![]() You know that moment when someone says exactly the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time? Like when your well-meaning aunt Barbara suggests that "everything happens for a reason" while you're trying not to cry into your coffee? Yeah, we've all been there, on both sides of that conversation. Welcome to our "Helpful vs. Hurtful Words" series, where we're going to navigate the sometimes-awkward, always-important world of speaking to those who are grieving. Think of this as your friendly guide to not putting your foot in your mouth (we've all done it) while actually being the support person you want to be. First things first: Let's address the elephant in the room. Words are tricky little creatures. They can be like warm hugs or like stepping on Legos – and nobody likes stepping on Legos. The Hall of Fame of Well-Intentioned but Ouch-Worthy Comments:
Instead, Try These Gems:
Here's the thing: We're all human, trying our best to support each other through life's toughest moments. And sometimes, we're going to mess up. That's okay! The key is learning and growing together. Think of supporting a grieving person like learning to dance. You might step on some toes at first, but with practice and awareness, you'll learn the rhythm of grief support. And no, you don't need to perfect the grief support cha-cha – just being present and mindful is enough. Remember: You don't need to have all the answers. Sometimes the most powerful thing you can say is simply, "I don't know what to say, but I'm here."
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AuthorAbout Rev. Dr. Erin Marie Burns (But please, just call me Erin!) I’m a pastor, writer, and professional "showing-upper" when life gets messy. Around here, we talk about grief, faith, hope, and how to care for people when words just aren’t enough—because let’s face it, sometimes life hands us more questions than answers (and that's okay). I believe in the holy power of just being there, that coffee should basically count as a spiritual practice, and that God shows up in the small, quiet moments—like a kind text, a shared silence, or a garden full of stubbornly beautiful dahlias. When I’m not writing or walking alongside folks in hard seasons, you’ll probably find me: Attempting to tame my garden (the weeds usually win). Practicing archery like I’m training for a medieval adventure. Chasing family time, deep conversations, and maybe a slice of pie. If you’re looking for real talk, a little humor, and gentle reminders that you don’t have to fix everything—you’ve found your spot. Pull up a chair, grab a mug of something warm, and stick around. We’re in this together. P.S. Come back next week—grief, faith, and hope aren’t one-time conversations! ArchivesCategories
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