Yesterday as I was eating lunch in the lounge, a nurse came in looking for Olive. He quickly left disappointed because it was just me that day, and I shared with the older couple next to me that he was dating my daughter: “She’s 21 months old,” I explained. That started a conversation that otherwise may never have happened, especially in the PICU, and I learned how this couple, who already had four grown biological children, had gone on to adopt four more children, all of whom had serious medical conditions. They were there for their 13 year old son, who was getting a hemispherectomy in order to resolve progressively uncontrollable seizures. (Yes, half his brain was removed). The surgery was successful but they were still uncertain of whether he would be able to ever move one side of his body again.

What I found astounding was their willingness to enter a space that I was actively praying to escape. The space of not knowing if: one, your child will survive; and two, even if they do, what their life will look like afterwards. The space of the worst suffering I have ever experienced. I asked them how they could put themselves through such anguish, and they said it was worth it because it was giving these children another chance when all others had given up and that there was nothing more rewarding than seeing them “blossom.” This couple will be transferring to “the floor” today, but they left a mark on me. Because they remind me of Jesus, who also willingly went into the space of greatest suffering for us: bearing not only the wrath of God but his eternal separation. He chose to die for us because he loved us, thereby destroying the one suffering that truly can destroy us: eternal separation from God.

Daniel and I have been pondering on how the very fabric of our reality is knit with suffering. How our world would be incomprehensible without it. What will love, beauty, even strength look like in heaven when there is no more suffering? I’ve also been struggling with the tension of knowing that while my suffering is not how things were meant to be, that God can use this suffering to bring me into deeper intimacy with him and others. Somehow.