I know it was her kind way of saying that somehow, in some way, I would be rewarded, or perhaps it would be better to say “compensated,” for all the suffering I’ve experienced and am experiencing in life. While I appreciated her sincere effort, I wanted to tell her that if God would like to rewind the last six years and undo my best friend’s suicide, my mom’s suicide, my own descent into despair, and now my dad’s rapid deterioration due to Alzheimer’s disease and depression, God could gladly keep His damn heavenly bling - every pearl, ruby, onyx, and diamond I had “earned.”
Is that sacrilegious, blasphemous? Probably. It’s honest though.
When complaining about this recent encounter to my sister, surprisingly she frowned disapprovingly at my cynicism. She stated that our present suffering is nothing compared to the suffering Christ endured, bleeding and dying on the cross to save us from our sins. Annoyed, I wanted to counter with some snarky response about how at least Mary was present when her son was dying. At least Jesus had His mom until the very end! However, before I could get snippy, I immediately recalled that most of Christ’s best friends took off running for the hills when Christ found Himself accused. Worse, even God, Christ’s Daddy, completely abandoned Him at the end of His human life when He needed his Dad most. I guess that’s about as tragic as life can get. My sister had effectually silenced me. No, I’ve got nothing on Christ.
And God knows my suffering is minuscule compared to others in the world, my father’s own suffering for one. I have suffered mostly by association which pales in comparison to the torture my father is enduring in being fully aware that day after day a few more fuses in his brain blow, and another seemingly easy, mundane activity, like remembering how to swallow, is erased from his mind. It’s one thing to lose your wife; to also lose your mind, well, that’s suffering. How my dad will manage to hold up his crown will be a glorious sight to see.
I’m not normally a pessimistic, jaded person. In fact, I’m usually quite the opposite, perhaps to a fault. Yes, occasionally I’ve been that irritating Facebook friend who posted Jeremiah 29:11 on my wall in hopes of encouraging myself as well as others. And honestly, for the most part over the past six years, I’ve leaned heavily on my faith and securely wrapped myself in Christ’s embrace in order to fall asleep planning on seeing life through to another day. It’s just that I’m now finding myself at that almost breaking point. A willow can dance and sway in the midst of a storm, but, like the broken weeping willow in my parents’ backyard, well, some ice storms just cannot be survived without significant injury.
So, here I sit exploring crowns and suffering, theodicy and redemption, and I am not sure what to do with all of it other than lament. For now, I supposed I must just wear this confusion, drape myself in these authentic feelings of discontent and discouragement, and articulate, albeit incoherently, the struggles and sufferings of today.
It is just only for today.
