Our culture doesn’t know how to suffer. And since I live in my culture, I have become a bit of a “cream puff.”
When I feel pain, I assume something is wrong and try to fix the problem. Something wrong happened, and it needs to be stopped. I struggle with the idea that Jesus will purposefully lead me into the pain, not maneuver me around it. After all, if God is good, doesn’t he want me to experience good things?
I like to work out—not an Olympic-type workout, just old-man workouts. I bench press 70 pounds, which is a little wimpy but gets my heart going. Some exercise is much better than no exercise, so I pump until I get tired. It honestly feels good. I can’t exercise without resistance. If my barbell was only one pound, I wouldn’t have much resistance.
Isn’t suffering resistance? Instead of getting my desires met when I want them (food, entertainment, washer machine working efficiently), resistance comes into my life, and I find what’s inside me. And so does everyone around me. Suffering is resistance. It’s pushback in my life.
The Character Reveal
I believe that when suffering (or stress) enters a person’s life, you get a peek at what’s inside them, at their real character. When I experience suffering, my mask slips off, and you can see the real Andy.
How do I respond? Do I fold and collapse onto the ground like one of those old hand-held toys that you push a plastic button and it collapses? Do I whine and complain? Do I start blaming others? Do I run to alcohol or drugs?
Grief is a form of suffering. It’s the process of feeling terrible with no clear resolution in sight. Grief impacts the body, mind, emotions, and level of functioning in a person. And when sporadic waves of grief hit you, the griever becomes paralyzed.
I can feel the eyes on me. Others are watching. They want to see how I handle the death of my sweetheart. Some want to see if I go crazy (whatever that means), while others want to see if I have the integrity I claim to have. Some want to see me fail (waiting to point and laugh at me, proving Jesus isn’t enough), while others want to encourage me. Some in the prison wonder if I will run to alcohol like they have. Meanwhile, my church has surrounded me with love, prayer, meals, and anything else I can think of.
Daniel Goleman brought out an idea that has bounced around the psychological community for decades. He put it into a clear, readable format in his best-seller “Emotional Intelligence,” published in 1995. The idea is that emotional intelligence helps a person handle the stresses of daily life. A primary skill of emotional intelligence is “delayed gratification,” which is being able to wait to get what we want. The skill is also called “patience.” Goleman reviews the emotional resistance we experience in the process of “self-soothing” while we wait. Its enemy is “instant gratification,” (a popular sport in North America) which weakens our ability to handle stress.
A famous longitudinal research project (which took decades to complete) was done with kindergarteners. Single marshmallows were placed on the desks of these kids, who were told that they could have their marshmallows immediately or wait for a few minutes and get two marshmallows. The little tikes who ate the sweet treat immediately were put in one category, while those who waited in another. The research project followed the kids for decades into their twenties to see if there were any differences between the two groups. The children who were able to wait had higher rates of high school diplomas, of having children into their twenties, and lower rates of depression alcoholism, fewer criminal records, and less unemployment. All this from patience.
The research found that delayed gratification is foundational for healthy functioning in life. This important skill builds the other traits (self-awareness, self-regulation, social skills, empathy, and motivation). Being patient is no small task.
These same rules apply to me. I have to “self-soothe” to handle the resistance of grief, to wait on God as I go through my grief waves. By adjusting my perspective, I can see the good things God is doing. Today, I went for a stroll in my graveyard and found myself staring at the little picture of my wife on the grave site. It’s the one provided by the funeral home. It wasn’t meant to be the primary picture, but I don’t have a gravestone yet, so it’s the only picture I have of her. I miss her, but I am living. I am functional. I’m not thriving or surviving, but I think that’s OK for today.
Consumed
When I see her picture, I’m captivated. She was so beautiful. She meant everything to me. Her beauty consumes me. My world was based on what she was doing, what she wanted, and what she hoped for. Now, she is dead. Her desires, hopes, and fears are dead. And I find myself lost, grasping for a support bar but finding none.
My house is filled with Rachmaninoff’s concerts, allowing me to take in the beauty of this genius’ music while I write. There are no other noises, no sounds, no voices, no one else breathing in the house. I am alone in ways unlike I’ve ever been alone. I always had Deb. After 32 years, I have nothing but a piano concerto filling the home.
I think this is resistance, a form of suffering. I think God is working a “passionate patience” in me: patience, waiting for relief, hoping for satisfaction that can’t be seen from my vantage point, and hoping that God is still good.
I believe goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life; at least, I say I do. But honestly, I don’t feel it. Not really. My brain says this is true because it’s said in Scripture, but my heart is looking desperately for relief. Satisfaction is too much to hope for. I will settle for relief, but I can’t find that either. I want the pain to stop, even for a few minutes. Is that too much to ask?
“O Lord, can you hear my prayer? Do you see me? Do you know what it’s like to lose a loved one? Are you crying when I cry? Did you see me sob in front of my Christmas tree in my empty house? Do you know how much I want Deb back? Where are you, Jesus?”
Suffering without purpose is torture. Greif without Jesus is hell. I am not alone, even when my heart screams for relief. And I can prove it. This morning, God gently gave me this Scripture to digest and introduced me to the precious concept of “passionate patience.”
“We continue to shout our praise even when we’re hemmed in with troubles, because we know how troubles can develop passionate patience in us, and how that patience, in turn, forges the tempered steel of virtue, keeping us alert for whatever God will do next. In alert expectancy such as this, we’re never left feeling shortchanged.” Romans 5:3-5 (MSG)
Honestly, I feel short-changed. I feel forgotten and neglected. I can’t trust my feelings. God is doing something inside me. I’m sure of it. He’s trying to make me mature. And he’s bigger than my pain.