If You Need to Talk

For about a week, I’ve been contemplating writing about a particular experience at work. It was hard to know whether I should write about it because, well, it was such an emotional experience. However, I figure that this experience was imparted to me for God’s own reasons, and I think it is an important step in my life with Christ.

Last Saturday was a busy day at work. There were hoards of people shopping in our store, yet I remained happy and stress-free. It’s slightly atypical, to be honest, that I don’t have even one moment of elevated stress on a busy weekend as such. It’s a sad truth, but my work does drive that stress in me. I just felt so overwhelmed with thankfulness and joy on this weekend after Christmas. I was having fun directing my associates and talking with them about the holidays, and I felt so blessed to share about our holidays together.

It was about the middle of the day when one of my associates, Ryan, came into work. Up until this point, I’d only met him on one other occasion, and from what I’d seen he was extremely happy to talk with customers. The other managers raved about how good he was at customer service, and his sales showed that fact. So, on this day, I expected this from him. As I watched him, however, I saw some sort of disturbance dwelling in him. His actions were forced; he talked to customers but it was not sincere as usual. I could tell that his head was not at work this day. At first, I didn’t over think this. I had customers and other associates to pay attention to. I tried to force myself to consider that it was just an off day for him. I did wonder, however, why my happiness was suddenly mellowed, and why I was angered by the other managers’ apparent frustration towards him. I was suddenly stirred to say something to him, and as I approached him, I just said, “Let me know if you need to talk.” He looked at me in appreciation before I walked away.

After an hour and a half or so of working on the floor with Ryan there, I took my lunch in the backroom. The store had provided us with lunch for the weekend, and I was just heating up a cup of noodles when Ryan walked into the backroom. He announced in a very monotone fashion that he was taking his fifteen-minute break. As I sat at the managers’ desk, I heard him talking on his phone with someone in a very low tone. All I could hear was sad muttering. When he clicked his phone closed, he popped a cup of noodle into the microwave and sat down at the break table. “How was your Christmas?” I asked him.

His eyes looked tired. “We’re holding off on Christmas until Moms gets back,” he said as he unscrewed a water bottle cap and took a gulp.

It was a matter of concern, I could tell, wherever his mom was before I even asked, “Where’d she go?” The expectation as soon as I’d said it was that she left after his parents had had a fight or something. And now, I feel so stupid for making that guess.

He sighed as if pulling the words together, as if compressing his emotions into a tiny lock box that couldn’t be broken into. I found myself moving to a chair closer to him. “A little before Christmas, she had a stroke,” he told me. “She’s been in the hospital ever since. We just found out she has extreme congestion in her heart. They rushed her off to an intensive care unit. The doc says she has a 30% chance of surviving surgery.”

By no means had I expected something so terrible. As I sat there listening to him and watching him, his emotional lock box broke, and he got up and walked into an aisle of shelves we have in the backroom. I heard him trying to suppress his sobs. This nineteen-year-old boy felt like he was about to lose everything. I remained seated. Lord, help his mom. Lord, please comfort him. Praying was the only thing I could think to do, and as I did I was overcome by the most sympathy I think I’ve ever experienced. I was crying, as if it were my own mom. It was such immense sympathy that it surely was empathy. I’ve never had something so terrible happen to my own mother, but I know that the tears I cried were those of empathy. God permitted me that. I didn’t even have to think, the pain I felt for him was real. I got up, walked to him and put my arm around him.

“I don’t know what your religious beliefs might be,” I said to him, “but just know, I am praying for you. And I will keep praying for her to be okay.” There are many things that I think I could have said now that might have been better, stronger even, but the reality of the situation was that God meant for me to say just that. It might have been simple, but that was what Ryan needed to hear from me.

There was a short pause before he said, “Thank you,” and pulled me into a tight hug. It was the kind of hug that I will never forget as long as I live: one that let me know that I was able to really be there for him, one that let me know that Jesus was really working through me in those fifteen minutes in the backroom of Guess. “Thank you, so much.” The hug was so powerful, I cried some more. This time I was crying with joy, joy at the experience God had just given me.

In the next moment that he let go of me, I had regained my composure and told him that he needed to go be with his mom. He didn’t argue with me, but nodded. I walked from the backroom and told the other two managers working that Ryan needed to go home. One of them asked why, and I told her briefly of his situation, sticking to the clear fact that he needed to go to the hospital to be with his mom. Their response wasn’t exactly what I’d expected. Instead, she was just frustrated at him for not telling her, and she didn’t know who else she could get in to cover his shift. I was struck with disbelief at her.

“He was hoping work would be a distraction,” I told her, “you can’t be mad at him.” Then I added, “He needs to leave.”

Her frustration was passing off onto me, but I wasn’t concerned by it. “Call somebody else to cover the rest of his shift,” she told me shortly.

I tried not to pay attention to this apathy she was exhibiting, and instead focused on how glad I was that he could just go spend time with his mom.

I spent the whole car ride home after I left work praying and crying over what God had just done with me. I didn’t entirely understand it, but I sensed power in it, and it made me cry more. I got home and I cried to my mom. I admitted to her that I finally knew that God did have a reason for me to stay in this job. The work was not entirely rewarding overall, but what had happened today was conviction of the power God has in my life. I wasn’t crying because I was sad, I was overcome with emotion with what God was doing through me. It definitely wasn’t my strength that put me there at that break table on that particular Saturday afternoon.

“I can do all things through Christ, who strengthens me.” ~ Phillippians 4:13

“In the day that I called, you answered me. You encouraged me with strength in my soul.” ~ Psalms 138:3

“So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” ~ Isaiah 41:10