The Reality of Pain

My heart is full of so much sadness tonight.

Ben can't climb the steps anymore. He can't pull himself up. His legs help him walk short distances, provided there aren't any small toys in the way that might make him stumble.

I've been so anxious for the nice weather. My boys never turn down an opportunity to be out in the backyard. But today, when we got some sunshine, he was too tired to join his brother in looking for bugs. He didn't even have energy to join his sister while she painted at the kitchen table.

So much sadness.

I can usually hold back the tears during the day. Stifle them until the evening when they're all tucked away in bed. Today, though, I couldn't.

I sat with Ben on the couch for much of the day, my legs pinned beneath his body, which awkwardly needed my help in adjusting itself to make him comfortable. And I went through a dozen tissues, silently weeping and blowing my nose, completely undetected by my little meatball.

My baby.

But scrolling through my Facebook newsfeed, I saw two different posts about other families going through tragedies. In both scenarios, there were cancer-stricken fathers whose doctors gave them months to live. As a gift to their unmarried daughters, they opted to walk them down the aisle - years ahead of time - so that they could be there to offer their blessing. Just beautiful.

Then I think about Jim Kelly. A Buffalo spiritual and football icon, whose cancer recently returned with a vengeance. His family has endured so much pain throughout the last few years. And still, they've held onto their faith. They lost their young son Hunter from a rare disease several years ago and now they are walking down the all-too-familiar road of pain since Jim's cancer returned. Erin and Camryn are praying for healing for their dad. But they are also facing the reality that he might not make it to either of their weddings on this side of heaven.

These stories just break my heart. I cannot even imagine the agony of watching your father or your husband go through this kind of pain. Unfathomable.

I was telling Andy about these stories as they popped into my newsfeed tonight. We cried about the reality of where we are with our own son. How scared we are of things to come. But I told Andy, "We're not the only ones suffering."

So many people have suffered worse things than us. So many people have been asked to walk down roads they would have rathered not go. So many people continue to hurt because of unimaginable pain. So many people are still hurting today.

It doesn't make me feel good to know that other people hurt. It doesn't make me feel better to know that we're the only ones that suffer. But it does make me realize just how temporary this life really is.

Being human means feeling pain. Enduring hardship. Feeling sorrow. Sadly, it's just a part of life. We've got a little snake and a couple named Adam and Eve to thank for sin's entrance into the world.

But God is good. After Adam and Eve bit that apple, disobeying the only command He had given them, He didn't throw up His hands and say, "Oh, well. There goes humanity. I tried." Instead, He had compassion. It hurt Him to have to send His best creation out of the beautiful garden. He offered them another chance. But this time, they had to live with the consequences of their sin.

God never said we'd have it easy. Especially as Christ-followers. In fact, He guaranteed that it would be tough.

"In this world you will have trouble.

But take heart! I have overcome the world."

John 16:33

I love the second part of that verse. God didn't doom us to a life alone with sin and throw His arms up in disgust and say, "Well, I tried." Instead, He just did a tiny little thing like, oh, say, overcame the world!

I don't know about you, but I don't know too many people who were victorious over death, coming back to life three days after He died, just as He had said He would. Okay, I only knew One.

God didn't create cancer. He didn't invent diseases. He is a God of life. He creates life, not destroys it. When I cry, I truly believe that He is weeping with me. When I attack Him with my endless list of questions 'why' He invites me to sit next to Him, apologizing that I have to walk this road.

For Christians, we know that death is not the final answer. Death is not the end. It is the beginning of our new life, the life that will never end.

Heaven is the promise of life eternal. Where there is no sickness. No sadness. No tears. No cancer. Where we will live in the presence of our God. Forever and forever.

It's times like these, scrolling through my newsfeed, that I realize just how temporal our lives are. Meaningless. Nothing else even matters. I need to keep my tear-stained eyes focused on the goal. Eternal life for me, my husband, and my kids, where there is no pain. No tears.

And as much as my head wishes I would get to see heaven years and years before any of my kids, my heart says, "You are good, God. Hold us close. And please please please don't let us go."