He was eating a waffle. Just sitting across the café table from me, all gangly arms and legs, eating a waffle that he’d covered in maple syrup. He’s just turned ten, and I’m increasingly aware of the mere three inches between our heights. I picked at my salad, trying to decide if a cup of coffee might soothe the pounding in my temples. The caffeine wouldn’t keep me up at night any more than the swirl of medical information I’d just absorbed. I listened to my son’s animated chatter about summer break and basketball, and then he stopped short and looked me in the eye and said, “Mom, I don’t want to do this.” I blinked hard and fast, not wanting him to see my tears. I didn’t want him to have to do it either.
It could be much worse. I’ve watched friends parent their children through cancer and chronic illnesses. My son is healthy in the ways that matter the most. But the future holds at least a decade of incredibly restrictive treatments that will further isolate an already timid child. He’s not in pain now, but he might be in the future.
My son’s words hung in the air for a moment too long. We’d been with doctors and specialists for hours. You’re the mom, I reminded myself. Jesus, help me be strong for my son. I offered some calming words while trying not to picture what the next ten years might look like. He’ll be twenty by then. I swallowed hard. He asked for a storytelling podcast on the two-hour trip home, and with the children’s hospital in our rear view mirror, we distracted ourselves with someone else’s imagination.
Hours later I allowed myself to buckle beneath the pressure of a brave face and a long uphill climb. I hid in the bathroom and cried. As much as I wanted to stay home, I knew I needed to drag myself to our mid-week church meeting that evening. I wept and shared the day’s news because I needed someone else to lift a corner of this burden so it’s not so heavy. It is one thing trust the Lord with your own suffering. I get that. I’ve been there more than once. I have a t-shirt. But it is an excruciating exercise of faith to trust the Lord with your child’s suffering.
It is one thing to trust the Lord with your own suffering. But it is an excruciating exercise of faith to trust Him with your child’s suffering. Share on XI don’t want hard things for my kids. I want them to be happy and well-adjusted. I want them to know the sweetness of God’s goodness and the faithfulness of His presence. I want to protect them from evil and suffering and sadness. Basically, I want them to trust God like their life depends on it without their life actually depending on it. But I know in looking back on my own years of physical and emotional suffering that that’s not really an expectation I can logically hold on to. It is the hard stuff that teaches us about God’s faithfulness. It’s down in the valley of the shadow when we know that He is with us. We forget we need Him in the green pastures by the still waters. We are more inclined to call for Him when we’re scared and it’s dark and the road is uphill all the way.
“…we know that affliction produces endurance…” (Rom. 5:3)
The church prayed for us at the end of that long day of doctors and waffles and concern. They prayed for discernment, for more options, for wise parenting that comforts our son. I thought of Moses when his arms got tired. This is why you share your joys and your sorrows with the body of Christ: so your arms don’t get tired. When I tucked my son into bed that night, he whispered his fear into the dark. “Mom, I just want my old life back.”
His words knifed an actual pain in my chest. I felt it throb right next to my aorta. I curled up next to him and cupped my hand around his cheek so he’d look me in the eye. “This is hard stuff. No doubt about it, God is having you walk a hard road.” I paused. It would be a hard road for an adult, let alone a ten-year-old.
“Did you know that when your dad and I got married, we had a really hard road to walk, too? A doctor told me something was wrong with my body. She told me it was called infertility. It meant I couldn’t be a mom. I didn’t like it. I didn’t want to have it. I just wanted my old life back. I was sad for a long time. But then one day, years later, your dad and I adopted you. And we love you so much. If I had gotten my old life back, I wouldn’t have you. In my really sad days, God was being good to me. He was teaching me to trust Him. So maybe, what we do is look for the ways God is being good to you with all this hard stuff. He’s really good at using our sadness for good because He loves us. Nobody can do that like God can.”
A small smile. “Okay, Mom.” He turned over to go to sleep.
