This piece is from the Young Writer’s Cohort. They were asked to write about a season of suffering or a really difficult trial and share what they learned through it.
My Cry to the Lord
January 31st, 2024 – Three months after my 2nd brain surgery:
Oh Father in Heaven, it’s another one of my monthly hospital visits — this time an MRI to check if my brain tumor has returned. The MRI is cold, cramped, and loud, but I’ve come to appreciate this particular experience of being confined. The overstimulation within the machine helps take my mind off the pain lingering in my body.
Lord, thank you for the temporary relief, but I need to ask you, “When will the pain end?” The past 6 years certainly have been quite painful. You’ve marked my college years with two brain tumors, two operations, and countless hours of physical suffering.
You’ve allowed me to experience sleepless nights marked with incessant itchiness and prolonged days marked by fatigue. Is this how Job felt? Am I one of your servants that you’ve allowed Satan to torture? You’ve wiped my dreams of becoming a healthy, strong individual. You must know I desire to serve in Church and be with your people, but how can I even do so when I’m too tired to get out of bed?
Please hear my agonizing heart, Oh Lord. Hear my prayer — When will the pain end?
Wrestling with Questions
The rattling sounds of the MRI helps me imagine machine guns shooting repeatedly at a target. Bullet after bullet 一 a target will endure the offense until it can endure no more. Sometimes, O Lord, I feel I am your target, and that you’ve been allowing wave after wave of attacks. Instead of having me endure this pain, why haven’t you let me go yet?
As you hang the stars in the night sky, another morning comes where I have to endure. You deliver me minutes of peace when I wake up, only to let dull pain penetrate my body moments after. Isn’t it cruel to give glimmers of hope and completely turn on it? Is that consistent with your goodness? How else will you exercise your great power over me, Oh Lord?
Romans 8:28 is dear to my heart: “And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good.” But how can this be good? What good is the “good” that you have in store if it may never come in my lifetime? Or what about Romans 8:1, “There is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus”? How can I refute that statement? I am saved, but that’s it. I am a child of God, and therefore, I am resigned to suffer like this for the rest of my life?
Responding in Painful Faith
Oh Lord, I’m tired of asking questions. I don’t want to care anymore. I just want to isolate myself from You and the world. Isolating protects my wounds from further painful counsel, like “God will never put more on you than you can handle”. Isolating lets me self-pity in my thoughts, fantasizing a life where I’m not burdened by growing medical bills and absolutely unhindered to pursue Gospel opportunities. The more I isolate, the more you seem like an uncaring god, O Lord.
But Lord, every time I utter those words, my heart feels a sense of separation. If I don’t care about you, where do I turn to? The short spurts of pleasure from scrolling on social media? The relentless pursuit of fantasizing about a larger paycheck? I’ve tried all of those but my desires were always left wanting. Instead, a sliver of my heart still clings onto Your providence. Seven years ago, as a lost college freshman, you provided me with genuine hope, freeing me from academic and sexual bondage. Even in my unbelief, You cared for me.
How then, can I not care about you, Oh Lord?
How can I not care about the powerful God who held the Leviathan by a leash, thereby conquering all evil before and for the rest of eternity? How can I not care about the God who orchestrated such an intricate and beautiful human body where even the smallest hormonal imbalance in my body can render very significant health problems? Since the beginning of time, you’ve known in your loving care, about every tumor and jolt of pain I would experience. I take comfort knowing that I am your clay, being molded by a powerful potter.
The more I see your power, the more I see your compassion as well. You’ve made room for your people to cry out to you. I cannot be like a stoic and let my emotions be unheard. But Lord, I’ve learned that you gladly take in my lament because you know the deepest of sorrows. You knew grief when you sent your beloved son Jesus Christ to purchase our redemption and make us free in you.
I’m reminded of His painful words:
My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me;
nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will.
Matthew 26:39
You endured every grueling moment up to the Cross. Therefore, I’ve reckoned that every happy occasion, and every period of pain I have is deeply known by you.
Without you, I indeed am nothing. But with you, I finally see your providence in my pain.
May Your Will be Done, Not Mine
Over the past few months, I’ve learned how you’ve been using my weakness to glorify your name. Church members have written heartfelt letters about how my story has challenged their faith. Through the unwavering support and care packages from the church family, my own family has finally begun to see glimpses of the unity and love of your church, O Lord. Even in the secular workplace, you’ve given me the opportunity to share that even through the worst circumstances, “The Lord is good.”
Therefore, if your plan requires my tumor to return, may Your will be done. If I am to live a life of pain, may my suffering be used for Your glory. I will not stop delighting in You. I will not stop following You. I will keep believing that your grace is sufficient for my soul. Declaring these statements hurts, but I can’t help but smile at the tears welling in my eyes. Is this true joy, O Lord, to finally taste and see that you are Good?
As my MRI ends, a future of uncertainty lies before me. However, I pray to you Lord that you may equip me with a stronger faith. Help me be faithful to love you and your people regardless of how you mold my life. Even when fatigue burdens my soul, help me run towards the prize of knowing you. Help me be like your glorious servant Job, that at the end of the day, I can also say, “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return. The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.”
Photo Credit: Marcelo Leal