THOUGHT FOR THE WEEK: Offaly columnist says everyone has a story to tell

We all have a story, a tale to be told, for we are all on our human journey. Every heart carries unseen chapters. Every soul is shaped by love and loss. And because of this, we all need grace and blessings. So let us be kind, loving and always caring to one another. For life is fragile, handle it always with prayer and care.

“The Lord is close to the broken hearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” (Psalm 34:18). “Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfil the law of Christ.” (Galatians 6:2). Last week, for my birthday, my beautiful caring and loving wife Jacqui and my two beautiful, amazing and fabulous daughters, Mia and Sophie, brought me to see the film Hamnet. Now, anyone who knows my girls knows this, they have a mischievous habit of bringing their soft-hearted father to films they are fairly certain will reduce him to tears. They delight in it. And they are rarely wrong. Add anything Irish, anything tender, anything about love and loss and I am already halfway undone before the opening credits. But this time was different. This time, I was not simply moved. I was opened. I sat in the dark between three of some of the people I love most in this world, my wife and my two daughters, who came into our lives through adoption from Ethiopia and I felt something deep inside me begin to crack. Not break. Crack. Like hard ground splitting just before rain finally reaches the roots. “

Those who sow with tears will reap with songs of joy.” (Psalm 126:5). Because Hamnet is not just a film. It is a mirror. It is a story about love and loss, about family and memory, about how fragile and sacred it is to be human. And as I watched a 16th-century family lose their son, I found myself face to face with my own life, with old wounds I thought were healed, and with a love that has carried me through them. Sometimes God does not come to us with explanations. Sometimes He comes with a story or a testimony and lets it break us open so He can finally reach us. “My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the Lord. (Isaiah 55:8).

The quiet power of what is real

The greatest achievement in acting is not awards or red carpets. It is the truth. Real performances are rare. You recognise them instantly because they do not entertain you, they stay with you. Jessie Buckley and Paul Mescal did that to me in Hamnet. Not in a loud, showy way, but in a quiet, devastating way that felt painfully real. This is not a film about awards. It is a film about grief and grief does not fit neatly into categories. The director, Chloé Zhao, does not rush sorrow or tidy it up. She lets it linger, because that is what grief does in real life. It settles into a house. It rearranges the furniture of the heart. “There is a time to weep and a time to mourn.” (Ecclesiastes 3:4). And I realised, sitting there, that I was not only watching Shakespeare’s family. I was watching myself.

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The fragility of being human

It is unimaginable at times how fickle and fragile life can be. We can be here today and gone tomorrow. “You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.” (James 4:14). But worse still is when someone we love deeply is taken from us. Over the past number of years especially around the time of the pandemic, so many families including my own have walked through this valley. I have lost many relatives, friends, and neighbours. And during that time, our family lost my beautiful niece Aoife at the tender age of just 14 years. “Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for You are with me.” (Psalm 23:4).

Grief teaches you something terrible and holy at the same time. Nothing is guaranteed. Grief can feel heavy in the chest, a deep, aching weight, as if not only are things not okay, but as if they may never be okay again. Whether it is the loss of a loved one, the death of a dream, or the slow acceptance of our own limits, at the core is the same quiet sorrow. And yet, even here, Scripture whispers, “My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.” (Psalm 73:26). We do not survive by being strong. We survive by being held. “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you.” (Isaiah 43:2).

When dreams do not come true

When Jacqui and I were first married, we carried the quiet certainty of young love, that children would come easily. We never imagined otherwise. But life had other plans. We allowed ourselves to imagine names, birthdays and futures. Each time we were hopeful. Each time we were terrified. And each time when not successful, it felt like a small funeral, grieving a child already loved, lost before we could ever hold them. What deepened the pain was not only the disappointment, but the isolation. Jacqui’s body was bearing the weight of it all, and I believed my role was to be unbreakable. I told myself that this was strength. That this was what it meant to be a man. I held her as she cried and reassured her that everything would be okay. Then I walked away alone. I remember driving along Galway Bay, the sea stretched wide and unguarded. There, where no one could see me, I finally collapsed. I cried for the futures and dreams that were slipping away and were not coming.

“Pour out your heart before Him; God is a refuge for us.” (Psalm 62:8). Then I dried my face and went home, putting the mask of strength back on. What I did not understand then, and what still aches now, is that my silence made Jacqui believe I did not care. She thought she was grieving by herself. I learned too late that silence does not shield love. It slowly starves it.

