Skip to main content

The Melody of Suffering

Suffering is no stranger to us.

There have been times where I have lulled myself into a false sense of security and I have thought it may have left us. That its grasp weakened and we were able to slip away. 
But it has not. Suffering walks amongst us and stays with us faithfully. Clinging to us as if we are it's life force. As if our very weakening gives it strength. 

So, no, suffering is no stranger to us. 

That being said, I would also say that suffering has been a far greater teacher to us than joy has ever been.

Suffering hurts. It's a part of our lives, and it hurts. Nobody likes suffering. Who enjoys to have our worldly flesh chiseled away as we are shaped into a more Christ-like being?

But, suffering IS shaping us. It has a godly purpose that , long ago, was written by a perfect composer. 

God has written a beautiful melody of joy and suffering that He sings to us in this broken world. Suffering is intertwined with joy, with thankfulness, and with purpose. We must seek the beauty in the suffering and thank the Lord for it. We must thank Him, even when that beauty is hidden from us. 

God is constant, and never changing. We must trust in the truth of who He is and trust that His plan is truly perfect and for our good. 

When suffering's melody seems to be the anthem of our hearts we must trust. 

We must forgive offenders, thank God for the circumstance, ask how we can serve Him, and trust. 

There has never been a more passionate love song than the one the Lord sings with the lyrics of suffering.  




Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Adoption Hurts

  "Is adopting her harder than you thought it would be?"      I think, when I weighed the options back in 2021, before I brought my 12 year old daughter home, I knew how hard it could be. I accepted that it could be brutal. But, honestly, I hoped it wouldn't be. I hoped maybe, just maybe, trauma hadn't sunk deep into her bones and colored everything she did.  Some people may have different perceptions on how prepared I was, since I did jump into it pretty quickly. But I think that I did acknowledge, and accept, how hard it could be. But the reality of life is that there is no real way to know how hard anything actually is until you're living it. Meaning, I knew how hard it could be...but had no idea what that level of hard would actually feel like.  Because it hurts. Raising a broken teenager hurts. It hurts my daughter. It hurts me. It hurts our relationship. It just hurts.  But just because something hurts...does that mean we aren't called to do it?  I t

Through Him

  I was raised by a Christian father who, though far from perfect, loved his family. I had a front row seat to his relationship with my mother and loved being his daughter. Through him I learned that I wanted to find a man like him in all the best ways. I married my first and only boyfriend when I was 19 and spent 13 years growing up with him. Through him I learned that I was a valued (and treasured) partner and that life is unbelievably special when you adventure together...and when you love unconditionally. A doctor met me one time and performed a dozen tests on my body. He was unkind and judgmental and his indifference made me cry in shame. Through him I learned that I might not ever be able to have children. My only son was born after years of infertility. He never took a breath and his death took my entire life by storm. Through him I learned that joy and grief can exist side by side...even when, or especially when, it is hard to find the joy. My father-in-law loved two children w

I’m so sorry, John…

John, I know you’re probably busy living your very best life in Heaven. I can’t imagine that earthly happenings matter much to those who’ve left us.  But I want it to matter anyway. I want to imagine that you can still care.  I’m sorry that I stopped reaching for you in the middle of the night. It was a slow and painful process of retraining my brain and body. After 13 years you just weren’t there anymore. And I had to remind myself over and over and over again. “He’s dead, Katharine. Dead. You’ll never find him when you reach for him anymore…one day you’ll have to just stop reaching”. And one day I did. I can’t remember when it was. When muscle memory and instinct faded away. But suddenly I didn’t have to remind myself anymore…my body finally accepted that you’d never be there anymore.  I’m sorry I got rid of your things. Your books and projects and broken treasures. You had such plans and dreams for all these things in your garage. And I threw them away. I sobbed and yelled at you fo