How You Doin’?

You might be familiar with this iconic line from the hit series Friends. Every time Joey (Matt LeBlanc) met a new woman, he would inevitably spew his famous line, “How you doin’?” In return, the woman would usually blush and bat her eyes, smitten by him. It’s become a classic Friends line.

How are you? How are you doing? How is your day?

These questions have become commonplace in our language—unfortunately, so have our responses.

Good. Fine. Great.

These are all common responses to these questions. When in reality, we hardly ever disclose how we are actually doing.

A couple of months ago, my brother passed away unexpectedly. It was, and still is, heart-wrenching. During his funeral service, people came through the line and offered their condolences. They often looked at me with compassion and asked, “How are you doing?” and I actually caught myself saying, “Good.” I immediately corrected my response. I was NOT good!

We are conditioned to respond without honestly sharing how we are doing. “Good” is an automated response.

But here’s the thing: often, we are not good, we are not fine, we are not great!

Brokenness, grief, and pain are prevalent in our world, and we need to normalize the fact that we are not always good.

If you are in a season of mourning and grief, you don’t need to pretend to be fine. For weeks, I would start to cry without warning. A memory would come to mind, or I would see a picture, and it would unravel me.

Recently I ran into someone I hadn’t seen in a while, and instead of the typical “How are you doing?” greeting, she touched my arm and said, “You’ve had a hard year.” It was the most comforting thing I had experienced in a long time. No expectation of feeling something I’m not, just acknowledgment of the hard, and it was beautiful.

This month, with Thanksgiving coming up, it feels like I need to mask my feelings even more. So as people are decorating with pumpkins and acorns and hanging “GRATEFUL” banners across their fireplace mantels, to me, it feels more applicable to hang one that says, “HURTING.”

And here is the thing: it is OK! I’m not void of gratitude.

I can be hurting and still be grateful. My gratitude doesn’t erase my hurt. In Ecclesiastes 3, we are told there is a time for everything, and in verse four specifically, “a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance” (Eccl. 3:4 NIV).

Friend, if you are in a weeping and mourning season, I’m so sorry. I know it is hard for you. I know you are likely dreading the upcoming holidays, and your sadness probably feels overwhelming. I know.

Let me pray for you:

Lord, I want to lift before you now those who are hurting, broken, and mourning. Lord, I ask that you would wrap your loving arms around them and that they would be able to feel your presence and power in their lives. Lord, for those approaching the holidays with the absence of a loved one, I ask that you bring comfort and peace. Lord, for those who are hurting over broken relationships and shattered dreams, I ask you to hold their pieces in your tender care. Lord, for those battling illness, I pray for your divine healing. Lord, for those struggling to see the good, I pray you would meet them where they are and walk beside them. Lord, we come before you broken and hurting. Lord, we know you are good, and we are grateful. Lord, thank you for your love, mercy, and grace. Thank you for going before us. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

When someone now asks me, “How are you doing?” my response is, “I’m hanging in there.” And that is where I am. I’m not good or fine. I’m hanging in there. In Psalm 30:11-12, David says, “You turned my wailing into dancing; you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy, that my heart may sing your praises and not be silent. Lord my God, I will praise you forever” (NIV). God had heard and answered David’s plea for help, and he responded with praise.

God turned David’s mourning into dancing. There is a time for everything. There is a time for mourning, a time for hanging in there, and a time for dancing. I’m not dancing yet, but I also am not where I was months ago. I’m in the middle, still hurting, still trusting, still hanging in there. While in the middle (or even still in mourning), let us be comforted by other’s dancing and hold to the promise that we, too, will dance again.

Heather Gerwing is living the full life with her husband, Jeff, four kids, and a dog in Metro Detroit. Heather enjoys reading, writing, coffee-ing, and serving in youth ministry. She was born a Jersey girl and feels most at home on a beach. She is the host of the monthly link-up, Share Four Somethings. You can join Heather on the journey to living the full life at www.heathergerwing.com.

Photograph © Aleksandar Kurešević, used with permission