a little disgusted, too. If you don’t think hate-filled thoughts lead to hate-filled speech and, eventually, to hate-filled acts, think again. As a man thinks in his heart, so is he, my scripture tells us. Those words are true, no matter what your religion. It’s time to button our mouths and open our hearts. Feel free to call me a Pollyanna, unrealistic, or spiritually excitable. I’ve heard it all before. The world would be a much better place if there were a good bit more compassion, kindness, and, yes, love—especially for those who are different in some way. Life in the minority isn’t so great. Although I don’t know what it’s like to live my entire life as a minority, I’ve been in the minority more than once. It wasn’t a warm and fuzzy place. In some of those situations, my faith put me in the minority. In a few of the countries I’ve visited, the number of fellow Christians was astonishingly small. It wasn’t always a comfortable situation. I know people who’ve lost homes, jobs, family, finances and had to flee their homeland—all because they’re Christian. Their experience broke my heart. Not long ago, I was denied an opportunity because I’m “too Christian.” It was a surprise to me, but it wouldn’t have been a surprise to some of my Jewish friends, or to my Sikh and Muslim friends. They aren’t shocked when they’re denied because of their faith because it’s not unusual in their world. My LGBT friends aren’t shocked when they’re denied, either. The problem is in our hearts. The world can be a hard, mean place, especially to those in the minority. The problem is not faith or persuasion. The problem is in our hearts, and it is there where true prevention lies. Unfortunately, you can’t legislate morality. We can, however, examine our own hearts. Reach out to those who are different from us in some way. Get to know them. Accept others, despite our differences. Whether we view those differences as right or wrong, they surely aren’t

“We’re heading to Meridian,” one of the 8 Days of Hope Crisis Response team members told me last week. “Meridian? What’s happening there?” “A tornado swept through one of the poorest areas of the city. There’s a lot of damage. We’re going to help.” “How far is Meridian from here?” I asked. “About three hours,” came the reply. Sometimes we sacrifice to serve Prayer walk the area. The impression was strong, but my schedule was already jam-packed. A drive time of six hours round-trip meant a prayer walk would take a full day. I mentally reviewed my schedule for the rest of the week. Two days in Memphis. A prayer brunch. Housecleaning. I’d planned to paint my hallway over the weekend. It wasn’t an instant decision. I had other things I wanted to do instead, but the impression was too strong to be denied. Prayer walk. Finally, I spoke to a younger colleague. “I’m thinking about prayer walking the area where Crisis Response will be working. Want to go along?” She and another co-worker had never done a prayer walk before, but both wanted to go. We decided to leave at 8 am on Sunday and make a day of it. The rainy-day prayer walk Saturday night, I received a discouraged text message. “100% chance of rain in Meridian tomorrow.” Sam Wiley never put much stock in weather forecasts. “That’s what they say, but it ain’t written in the prayer book,” he always told me. We decided to pack rain gear and go anyway. The rain pounded so hard I could barely see as we drove to Meridian. “Lord,” I prayed silently, “I’ve prayer walked before. It doesn’t matter to me about the rain, but these two ladies haven’t. Please be gentle.” Rain pummeled us as we raced from the car into the building where the volunteers were housed. My shoes were soaked before I reached the door a few steps away. We greeted everyone, received our instructions and directions, changed into rain boots, and headed into the downpour. When disaster brings a miracle We neared the address we’d been given and saw one tarp-covered roof after another. The ground was covered with trees, branches, and debris. A few trees still perched precariously near houses. Our destination was the worst yet. A man, chainsaw in hand, stood on the roof of the house, in the rain. He sawed the last branch of an enormous tree that still leaned on the house.  Later, we learned the family was inside when the tornado hit. Their son was in his bed at the time of the tornado but rolled out of bed just before it hit. The tree fell on the house, knocked the back wall off, and impaled the bed on which he’d been lying. Exactly where he’d lain. He tells everyone he meets how God spared his life.   Miss Thelma, the owner’s sister, was in the house when we arrived. “How can we pray for you?” we asked her. “Just pray for my sister and her health. She’s sick and not doing too well.” We prayed the biggest things we could. After we prayed for Miss Thelma and helped the volunteer workers a few minutes, we headed out to prayer walk. The destruction was overwhelming. The streets were quiet. Answered prayers Continued rain made the task of clean-up even harder, so we prayed God would give the workers a break from it. The rain stopped. The dark sky lightened. Drainage ditches were full of rushing water, breaking white on the rocks. I imagined what would happen if a child slipped into the water and was washed away. We prayed the water flow would slow. We rounded the corner and saw the ditch again. No whitewater at all. The flow slowed. A couple in a truck stopped in the street to greet us. Mr. Earnest and Miss Brenda thanked us for praying and let us pray for them. We made our way through the neighborhood and back to the first house. The volunteers held sandwiches and chips. I don’t know which of us thought of it, but we asked if they could use some water. Yes, they could, they assured us. They accepted with enthusiasm and explained their predicament. As they left headquarters that morning, they picked up sack lunches but forgot about drinks. They prayed God would send water, and He did. We left them two cases. Lessons learned We were overwhelmed with