How easy it is to forget the former pain.
When I see a woman struggling under the addiction
and/or abuse of her husband, I remember how it is to feel stuck, trapped in a
toxic relationship. The endless cycle: the wild swing of emotions from hope to
desperation, followed by the emotional numbing to cope with the present,
followed by the next wild swing, followed by the numbing, and so on. The
terrible burden of responsibility and futility.
When I see a woman bludgeoned by the presence of
cancer, terrified for the future and trying so hard to be brave as her world fractures,
my heart goes out to her.
When I see a woman apologizing for her very existence
as she receives chemotherapy, asking the nurse if she is allowed to throw up
and determined not to if the answer is no, I want to tell her that she has
worth.
When I see a woman blindsided by her husband’s betrayal,
I remember the shock and gut punch of pain.
When I see these, I remember a past that seems so
distant that I forget about all who still live within those prisons. I am
humbled, profoundly grateful to be free. Freed by means I have yet to
understand but summed up with these words: God’s grace. I am no special case
deserving special favor, but I am wholly, joyfully indebted to Jesus.
And that he even spared me the horror of cancer. Yes,
this is the third and final go-round with cancer. But somehow, throughout, he
has spared me the horror, a miracle in itself. I don’t have to be strong and battle
against the cancer. I am weak and, as the old saying goes, F.R.O.G. (Fully
Relying On God).
I hardly know what to do when I see suffering. If there
is opportunity, I can offer kindness, encouragement, and a listening ear. And
when there is no opportunity, I can pray.
