I Despise My Suffering—Yet I Walk Toward the Suffering of Others

‘Why am I enduring this pain? Is it karma? Is it the consequence of my own sin? If God truly exists—if he hears my voice, my pleading prayers—why does he remain silent? Why doesn’t he heal me? But if God does not exist, then what meaning is there in life at all?’

I wrestled with these questions—again and again. I struggled. I wept. I waited. And no answer came.

Yet, in the silence, I was drawn—almost against my will—toward the suffering of others. To the places where pain is embodied. To the places where suffering has a face, a name, a wound still open and bleeding. I entered into their suffering not because I had found the answer, but because I needed to be the answer I never received.

I sat with them.
Listened to them.
Held their sorrow beside mine.
We did not fix one another. 

We simply shared the weight of our lives—our pain, our burden, and our helplessness. And somehow, mysteriously, this sharing—this communion of suffering—made us more human.

To be human is not to escape suffering. To be human is to enter it together. 

To be human is not to bear it alone. To be human is to bear it together.

And in that sacred place of shared affliction, I find the faintest echo of Christ—the One who did not turn away from pain, but who entered it, bore it, and redeemed it with love on the cross.

So I go, not because I love suffering. I go, because in the fellowship of suffering, I become more human. And maybe, just maybe, I glimpse Jesus waiting for me to join him in his fellowship.