a sense of deep gratitude for the blessings we enjoy. During the trip home, we discussed the things we learned: We’re more blessed than we realized. We should be filled with gratitude. Life can change in an instant. Treasure every moment. The possessions filling our houses don’t matter. The people who fill our lives do. Prayer matters. Pray big. We can do nothing on our own. We’re totally dependent upon the grace, love, and hand of God. It takes all of us to help recover from a disaster. Even a little help can make a big difference. God still answers prayers. Help is still needed According to the Meridian Star, the tornado damaged 180 homes and 30 businesses. Families, including many elderly men and women, have lost everything. They need your prayers and, if possible, your help. 8 Days of Hope Rapid Response is accepting volunteer assistance through Saturday, April 28th. If you’d like to help this amazing ministry, click here to learn more. If you’d like to give hands-on assistance after that date, call the city hotline at (601) 485-1944 to learn about other opportunities for service. The King will answer and say to them, ‘Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of mine, even the least of them, you did it to me.’” Matthew 25:40                            You might also enjoy reading: Sliding Down the Slippery Slope and How to Stop the Descent When the Prayer of Desperation Becomes Through

[vc_row][vc_column width=”1/1″][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column width=”1/1″][vc_column_text]I awakened long before dawn this morning. Rain pounded the roof with a furious staccato. I rolled over and thought about my horses in the pasture. “They’re getting hammered,” I thought, and regretted they aren’t in the barn. The Still, Small Voice in my heart said, “What about the homeless people?”  Shame washed over me as I realized my first thought was for horses, and not people. My horses shelter in a thick patch of trees, but what do homeless people do in the rain? Can they hunker under a bridge and hope to stay dry or use a tarp to cover them? How do they keep themselves and their possessions dry? The problem of homelessness exists in rural Mississippi, as well as in urban areas. A “PIT Count” tallies the number of people in shelters, temporary or transitional housing, or completely without shelter on a single night, or one “point in time.”  What are the numbers? The most recent HUD Annual Homeless Assessment Report reveals some troubling facts: On a single night in 2017, 553,742 people were homeless in the U.S. 35% of the more than 1/2 million homeless were unsheltered. More than 40,000 were unaccompanied youth. Another 40,000+ were veterans. 184,661 were part of families with children. For every 10,000 people in the U.S., 17 are homeless. Unsheltered homeless are more likely to be white males. The number of unsheltered people accounted for the entire increase in homelessness between 2016-2017. There are 1,472 homeless people in Mississippi, 59 of whom are unaccompanied youth. 719 (nearly half) of the homeless in Mississippi are unsheltered. Between 2007 and 2017, Mississippi had a 42% increase in homeless children.  People are without homes for a variety of reasons, including substance abuse, mental illness, joblessness, and the breakup of the family unit. Many, but not all, can find temporary or transitional shelter. Those with prior felonies find even emergency housing more difficult to obtain.  The unsheltered literally do not have a roof over their heads. They sleep under bridges, in alleyways, in the woods, and, if they’re fortunate, in makeshift shacks.  Nearly 194,000 Americans do not have a roof over their heads at night.   More than 700 Mississippians do not have a roof over their heads at night. What can we do? 1. Partner with organizations that provide shelter for the homeless. My personal favorite locally is the Salvation Army. If you’re in an urban area, there are likely others. Check them out and support them. 2. Volunteer. Shelters need everything from help with cooking and serving to assistance with organizing donated supplies. 3. Give. Warm blankets, coats, and clothing in good repair are always needed.  4. Pray. Ask God for laborers in this field, but start by asking what He wants you to do. One of my favorite acts of service is to help with the Saturday lunch at the Salvation Army.  Those who line up to eat are, for the most part, the most grateful people around. We seldom fail to see a miracle. I spend a few hours preparing food and serving but I’m rewarded with blessings I savor for months to come. Locally, contact Helping Hands Helping Homeless for ways to serve. They have a closed Facebook Page and a Go Fund Me account. This non-profit organization needs your help. I write in my comfortable home with my intact roof as the rain pours down, while 700+ Mississippians are homeless and unsheltered.  How can I justify this? One day, we will give an account for how we cared for “the least of these.” We must not do nothing.  And the King will answer and say to them, “Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did it to one of the brothers of Mine, even to the least of them, you did it to Me.” Matthew 25:40  [/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column width=”1/3″][vc_column_text]Thanks for reading all the way to the end. If you’d like to read more, here are a few suggestions: Will We Make Room for God in Our Lives? School Shootings: Stop Blaming and Start Helping MLK Day: Making a Difference by Taking a Stand[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][vc_column width=”1/3″][vc_column_text]It’s such a help when you like and share this post on social media. Thank you! It’s an even bigger help when you pin to Pinterest. Here’s a pinnable image. I’d appreciate your shares. Thanks again for being a part of what God’s doing through this digital outreach. You make a difference. Way to go![/vc_column_text][/vc_column][vc_column column_width_percent=”100″ position_vertical=”middle” overlay_alpha=”50″ gutter_size=”3″ medium_width=”0″ mobile_width=”0″ shift_x=”0″ shift_y=”0″ shift_y_down=”0″ z_index=”0″ width=”1/3″][vc_single_image media=”67308″ media_width_percent=”75″ media_link=”url:https%3A%2F%2Fwww.leannahollis.com%2Fremembering-the-homeless%2F||target:%20_blank|”][/vc_column][/vc_row]

