We all remember the first time we were dumped. Mine happened when I was 16. I was a dating a boy I met while I was working at my first job. And by "dating," I mean engaging in day-long text conversations about absolutely nothing, and occasional meet-ups where we would talk in-person about absolutely nothing. Though we had zero things in common, I liked him because he liked me. He chose me, which made me feel desired-- and that feeling became my drug of choice.
About a couple months into the relationship, he began texting me less and less. Soon I noticed that I was the only one initiating the conversations and that stung. He would take hours to reply. I would play this self-destructive game where I would turn my phone on silent and vow not to look at it for the next 45 minutes or so. When it was time (which felt like an eternity), I would flip open my phone and stare at the generic, landscape wallpaper-- blank and with no text message notifications. My heart would crumple and drop to my stomach. Tears would come streaming out and then I got angry at myself for caring so much. Soon, he stopped texting me all together-- and that's when I became full-fledged emo. I would only listen to the sad songs on my iPod as I rode the bus. I wrote the typical dark and dramatic teenage poetry in my creative writing class (my sincerest apologies to that teacher). I would cry every night in bed. And I felt like a piece of trash. I wasn't even worthy of a break-up, and so who, in the future would ever want to date a person like that?
Of course, I wish I could go back in time and yell at myself. It is painfully obvious now that the only reason he ended things was because I wouldn't sleep with him. Obviously, it wasn't my fault he didn't break up with me officially-- it was because he was a big fat coward. And duh, of course I would find other guys (and of much higher quality) who would want to date me in the future. But even though all this is true, it doesn't negate the genuine depression I felt at the time, the feelings of utter hopelessness, and my insistence that things would never ever get better. But of course, they slowly did get better. As the months elapsed, I was able to build my self-confidence back, piece by piece. Each day the sun shone a little brighter. And of course, the sweetest revenge took place in form of him texting me a half a year later, apologizing for being such an ass and begging me to give him one more chance. But in reality, I was past the point of revenge. I hadn't been cruel to him the past and I wasn't about to start compromising my morals then (that would just be stooping to his level). I let him down easy, and I moved on to date much kinder and more respectful men (who did not treat me like a used tissue).
Years later, during my first teaching job, I also felt like things would never ever get better. On the worst days, my students appeared to me less like humans, and more like little demons-- sent from the fires of Hell to test me. And it felt like I failed that test daily, as I would end each day by crying to my mom and trying to actually finish that glass of red wine before I passed out from utter exhaustion. Just like when I was 16, I felt like a piece of trash: I couldn't control my class while other teachers could. Keeping up with grading and planning was impossible. And the kids were so mean to me that I began to actually internalize this view that I was hopelessly inadequate.
Then I had this magical epiphany one December morning during early announcements. At this point, we all (teachers and students) knew the school would close after the academic year was complete. And it dawned on me that this time next year, this school would literally not exist. I felt like jumping for joy during the "Pledge of Allegiance." I would be free from this prison-- and I would never even set foot in here again. And in all likelihood, I would never see my students again. Suddenly, a little freer, the rest of the year didn't seem so bad. In June, as I walked out those doors with the last of my things, I was smiling from ear-to-ear: I did it. Once again, although my depression-- which was only a matter of a months ago-- was very real, none of that mattered at all anymore. The suffering was done and I felt like I was in Heaven.
I moved on to teach in a nicer school with much more respectful students. I already knew so much of what to do because I had already got my "what-not-to-do's" out of the way. I set up an effective classroom and for the first time, felt like a good teacher. Sometimes I heard teachers complain to one another about frivolous things, like the fact that we couldn't wear jeans on Fridays. It was hard for me to not burst out in laughter. I would tell the teachers time and time again: "This is an amazing school, and you have no idea how lucky you are." They would somewhat shrug off my comments and I knew it was because they just truly didn't get it. I had traveled back to the Shire from the fires of Mordor, and they were just little happy hobbits who never left home.
Like many others, I can see the reason for those relatively short periods of suffering. My first failed relationship taught me how to date wisely in the future, and my first year teaching taught me how to be a better teacher. But some types of suffering seem too great to possibly rationalize.
Recently, chronic migraines have robbed me of gainful employment, of time with family and friends, of hiking and jogging, of reading and writing when I want to, and of joy.. I have literally had a constant headache for almost a year now, and it is enough to make a person go insane...or at least, deeply depressed. I seem to go through cycles of depression. For weeks at a time I feel this sinking hopelessness that is so extensive it doesn't even touch my sadness in the past. Moreover, all my suffering seems to be completely pointless: utterly in vain. I see the lessons in my past periods of suffering, but the agonizing pain present in a migraine does nothing but hurt me. And how could it possibly benefit others when I am stuck in bed for days at a time? Also, at least in the past, I knew deep down that the suffering was temporary. But now, I have no idea how long these headaches will last-- it could be two more months, or it could be for the rest of my life. And the latter scares the hell out of me.
