I ran into a friend and church member while standing in line at the local pharmacy. She slowed, turned around, did a double-take (I was dressed way down), and said hello. She turned and said, “Hug me on this side, because I have a hurt shoulder.” We hugged, and I said I understand—I have a herniated disc myself. She proceeded to tell me how she has been in pain for three weeks and wondered out loud if she couldn’t get any relief because her doctors didn’t believe her pain was that severe, because she’s a black woman. As we spoke, she shared how exhausted she’s been and how she wasn’t only experiencing physical pain, but emotional pain because of feeling unheard, unseen, and ultimately uncared for.
I could do more than empathize with her pain; I understood it, because as of late, it’s been my pain as well.
I recently shared with a friend about my latest trip to the doctor to have my back looked at. It was an all-too-familiar recent experience. I told the doctor about my symptoms; he ran a couple of tests and prescribed medicine. I asked for more than just medicine; my questions ranged from whether I should see an orthopedic doctor to whether I should see a Physical Therapist—all things I had to advocate for myself to receive. The thing is, I don’t think he meant any harm. The problem was that the level of care ended at its most basic: prescribing medication. After sharing this with my friend, he said, “Man, you just wanted someone to care.” He was right. I told him about my mom’s recommendation — she’s been a medical professional for over 40 years — and the recommendations of a physical therapist at church, and my wife, who earned her credentials from WebMD and Google.
He said, “When you’re in pain and hurting, all you really want is someone to care, because when they care, they will go above and beyond searching every ounce of knowledge they have to help you.”
This friend was on his way to becoming a physical therapist until the Lord called him into ministry. Now he uses his knowledge, wisdom, and compassion to care for people holistically.
We have so much to learn from the healers amongst us. Those who bind up the brokenhearted and who do not crush a bruised reed nor quench a smoldering fire.
3 He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. (Psalm 147:3)
20 He will not break a bruised reed,
and he will not put out a smoldering wick,
until he has led justice to victory.
21 The nations will put their hope in his name. (Matthew 12:20-21 & Isaiah 42:3)
The scriptures above refer to the heart and work of Jesus. The man of sorrows, acquainted with grief, is also the one who is moved with compassion. I’ve found that when others don’t take time to listen and hear the physical or emotional pain I am experiencing, Jesus always makes space for me. In the words of Common Hymnal, “He is here, and He has time, to take what’s wrong and make it right.” I also find healing in the compassionate hearts of those who take the time to care. To check in. To follow up.
But what does this care look like in the lives of churches, organizations, hospitals, and other institutions of service? How do we better care for one another in our everyday spaces? How do we better help those in caring professions not move from patient to patient or client to client, but to be present with those entrusted to their care? I’m on a mission to answer these questions, not because others haven’t thought deeply about this, but because I care.
My role as a writer is to ask questions of us as a people. As an American and global citizen, I must add my voice to the chorus seeking to make love, compassion, and care endemic. I believe that, as a writer, it’s my responsibility not to take my eyes off the micro, mezzo, and macro challenges we are experiencing.
So much of our current civic discourse is around macro-level societal challenges. We need writers, advocates, thought leaders, public servants, pastors, community leaders, and public intellectuals to care deeply and think critically about how we address these nationwide problems. But we cannot neglect the issues impacting our neighbors and our cities. We must learn to do the hard work of doing one while not leaving the other undone.
This is hard work. It requires us to care deeply, understand our role, and be interdisciplinary in our approach. We must sit with and learn from others. A mentor once shared some of the most valuable advice I’ve ever received. He told me, “Danny, you must learn to read deeply and read widely. There are certain areas that you will need to specialize in, but you also need to understand enough about the world and the people living in it to be present with them.”
This advice has never failed me. Whether sitting with a mayor from a large municipal province in South Africa, a CEO seeking to provide affordable clean water and energy alternatives in Central America, or a hurting friend in line at the pharmacist.
That’s why over the next few months, I will be taking the time to better understand health, sickness, and healthcare in America. I’ll be reading the following books, which specifically focus on the stories of people of color and the health care system:
A History of the World in Six Plagues
Legacy: A Black Physician Reckons with Racism in Medicine
Under the Skin: The Hidden Toll of Racism on American Lives
Pregnant While Black: Advancing Justice for Maternal Health in America
Viral Justice: How We Grow the World We Want
If you know of any other books I should read to understand this vital topic better, please share them in the comments.
Or if you would like to follow along, please subscribe to this newsletter and follow me to receive my posts in the notes section of Substack.
I look forward not only to learning but also to the love in action that comes from this journey. To follow along, use #ReadingToCare.