“But what if my pain is not caused by an evil action?” you may ask.
I wish it wasn’t true, but I know that many of my Dear Readers have struggles that are not caused by their own actions, nor are they caused by anyone else. Everyone has a cross to bear, and everyone has to overcome adversity to become to the person they were made to be.
Thus we return to the question the child asked their parents.
“Why?”
Many of us are dealing with a hardship that we did not cause, nor could we have predicted. We try to live our best lives, and we try to be someone who is worthy of the love of God. We try to fix aspects of our lives that we believe are taking us away from what we truly want. We do everything, but we are still in pain.
And after we have done all we can, we end up staring at the ceiling late at night, asking the same question…
Why?
Let us take another example that is a little removed.
Imagine a boy, a tad older, riding a bike. He has mastered pedaling, and he’s faster than anyone else on the playground. However, he still has training wheels on his bike. One day, his parents walked up, screwdriver in hand, and they said that it is time to take the training wheels off.
The boy is thrilled by the challenge at first. He joyfully watches as his parents remove the screws and take the training wheels away. Then, with unbridled confidence, he gets on the bike and attempts to ride like he used to.
Two seconds later, he crashes.
After numerous attempts, some more successful than others, the boy ends up on the ground in tears. He used to be incredible on the bike. They used to be the best on the playground. Now he is on the ground covered with cuts and bruises.
Why would my parents take my training wheels? he wonders.
If my parents love me, then why would they let me get hurt?
This question is not very different from a question that many of us wonder regularly, myself included. If there is an all-powerful, all-loving God in our world, then why would we suffer? More importantly, if we are living as well as we can, if we are living a holy life, then why would we experience suffering and heartache and failure?
Why do bad things happen to good people?
If you have spent an extended period of time with a young child, you would hear one constant question.
Why?
Children ask why for many reasons. Some are just trying to get something. Some are trying to make something work. Some are simply asking to ask. Regardless of their initial intent, all children ask “why?” for one single purpose: to understand the world around them.
As I wrote last week, we are all children of God with the Blessed Mother as our mother in Heaven. Much like a young child, we constantly ask why. Even if we do not experience spirituality in the traditional sense, there is something in each human being that calls us to understand the world around us.
How do I know this?
Because in science most of us are non-believers, and yet we still ask “why?”
“After everything I had
And after everything I’ve lost
Lord, I know this much is true,
I’m still drawn to You.”
~Drawn to You, Audrey Assad
Now what does a parent often say in response to the incessant why’s of their children?
At first they will indulge the child with small answers that the child can understand. After a while, the child reaches points that they cannot understand. At this point, the parent will look in to their child’s eyes with a firm yet tender gaze and give the answer that we all hated to receive as children:
“Because.”
My Dear Reader, I cannot give an answer to why suffering exists at all. I cannot explain why good people experience heartache in a way that can bring peace to anyone. I’m not God, nor would I ever want to be. However, I would like to share some insight from our original example, and I will expand upon it next week.
Imagine a little girl who failed to ride her bike without training wheels. She stepped away from the bike in frustration. Then, as she watches the older kids fly by on their training-wheel-free bikes, she decides to try again. She is slightly afraid, but she wants to be able to ride her bike again.
She gets on the bike. Again, she falls….many times. So many times that she starts to wonder why they even tried to ride their bike in the first place.
With tears in her eyes, the girl looks at her parents, just as she did when she fell off the bed years ago.
Just as they did when the little girl fell off the bed, the parents rush to their child. They help her on to the bike, and they hold on to her as she starts to pedal. Even though she is slightly afraid of failing, she knows that she will not get hurt as long as her parents are holding on to her. Then, as she gains confidence, her parents step away.
Why did you leave me? she screams.
Because you can ride your bike! they call back
The girl looks at her feet. She can ride the bike! She can ride, just like she used to. In fact, she is riding even faster than she used to be able to ride. So fast in fact, that she does not know how to stop.
She does not want to stop.
