I can’t even count how many times I’ve cried out to Jesus with this question. It takes so much to bring me to that breaking point, trying day by day to just bear the pain but my pain threshold can only take so much before I completely fall apart—asking, “Why, God? Why me?” Pleading to “Make it stop, I will do whatever you want Lord just deliver me from this pain”
I feel ashamed to admit it, because I want to be that Christian who “Walks by Faith” the one who doesn’t seem to doubt the plan, the Christian who suffers well. But, truthfully there have been so many moments dealing with symptoms, drs not knowing what’s wrong, people not understanding the severity of my illness, I’ve been so overwhelmed, so broken, that I’ve found myself questioning my very existence.
Wrestling with God. Second guessing his presence.
Wondering, “Why am I even here if I’m just going to be sick all the time?”
There have been moments where I’ve cried out in fear, frustration… anger. Demanding that He leave me alone. Saying, “Go pick on someone else—someone who deserves this!”
Telling God how unfair this all feels. The whole “There are bad people in this world, I can actually give you some names because it seems everything is going good for them”
WHY IS IT ALWAYS ME?
And in my weakness, in my exhaustion and pain, I fail to think about how unfair that day was at Calvary.
I wasn’t even thinking about how the suffering meant for Barabbas was willingly taken on by Jesus instead.
Just like a young child throwing a tantrum.
My younger brother Joey used to have the kind of tantrums that felt so big in the moment. Like most people, he did not respond well to being disciplined.
Whenever he got upset, he would dramatically declare that he was “moving away and never coming back.” He’d grab a bag, pack up his little belongings, and march out the door like he had some type of family already waiting for him.
My mom and I would peek out his bedroom window and see this little eruption all unfold, trying to stay serious as we would watch this child stomp so confidently up the street to his “new parents” who according to him, would never tell him NO.
And without fail, about 10 minutes later… there he was. Reluctantly, walking back home.
We would get the biggest laugh out of that.
He’d go straight to his room, close the door, and sit in his feelings for a while. But something beautiful always happened next. In his own time, he would calm down. He would come to a realization—that maybe he had overreacted… that the discipline came from love and for HIS own good. No matter if he left for 10 minutes or 10 years, no matter how much he may say things he does not mean, his family was always there ready and willing to start again. There’s no place like home right?
A little while later, a note would slip under the door. An apology.
No big speech. No long explanation. Just a simple, honest “I’m sorry.”
Even now, as a grown man(you will always be 10 to me) he definitely has his moments, but he does not run up the street but instead faces it and takes accountability. That same pattern that was there as child is also still in him the reflection, the humility, the return.
I’m so proud of him.
It reminds me of something deeper. How often do I do the same thing with God?
get overwhelmed with symptoms. I convince myself I can’t handle it anymore, so I start packing up my little backpack.
One thing I’ve learned about the enemy—he doesn’t wait. The moment he senses even the smallest crack of doubt, he swoops in and consumes whatever peace I was still holding onto. He twists it into questions… into fear.
He urges me to leave, walks me right up to the door—and he’s so convincing, so calculated, he even opens it for me. If I didn’t know any better I’d think he was actually helping me.
And the moment I step out, he slams it shut and locks it behind me.
He guides me as I walk down the street… but then something starts to feel off.
And he knows it.
Now the questions begin.
“If Jesus really loved you he wouldn’t let you suffer!”
“What kind of God allows this?”
As I’m hesitantly going up the street looking for relief anywhere I can find it, I feel Jesus is watching me from the bedroom window nudging me with that sweet voice, that’s when I realize the nudge is the Holy Spirit gently whispering for me to comeback to him. I whip around and sprint back home to my Father. I then get the vision of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane “Jesus was deeply troubled and distressed” Mark 14:33
“He fell to the ground, He prayed if it were possible that the awful hour awaiting him would pass by. ABBA Father! Jesus cried out. Everything is possible for you but please take this cup of suffering away from me. Yet, I want your will to be done, not mine” Mark 14 35-36
WOW! I am now humbled and filled with such emotions that even THE SAVIOR OF THE WORLD, THE KING OF KINGS, THE ALPHA AND OMEGA, OUR ONE TRUE GOD who created ME and this entire universe was ALSO SCARED OF SUFFERING!!!! Let that sink in for a moment.
In his most agonizing moment he asked the Father if there was another way. Not because he lacked faith(which I always attributed my fear to) but because of the weight of his suffering that was to come. That is why the Father sent him to feel every single human emotion so whenever we go to him HE KNOWS what it’s like. He was scared but he stayed anyways. NOT MY WILL BUT YOURS.
If He endured suffering, not by escaping it but by surrendering through it… why do I fight mine so hard?
So I slipped my apology note under the door.
It doesn’t matter how much time has passed or what sin we’ve committed. As long as we keep slipping those notes under the door, reaching, longing, trying again the next day…
just like home was always waiting for Joey—grace, and Jesus, are always waiting for us.
Every single time. No questions asked.
Strength from Thorns 