If God Loves Us, Why Is There Suffering?
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A year ago we had received the news of my daughter's congenital abnormality via ultrasound. We prayed for a miracle, but we also prayed that if there was no other path for sainthood for ourselves or our daughter, that we'd accept this cross with joy and gratitude. We asked for intercession on our daughter's behalf from everyone we knew and met. Despite this upsetting news, I was always at peace since we're quite experienced cross bearers. My prayer in moments like this is, "Lord, You cannot be outdone in generosity or goodness," not so much as a reassurance, but as a request. Make this good, Lord!
As I held my tiny daughter in my arms for the first time, it was obvious we didn't get our miracle, but through a mother's lens, she was perfect, absolutely perfect! While the initial find in the ultrasound meant she was at risk for a whole slew of life threatening complications, it turned out she just had this one isolated, resolvable problem.
In a way this news was a relief, but I had also prepared to give her back to God, as we had our last child. Giving her up would have been easy compared to subjecting her to torture four days after she was born, before her brain was developmentally mature to develop coping mechanisms. As much as we researched and talked to doctors, nothing prepared us for the actual anguish of watching our baby scream, flinch, and writhe in pain for the first six months of her life.
I had moments of near fainting and getting physically sick from seeing her leg and foot bruised and swollen from manipulation and complications. While three men, including my husband and her doctor, held her down, I saw the Christ child, arms outstretched, feet pinned. As I stroked her tear soaked face, whispering and singing to her, watching it change from red to purple to blue as she gasped for air in between her screams, I thought of our Lady holding her Child's body, bloodied, swollen, and barely recognizable from torture and death.
When my daughter's eyes, filled with tears, terror, and pain, pleaded with mine, I often had to look away. I prayed, "Have you no mercy? Can't you spare her? Can't you just let me take her place instead?" I knew I echoed, "Let this cup pass me by." Surely there is no greater torture for a parent than watching their newborn baby suffer, day after day, week after week, month after month. And my child, in her pure innocence as a newborn, was still not as innocent as Christ. As this profound connection to the Passion unraveled, I grew in greater appreciation, not just for Christ's sacrifice, but for our Lady's sacrifice. She knew no sin, yet suffered the ultimate consequence for it: witnessing torture, humiliation, and eventually death of her only child.
While I would spare any child from this kind of suffering if I could, I knew I could not comprehend God's love and sacrifice the same way had I not been given this drop of Passion to share. It is easy to be distracted in this life by seeing the blessings other people have, and feeling a sense of entitlement when you consider all the good you have done for our Lord, and wonder, why hasn't He blessed us in the same way?
Single, married with or without kids, divorced, widowed, we all experience the same void in this life. The details change, but the story is the same. When you can change your attitude from self-pity to thankfulness for the good you can do for others in your state in life, because of your crosses, not in spite of them, then you have learned to bear your cross with joy.
Let us remember to rejoice in our struggles, for they bring us and others to our knees, allowing us to grow in humility, meekness, love, and compassion through acknowledging our dependence on God.
Those prayers, while they may seem unanswered for the specifics we requested, actually have been answered through a showering of grace, for our daughter, our family, and everyone who meets her. She is a beacon of joy and hope to all who meet her; I have watched the atmosphere of an entire room change with her presence—even in the midst of complete strangers who don't know her story. It's only when people notice the blisters and bruises on her feet that they understand a little of what she continues to suffer. Yet she seems determined to bring Christ's joy to everyone she meets. What's stopping the rest of us from doing the same?
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