A faithful life is a lot like riding a bike. When we first come to faith, we are given a sort of training wheels. There is joy everywhere, and we see God in so many things. Our hearts grow in love at a rate we never expected. It seems like nothing can bring us down.
Then there comes a time when our training wheels are taken away. The consolations that brought us to praise are suddenly taken away, and we crash. In an attempt to return to what we once knew, we try to live our faith like we used to. We say the same prayers, we perform the same acts of charity, we attend the same services, we read the same Bible passages.
And all that comes in the silence of God.
“Why?” we ask.
“Because,” the silence says.
How are we supposed to respond? What are we supposed to do when our joy is stolen from us by this exile? My Dear Readers, you have already done this great act. When you were a little child, you cried up to your parents and asked them to help you.
This time, however, you have to ask them to help you do something new.
Just as the little girl needed her parents to teach her how to ride without training wheels, we need to accept that our Heavenly Parents will help us pedal through this new life.
“The aching may remain, but the breaking does not
in the holy, lonesome echo in the silence of God.”
~The Silence of God, Andrew Peterson
Now many of my Dear Readers may be curious as to how this is even possible. Jesus and Mary do not tell us why we are suffering, nor do they seem to be able to explain why we cannot stay in the consolations we loved so much. Unlike the parents watching their child, it seems as if our Heavenly Parents are too far away to help us. After all, if we cannot even hear from God, then how could we possibly ask Him and His Mother to help us?
Just ask Him.
Just ask His Mother.
They may not be able to answer in a way that you can see immediately, but they will send souls who can help you live the life you were called to live. Slowly, almost too slowly for you to notice, other souls will come in to your life and quietly give little answers to the big questions in your heart.
“Not crying out, not shouting,
not making his voice heard in the street.
A bruised reed he shall not break,
and a smoldering wick he shall not quench,
Until he establishes justice on the earth”
~Isaiah 42:2-3
Then, just like the little girl on the bike, you will discover that you can in fact live this new life. Not only that, but it is better than anything you could have ever imagined.
It happened to me.
There was a time when I was perfectly happy in my faith life. It was my defining feature, and it brought great joy to my life. Then I was called to love souls in a new way, and I was called to do so in a place where my faith was not only rejected, but hated. Life suddenly became a battlefield, and my faith simulataneously broke me and strengthened me.
I could not hear my Jesus anymore.
I could only hear Him when I was loving the souls who would rather Jesus never existed. I could only hear Him in prayers for the souls that hated me. I could only hear Him when I was completely alone, cast out for being the person I believed God made me to be.
My heart broke, and I performed numerous Novenas and Devotionals in a desperate attempt to console myself. I had asked Mary to perform miracles for others, but I did not ask her to help me. I had talked to Jesus every day years, but I did not ask Him to save me from my suffering.
Then I gave up trying for Lent.
I just let them love me.
You would think that at that point it all became easier. That was far from the case. In fact, it was in the beginning of Lent up to the very middle that I was told that being a Christian made me a poor scientist and I was told that the Catholic Church would some day become ruins. They said that my entire life as a Catholic Scientist and Hopeful Romantic was a joke. People hated me for being kind to the more degenerate individuals in my life, and I was outcasted for loving them.
It broke me.
However, as this happened, little souls came in to my life and held me as I struggled. They did not do anything big or special. They did not change their lives other than let the scared little girl come in.
They offered up prayers for me in Mass. They talked to me about the love of Jesus. They came, in floods and in waves, just to remind me that I belonged in the life that Jesus gave me. Joseph’s, Mary’s, Simon’s, Peter’s, Martha’s…all beautifully made for love.
And I became stronger than ever before.
Sometimes the silence is not the problem. It is our unwillingness to enter in to the silence that breaks us. However, once we accept that there will be hardships, once we pick up our crosses, Jesus and Mary will help us. They will hold us as we walk, and they will bring other souls to help us through our hardest days.
We just have to ask.
Be not afraid, Jesus and Mary are here to carry you Home.
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