The day I finally let her see me

One day, after another failed attempt, something in me collapsed. I cried in front of her, properly, openly, unashamedly, honestly. And she did not see weakness. She saw love. She told me later that she fell in love with me all over again, because she finally knew how deeply I cared and how much I loved and adored her. Love does not need a hero. Love needs a human being. Even "Jesus wept" (John 11:35). In Hamnet, grief enters quietly. Agnes breaks outwardly. William breaks inwardly. He writes not to fix the pain, but to survive it. This felt deeply biblical to me. Not every wound is neatly healed. Sometimes faith looks less like answers and more like endurance. God does not always remove the valley. He walks it with us. “The Lord Himself goes before you and will be with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you.” (Deuteronomy 31:8).

The scene that undid me

In the final scene, the audience reaches toward the stage, united in shared sorrow. And I felt it in my bones that Grief is universal. We are all bound together by love and loss. “If one part suffers, every part suffers with it.” (1 Corinthians 12:26). Art cannot remove pain. But it can make us less alone. I was not just watching Shakespeare. I was watching my greatest fear as a father. And it reminded me to treasure what I have while I have it. Our children did not come the way we planned. But out of that wound came Mia and Sophie. God did not remove the scar. He turned it into a doorway. “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him.” (Romans 8:28). The very thing that nearly broke us became the foundation, soul and life of our most amazing and most fabulous family we could have ever dreamed, prayed or wished for.

The light of the soul

After Aoife’s passing and following our quest to have a family, I realised something life-changing. We are not called to fix the whole world. We are called to heal the part of it within our reach. “What does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.” (Micah 6:8). Small acts of kindness and loving care change the atmosphere of the world. One lit soul lights another.

A soul is like a lamp on the deck of a ship at sea. In dark times, its light matters. “Your word is a lamp for my feet, a light on my path.” (Psalm 119:105). Struggling souls catch light from other souls who are brave enough to shine. “Let your light shine before others.” (Matthew 5:16). To show mercy, care, gentleness, love, support and especially now in a world and planet that is wounded and broken, is an act of courage. I have known fear, anger, sorrow. But I try not to give despair a permanent seat in my mind. Because in my bones I know this, there can be no despair when you remember who sent you here. We are not meant to remain in harbour. We are meant to sail. Great ships are not built for safety, but for purpose. “Set your hope fully on the grace to be given you.” (1 Peter 1:13). You do not need to change the world. Just be the reason someone still believes in goodness. Hamnet tells a hard truth. What is given may be taken at any time. Every child is a miracle on borrowed time. Every ordinary morning is extraordinary. Love and life are fragile. And that is exactly why they are holy and sacred.

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Thought for the week

As your thought for the week, I gently challenge you to do three things: Tell someone you love them and mean it slowly. Not in passing. Not distracted. Look at them. Let yourself be seen. “Let us not love with words or speech but with actions and in truth.” (1 John 3:18). Share a fear, a sadness, a memory you usually hide. Vulnerability is not weakness. It is the doorway to intimacy. “Confess your faults to one another and pray for one another.” (James 5:16). Notice one ordinary miracle each day. A child’s laugh. A spouse’s hand. A quiet cup of tea. Write it down. Thank God for it. “This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.” (Psalm 118:24). Because none of us are promised tomorrow, only today. “Do not worry about tomorrow.” (Matthew 6:34).

Let me leave you with one of my prayers for a tendered heart called "Tender Hearts". - "Lord God, You see how easily we harden ourselves just to survive. You know how often we mistake silence for strength and distance for protection. Teach us again how to be human and tender hearted. When we are tempted to close our hearts, make us brave enough to keep them open. When we are afraid to feel, remind us that even Your Son wept. Help us not to rush past love, not to take for granted the people beside us, not to assume we will always have more time. For every child, every spouse, every friend, every colleague, we say quietly today: thank You. Turn our wounds into wells of compassion. Turn our losses into gentleness and tenderness. Turn our tears into deeper love. And when our hearts are broken, because we love in a fragile world, come close to us, O God. For You are near to the brokenhearted. Amen." Ps...If you go to see Hamnet make sure you bring plenty of tissues. It's an awesome film with two fabulous Irish actors in the main roles. Best of luck to Jessie Buckley and Hamnet at the Oscars later in the year!!