How Are You?

Many years ago, a coworker asked how I was doing. I lied and said, “Fine.” She said, “That’s great to hear.” I thought, “What if I told her how I was really doing? What would she do then?”

Shortly after that encounter, I wrote these words:

What if I told you I’m a sinner and just yesterday ~ I drank till I blacked out on my black couch just to take the hurt away ~ And when I woke up to my family, the kids were crying, my husband not home ~ What is this thing I call life? I hate my life. I need help, but I’ve nowhere to turn. What if I told you?

What if I told you that I’m angry. I’m a liar, a gossip, a cheat. I steal from my company, look at pornography. I’m a glutton. I’m full of greed. I’m a criminal, an adulterer. I’m divorced. I’ve aborted a child. I don’t walk the straight path. I feel all alone. I’m depressed, I question and doubt. What if I told you?

In the years since that conversation and those words, I’ve learned a lot about humanity. Sadly, one of the biggest lessons that I’ve learned is that many of us just don’t care. For many, “How are you?” isn’t a question asked to warrant an answer. “How are you?” is simply another way to say hello. I always think it’s funny when someone says, “How are you?” and I answer, “Ill,” or “Aggravated,” or “In a really bad mood,” and the person responds, “That’s good,” and keeps going on his/her way, not hearing the answer at all.

I’ve found, too, that while some of us want to care, many times we don’t know how—or something inside of us is so broken that we can’t. If the conversation moves too far beyond the surface, we often change the subject or shut down. It’s easier not to talk about feelings and emotions than it is to dive into the difficult messiness of life. Or when we do open up, because we’ve decided that we can trust someone, we are often met with responses like, “Do you have a counselor?” or “Have you prayed about this?” or “Don’t worry about it. God is in control. Things will be just fine,” or *silence,* or “I have no respect for you,” or “You are too intense. I need space,” or, “I just have no desire to be friends with you,” or *I don’t know what to do with what you just told me, so I’m going to tell someone else…who tells someone else…who tells someone else.*

And then we’re left hurt. And betrayed. And living with the sore reality that maybe it’s better to lie than to tell the truth of, “How are you?”

The thing is?
I actually really care to know the answer when I ask, “How are you?”
And I stupidly want people to care to know my answer to the same.
And I’m not very good at lying.
And being genuinely shallow or shallowly genuine is not something that comes easily to me.
And so I struggle to be genuine,
To respect boundaries and time,
And I continue to sing “What if I told you?”
And try to let go all of the times that the answer has gone wrong.

Oh God: Living in this world of broken humanity is hard. You tell us to love unconditionally, yet so often we fall short and/or end up hurt. Help us to know how to love—truly, deeply, genuinely—even when the practicalities are not clear. Help us to know when to speak and when to stay silent. Help us to know how when to hold on and when to let go. Help us to be good friends and lovers. And help us to genuinely care how others are doing—even when it means that we must sacrifice a few moments of our day. We can’t do this alone, God. We need your help. Daily knowing that you truly care—always care—how we, your children, are doing…Amen.