Comfort During Trials

When people are touched by heartache, why is it that sometimes we’re at a loss for words? Is it because we don’t care? (I’m sure that’s not true.) Can’t empathize? (Perhaps not, but we can try.) Bogged down in complacency? (Possibly, because our own lives still go on.)

I think, also, it must be because we are truly in awe of the circumstances; sometimes, there are just NO WORDS that can adequately express everything we’d like to convey so we remain silent. We assume it’s for the best when, actually, saying nothing at all couldn’t be worse.

There was a time when our family was affected by something that truly rocked our safe, little world. Many of you reading this may have experienced something similar. 

We don’t often blaze through life untouched by traumatic events, unforseen tragedies, or times of despair. (If you’ve not yet had to face issues like this, you’ll want to be prepared, because, at some point, they will happen. It’s indeed part of life.)

Years ago, when our family was least expecting it, one of our children became desperately ill. For the next five years, we lived in and out of hospitals. Our lives centered around tests, endless medications, blood transfusions, and surgeries. One day melded into the next.  Our brains went on auto-pilot. We learned to coast from day to day.

To see someone suffer is never easy–especially when it’s your child or a loved one. It’s indescribable.

Much of that time was like living in a fog. Looking back, of course, I realize now that was a defense mechanism. It was our way of coping with an otherwise hopeless situation. It was also God’s way of sheltering us during the storm. He provided the umbrella when we didn’t have a raincoat.

I remember on one particularly difficult day, I thought my heart would break. Our child’s arms were black and blue from countless needle pokes, and the experimental medications had caused yet another allergic reaction.

Under the guise of using the restroom, I stepped out into the hall to collect myself. I’m afraid I didn’t do a very good job. The tears began flowing; my body shook as I choked back grief-filled sobs. 

Wow, this is still hard to talk about…

I think the Lord must have known I’d reached my breaking point. He sent a beautiful angel to me that day in the earthly form of a silver-haired matron whose smile was kind, and her spirit, compassionate. She draped her arms around my shoulders and hugged me.

“Can I help?” she asked.

I don’t remember what I answered. I’m sure I must have mumbled something through my tears.  What I do recall is that specific instant being forever etched in my mind.  I didn’t know the woman–I never saw her again during our time there. What left an impression on me that day was the lady’s demeanor. The fact that she didn’t just walk on by and the choice she made not to remain silent.

By nature, I’ve always been an empathetic person, but the trial our family endured during our child’s illness made me even more aware of those who suffer.

Our experience redefined me. It increased my faith and it grew me in ways I might not have grown otherwise. And it made me vow to never, ever walk by someone who may be suffering without uttering a word. Remaining silent is the easy way, but it’s not God’s intention.  

As Christians, we are called to a higher purpose. We are to offer hope, to stretch ourselves, to shrug off our complacency when the temptation to do otherwise is so great. And we are to imitate Christ’s humility (as the apostle Paul revealed in Philippians 2:3-4) on a daily basis–even when it’s not comfortable, fair, or worthwhile.)

I was particularly burdened today to write this, as I always try to write what’s on my heart. If you are suffering or hurting today, please know my prayers are with you!

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A question for you to think about…Do you consider writing to be your ministry?