A few weeks ago a beloved friend posted this to his Facebook page- and I'll admit, it's not left my mind since. I've thought so much on this I sent it to another friend- much smarter, much more self intuited then me- to get his take on it. His response was perfectly beautiful, yet I could not quite pinpoint WHY this would not leave me.
I journaled some on it, looked deeper into the thoughts of various scholars, including Biblical ones, as to their take on suffering. The why, the meaning, the processing. Seriously powerful reading and information.
My life has embodied suffering. I don't mean falling down and scraping my knee- I mean deep, open wound, harrowing suffering. My childhood memories aren't of laughter, stories, snuggling, safety. They are, rather, detailed remembrances of the death of my baby brother- whom I found dead in his crib; the anger, violence, fear of my parents splitting up, screaming vulgarities at one another, while us children sat in between crying.
Two incidents that forever changed me and the course of my life also happened at this time- I believe I was four, maybe five. When my father left, we- my two sisters, brother, and pregnant mother- had nothing. We lived in poverty- food stamps, welfare, raggedy hand-me-down clothes. For a period of time, we also lived without electricity- we simply did not have the money to pay the bill. We would boil water on the gas stove, mix it with the cold tap water, and we would all bathe in the same water. We lived by candles and oil lamps- I can still smell them :). I did not understand everything at that time, but I remember a constant feeling of shame at school. And my mother trying to hold it all together...But one day, we arrived home, and the fort porch light was on. The. Light. Was. On. Electricity had returned. Who had paid the bill? Not us, we still could barely have food on the table. It was our community. They saw the great need, without asking or pausing for second thoughts, they came together to help our family. It's never left me. To this very day, my heart grows full and overflows to tears at the gesture. At that tender age, I understood the critical nature of community, of serving, of being selfless and unconditional when it came to those in need.
The second incident is not as sweet. Actually, it's scary, ugly, unsettling. Suffering, by it's ver nature, is relentless and unwavering. The strongest person placed under the weight of unrelenting suffering will seek a means- any means- to have a break, to not feel it, to escape- if only for a brief period of time. I still don't fully appreciate how my mother endured for as long as she did. But one night, she needed to stop feeling for a bit. So she drank- a lot. It was so scary, so sad, so full of defeat and pain. A friend cam ever to help- again, community not failing. We all made it through, the next day was filled with emotional conflicts nonstop.
Shortly after this, Jeremiah,my baby brother, passed away. Unimaginable suffering- still difficult to comprehend.
And the suffering did not stop, or seemingly ease up, from there. I've survived emotional, physical, psychological, sexual, abuse and manipulation. I was brutally raped, held hostage in his home for nearly nine hours as he violated every piece of my body- my middle son is the result, incredible child. I developed eating disorders, abused alcohol, used-and severely hurt-many men, I became overly competitive and perfectionistic, I was a gross control freak, I lived my life my way and readily ignored anyone who tried to invest in me. I was lonely, miserable, living in fear and shame- and said in my suffering because I believed I deserved it.
Dichotomously, I also volunteered and served nonstop, too. The lessons of old never left me, and i was adamant about being engaged in community, giving all I possibly could, letting others know they were valued and worth investing in. Confusing.
I prayed for so long, to a God I was certain had left me behind, to help me change, to understand why i was acting this way, to- if there was ANY way possible- let me get paid to volunteer. It was a long journey to answers and understanding- but that journey taught me the beauty of suffering.
It sounds farcical, doesn't it? Beauty and wonder in being torn apart in all manners?? But, that's what happened. I ssssllllooooowwwwly- slightly slower than snails pace- began making changes, but seeking to understand the WHY of the behavior. I started getting involved at church, in groups, telling my story. The telling of my story began a seismic, all encompassing shift.
I began to understand that suffering opens doors to purpose, to deeper community, to freedom from all the crap. The walls I had solidified and reinforced began to come down, I began to embrace the childhood I had lost, the unwanted acts of sex and violence that I had been forced into, I had my eyes opened to the fact that I could change the legacy of my children- I could break patterns, I could show them a different life, better outcomes.
I fell in love with the beauty of suffering because it led me to the person who I was created to be. And I love this girl.
Suffering is snot of God, but it's often who we blame. Nothing the happened to me was an act of God, they were all acts of broken humans living in a fallen world. At my weakest, I was in the darkest pit of despair, depression, self loathing, bitterness I'd ever encountered- it was after the birth of my middle son. I was gathering laundry, the baby had finally fallen asleep, I went to step down tot he basement to start yet another load of clothes- and I fell. From the tip-top all the way down- and I lost my shit. I was ugly crying, cussing God out, saying vulgar things I'd never say to another human, all the while surrounded by poopy baby clothes. And I sat there for a bit just crying, it was all I could do. I didn't want to do it anymore. I was done doing everything alone all the time- caring for two young boys. I was done. Kaput. Defeated. As i got still, preparing to pick up the mess and continue on, a voice inside said "remember this exact moment." It made no sense, and to be frank, I out loud replied "fuck you."
But it was that moment, the moment where all my guards were down, I knew I had no control, I was exactly myself- not pretending to be anyone else because I was alone. The moment I let everything go and got totally real with myself, my emotions, with God, with life, that I embraced every part of my story, my journey, my suffering, my hurts, my disappointment, shame, and fear.
My true community appeared, those who were unhealthy fell away. I began to figure out who I was and what my purpose, intentions, ID in Christ, my actual self was. Tings began to make more sense as I began to listen and understand the WHY of pain.
I was invited to share my story in many forums, I began to help change the lives of women who had endured so much and had lost hope. I began to seek mentors and others began to seek me. Redemption. Beauty.
Here's the thing: we ALL encounter pain and suffering. It's not if, but when. And what I've learned, what I continue to learn, what I base the mission of my nonprofits on is this- pain and suffering are transformative tools used to go into this world and help others. And that's the beauty.
Glennon Doyle Melton says this: ..."run toward your pain, let it be your fuel"..."the warrior knows that heartbreak is the map that will lead to purpose and tribe." (my paraphrasing).
Wondrous suffering, indeed.