[vc_row][vc_column width=”1/1″][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column width=”1/1″][vc_column_text] This morning, as I pondered what to write on the celebration of Martin Luther King Day, the stark contrast between the Poor People’s Campaign and last year’s Women’s March came to mind. I envisioned both the mule-drawn wagons and the women wearing vagina-style attire and shook my head. I have no idea what the women hoped to achieve nor what they protested. The vagina hats are all that stuck in my memory. Did they accomplish what they hoped? I doubt it. The protest I will never forget I will never forget Reverend King’s march, however, nor the civil rights for which he protested. Did he accomplish what he hoped? Yes. His protests didn’t change every heart, every circumstance, but they changed a lot. We live in a far different society, in many ways, than the one in which I grew up. Everyone can enter by the same door, sit in the same waiting room, eat in the same restaurants now. If we work hard, we can all go to college, get a good job, make a nice living for our families. We can attend the same church and worship together, side by side. It was not so when I was a child, for the color of your skin determined your opportunities. Martin Luther King: One man took a stand One man saw injustice, prayed it through, then took a stand. He endured threats and persecution, yet he persevered. Photos, taken on the day before he was killed, show a man who knew what his actions were about to cost him. He knew he would soon be killed, yet he pressed on because he had taken a stand for right and he would not back down. It’s one thing to talk a good line. It’s another thing entirely to live what you say you believe. Where are the people today who take the kind of stand Martin Luther King took? Where are the people today who live what they preach in the public arena? I wrote the words you’re about to read last January, but they’re as pertinent today as they were then. I’m repeating them because I can’t write it any better. A picture is worth a thousand words. I sat here for an hour, trying to find a topic for today’s blog. The photo of one of the women’s march participants shrouded in a vagina costume, as well as the ones of the women in various stages of undress with slogans painted across their bare chests, echo in my mind. If a picture is worth a thousand words, what do those pictures say? You can draw your own conclusions. The Poor People’s Campaign There are all kinds of protests, but the one that I’ve never forgotten is the Poor People’s Campaign, organized by Martin Luther King. I didn’t understand what it meant at the time, but I knew it was important. It was the spring of 1968, not long after Rev. King was assassinated. Protestors left Marks, Mississippi in mule-drawn wagons, headed toward Washington D.C. My mama carried my sister and me to see the protestors. We parked on the side of the road and stood beside the car. Silent. Watching. The mules, their heads down, pulled the wagons. Protestors sat quietly on the plank seat as the wheels turned. It was slow progress, but it was real. There was no doubt in my mind that something powerful was happening. I didn’t understand it, but I knew, at the core of my being, that life would change. And it did. They counted the cost and took a stand. That one protest will always be the epitome of effective protest for me. Quiet. Peaceful. Intense. Powerful. Not everything was rosy and beautiful when they reached Washington, but that moment in time, as I watched at the side of the road, stands out in my mind. It’s a sharp contrast to protests like the recent Women’s March on Washington. Inequality still exists There are still inequalities. I want to see them corrected, and I’ve tried to accomplish that very thing. I went to college, then medical school, worked hard, and made it through. There was sexual harassment. I took it for a while, then I counted the cost and took a stand. When I spoke up, it was clear I meant business. I didn’t shout, carry a sign, or wear a costume. When I stood up to the bullies, they stopped, because that’s what bullies do. They back down when confronted. I practiced medicine, worked hard, made it through. No one bullied me. No one treated me differently because of my gender. However, inequality still exists. Unfortunately, as long as evil is in the world, inequality in some form will always exist. I know most of the protestors probably dressed in regular clothes. The media shows us the most outrageous because that’s what draws views and makes money. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not opposed to peaceful assembly and I support the right to free speech. I’m not opposed to the recent women’s march, nor am I opposed to costumes that look outrageous to me. My grandmama taught me something, though, that we’d all do well to remember. Especially the people in the vagina costumes. Actions speak louder than words. “… let us not love with words or speech but with actions and in truth.” 1 John 3:18 niv. We demonstrate who we are (and whose we are) by what we do, so we’d do well to choose our actions wisely. The most effective protestor of all time was Jesus Christ. He entered a world filled with violence, poverty, oppression, and cruelty, and He chose love. Every single time. He chose sacrifice. Open-handed giving. Equality. Peace. In a male-dominated culture, women traveled with Jesus, and demonstrated, by their lives, the power of Christ to transform. Jesus’ disciples choose love. After the resurrection, His followers chose love, as well, and that love was unstoppable. It changed the world and turned it right side up. I doubt I’ll ever protest with signs, slogans, costumes, or marches. I hope to