Sunday, I preached on how to hack pain and difficulty in life as part of our Life Hacks series. One of the things I wasn’t able to get to is how to walk with someone through pain, how do you let others walk with you.

This is often hard to do, from both perspectives.

When you are the one walking through the difficulty, we tend to keep it to ourselves. We don’t want to be a bother to other people; we think we should be able to handle it on our own or we struggle to wonder if people care about us.

When you are a friend watching someone walk through difficulty, it is hard to know where to start. How do you step in and help? What do they need? Especially if it is around sickness or death, it can sometimes be hard to know what to say or how to say it. Often then, we choose not to do anything, even though we’d like to.

Over the summer, I read a great book by Kate Bowler called Everything Happens for a Reason (and other lies I’ve loved). Kate was diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer, and at the end, she shares how to walk with people, because it is difficult, we want to do it well, but we often find ourselves fumbling it.

According to Bowler, here are some things to not say:

• ‘Well, at least . . .’ Whoa. Hold up there. Were you about to make a comparison? At least it’s not . . . what? Stage V cancer? Don’t minimize.
• ‘In my long life, I’ve learned that . . .’ Geez. Do you want a medal? I get it! You lived forever. Well, some people are worried that they won’t, or that things are so hard they won’t want to. So ease up on the life lessons. Life is a privilege, not a reward.
• ‘It’s going to get better. I promise.’ Well, fairy godmother, that’s going to be a tough row to hoe when things go badly.
• ‘God needed an angel.’ This one takes the cake because (a) it makes God look sadistic and needy and (b) angels are, according to Christian tradition, created from scratch. Not dead people looking for a cameo in Ghost. You see how confusing it is when we just pretend that the deceased return to help you find your car keys or make pottery?
• ‘Everything happens for a reason.’ The only thing worse than saying this is pretending that you know the reason. I’ve had hundreds of people tell me the reason for my cancer. Because of my sin. Because of my unfaithfulness. Because God is fair. Because God is unfair. Because of my aversion to Brussels sprouts. I mean, no one is short of reasons. So if people tell you this, make sure you are there when they go through the cruelest moments of their lives, and start offering your own. When someone is drowning, the only thing worse than failing to throw them a life preserver is handing them a reason.
• ‘I’ve done some research and…’ I thought I should listen to my oncologist and my nutritionist and my team of specialists, but it turns out that I should be listening to you. Yes, please, tell me more about the medical secrets that only one flaxseed provider in Orlando knows. Wait, let me get a pen.
• ‘When my aunt had cancer…’ My darling dear, I know you are trying to relate to me. Now you see me and you are reminded that terrible things have happened in the world. But guess what? That is where I live, in the valley of the shadow of death. But now I’m on vacation because I’m not in the hospital or dealing with my mess. Do I have to take my sunglasses off and join you in the saddest journey down memory lane, or do you mind if I finish my mojito?
• ‘So how are the treatments going? How are you really?’ This is the toughest one of all. I can hear you trying to understand my world and be on my side. But picture the worst thing that has ever happened to you. Got it?

Here are some things to say:

• “I’d love to bring you a meal this week. Can I email you about it?” Oh, thank goodness. I am starving, but mostly I can never figure out something to tell people that I need, even if I need it. But really, bring me anything. Chocolate. A potted plant. A set of weird erasers. I remember the first gift I got that wasn’t about cancer, and I was so happy I cried. Send me funny emails filled with YouTube clips to watch during chemotherapy. Do something that suits your talents. But most important, bring me presents! 
• “You are a beautiful person.” Unless you are used to speaking in a creepy windowless-van kind of voice, comments like these go a long way. Tell your friend something about his or her life that you admire without making it feel like a eulogy.
• “I am so grateful to hear about how you’re doing. Just know that I’m on your team.” You mean I don’t have to give you an update? You asked someone else for all the gory details? Whew. Great! Now, I get to feel like you are both informed and concerned. So, don’t gild the lily. What you have said is amazing, so don’t screw it up now by being a nosy Nellie. Ask a question about any other aspect of my life. 
• “Can I give you a hug?” Some of my best moments with people have come with a hug or a hand on the arm. People who are suffering often—not always—feel isolated and want to be touched. Hospitals and big institutions, in general, tend to treat people like cyborgs or throwaways. So, ask whether your friend feels up for a hug and give her some sugar. 
• “Oh, my friend, that sounds so hard.” Perhaps the weirdest thing about having something awful happen is the fact that no one wants to hear about it. People tend to want to hear the summary, but they don’t usually want to hear it from you. And that it was awful. So, simmer down and let your friend talk for a bit. Be willing to stare down the ugliness and sadness. Life is absurdly hard, and pretending it isn’t is exhausting.
• *****Silence***** The truth is that no one knows what to say. It’s awkward. Pain is awkward. Tragedy is awkward. People’s weird, suffering bodies are awkward. But take the advice of one man who wrote to me with his policy: Show up and shut up.