“…endurance produces proven character…” (Rom 5:4)
I slipped from his room and closed the door quietly. I would trade places with him in an instant. I feel one-hundred percent out of control. Though I’ve spent the days since researching treatment options and second opinions, there is little I can do to stifle the blow of suffering my son will feel.
“..and proven character produces hope.” (Rom. 5:4)
And this is where I find myself staring at the ceiling in the middle of the night wondering if God is God enough to love my son through his suffering.
I know that He is.
How do I know? Well, to quote the most repeated song of my childhood, the Bible tells me so. If I’ve learned anything about suffering in Scripture over the past few years, it’s that God can use it to draw us close to Him. In James 1, Jesus’ brother tells us that maturity in Christ comes through the perseverance born of trials. You can’t really learn perseverance when life is easy and you don’t need to persevere. No, perseverance is learned in the refining fire of suffering, and as Peter says in his first epistle, the perseverance we learn in hardship brings praise, honor, and glory to Christ (1:7). Hope must be anchored in the grace of Christ, of His work for us at the cross—not in trouble-free lives marked by comfort or ease. Hope that is anchored in Christ doesn’t disappoint because it cannot be plucked from our hands the way that health, possessions, normalcy, and relationships can. Hope in Christ is eternally secure.
Hope that is anchored in Christ doesn’t disappoint because it cannot be plucked from our hands the way that health, possessions, normalcy, and relationships can. Share on X“This hope will not disappoint us because God’s love has been poured out in our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us.” (Rom. 5:5)
My son is a new believer in Jesus. We’ve taught him the gospel from infancy, but the blooming of general belief into real, fruit-bearing faith has been beautiful to behold. While he is learning to follow Jesus, we are still learning to follow Jesus when we wish we could have our old life back.
In the same way that we have walked through suffering of our own, we are trying to look for the ways God is being good to us. It’s difficult to look into the eyes of a child and explain why certain things happen when we don’t know the answers ourselves. But I believe that looking for the ways God is being good to us in suffering will ultimately point us to the cross where He was good to us in ways we cannot fully comprehend. At the bottom of all of this is the truth that God loves my son more than I do. He is the One who hung the stars in place and planned to send Jesus to carry our sins and our sorrows before He even put those stars in place. He has promised us that “affliction produces endurance, endurance produces proven character, and proven character produces hope. This hope will not disappoint us because God’s love has been poured out in our hearts through the Holy Sprit who was given to us” (Rom. 5:3-5).
He is trustworthy when it comes to your own suffering. And He’s trustworthy when it comes to your child’s suffering. It might be hard to see His goodness when your child hurts, but your child will learn to trust Jesus by watching you learn to trust Jesus. While He may not give us the physical healing we desire for our kids, His hope does not disappoint. Ever. And really, that’s the hope we want for our children, right?
Photo by Michał Parzuchowski on Unsplash
Glenna Marshall is married to her pastor, William, and lives in rural Southeast Missouri where she tries and fails to keep up with her two energetic sons. She is the author of The Promise is His Presence (P&R) and Everyday Faithfulness (Crossway), and Memorizing Scripture (Moody). Connect with her on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter.
ThieuTiet says
So beautiful and so true, a great reminder in good time of comfort AND not so good time of confusion. Thank you for sharing.
May God continue to strengthen your son’s hope, which is anchored in Christ, while watching your growing hope through suffering <3
Kendra G. Britez says
You are right when you say it is an exercise of faith to watch our children suffer. Although we might wish for the clouds to subside and the sun to emerge, we are not the ones who control the weather. In the same way, waves of suffering come upon our loved ones. In these times, our hearts are held out for raw display. As difficult as they are, these are the moments that show our faith in Christ most authentically.
I wouldn’t be surprised if your responses of trust in God today be the stones of encouragement your son carries with him tomorrow.
Jojo Baldo says
Amen. Thank you for the encouragement, through your courage to face all these… The anchorage of our faith is secure. Christ is immovable. Be sustained by Jesus forever.