However, even if I do suffer from my headaches my entire life, it is still very temporary. And although the pain feels far deeper and more mature than past pains, one day it too will make sense. Although a life-time of pain sounds horrible on Earth, it is a spec of dust in comparison to a pain-free eternity in Heaven.
Theologian Timothy Keller explains that despite popular opinion, suffering on Earth proves the existence of God. (The Reason for God: Belief in an Age of Skepticism, 0:55:00 - 1:09:59). He argues that humans are outraged at suffering because we view it as evil and Why would a good God allow evil? Yet, we have to pause and recognize our disdain for evil reveals the moral compass God has built within us. Keller States: "If you have a god great and transcendent enough to be mad at because he hasn’t stopped evil and suffering in the world, then you have, at the same moment, a god great and transcendent enough to have good reasons for allowing it to continue that you do not know," (The Reason for God: Belief in an Age of Skepticism, 0:58:50). So this would mean that despite how I feel, my pain is not pointless or in vain. It is silly for me to assume that just because my finite human brain can't comprehend the reason for my suffering, that there isn't one.
Keller also relays an excerpt from The Lord of the Rings, when Sam discovers that Gandalf-- whom he thought was dead-- is actually alive. Sam asks him, 'Is everything sad going to become untrue?' Keller answers: "The answer of Christianity is: “Yes. Everything sad will become untrue. And it will somehow become greater for having once been broken and lost" (The Reason for God: Belief in an Age of Skepticism, 1:12:89). This means if nothing else, my pain is preparing me for Heaven-- and that's pretty huge in itself. This means my darkest moments will only mean greater glory awaiting me in Heaven. Keller explains that God came to Earth to suffer. His agony was real, but it served the greatest purpose we could fathom: our eternal life in Heaven. In His passion, death, and resurrection, God takes the greatest evil and transforms it into beauty and truth.
In this way, it is entirely possible to be suffering and joyful at the same time. I'm not there yet, but I will be. God is allowing me to suffer so that He can transform it into beauty and truth (even if I don't fully get it yet). I look forward to the day I can finally enter Heaven's gates. I'll ask God for the reason behind the pain, and when he answers, I'll respond: "Woah! That is so cool. How was I so blind while I was on Earth?" And then, I'll be filled with God's grace and love so completely, that my earthly pain will start to fade and soon become but a memory.
Keller, Timothy. The Reason for God: Belief in the Age of Skepticism. Dutton Penguin. 2008. Audiobook.
About a couple months into the relationship, he began texting me less and less. Soon I noticed that I was the only one initiating the conversations and that stung. He would take hours to reply. I would play this self-destructive game where I would turn my phone on silent and vow not to look at it for the next 45 minutes or so. When it was time (which felt like an eternity), I would flip open my phone and stare at the generic, landscape wallpaper-- blank and with no text message notifications. My heart would crumple and drop to my stomach. Tears would come streaming out and then I got angry at myself for caring so much. Soon, he stopped texting me all together-- and that's when I became full-fledged emo. I would only listen to the sad songs on my iPod as I rode the bus. I wrote the typical dark and dramatic teenage poetry in my creative writing class (my sincerest apologies to that teacher). I would cry every night in bed. And I felt like a piece of trash. I wasn't even worthy of a break-up, and so who, in the future would ever want to date a person like that?
Of course, I wish I could go back in time and yell at myself. It is painfully obvious now that the only reason he ended things was because I wouldn't sleep with him. Obviously, it wasn't my fault he didn't break up with me officially-- it was because he was a big fat coward. And duh, of course I would find other guys (and of much higher quality) who would want to date me in the future. But even though all this is true, it doesn't negate the genuine depression I felt at the time, the feelings of utter hopelessness, and my insistence that things would never ever get better. But of course, they slowly did get better. As the months elapsed, I was able to build my self-confidence back, piece by piece. Each day the sun shone a little brighter. And of course, the sweetest revenge took place in form of him texting me a half a year later, apologizing for being such an ass and begging me to give him one more chance. But in reality, I was past the point of revenge. I hadn't been cruel to him the past and I wasn't about to start compromising my morals then (that would just be stooping to his level). I let him down easy, and I moved on to date much kinder and more respectful men (who did not treat me like a used tissue).
Years later, during my first teaching job, I also felt like things would never ever get better. On the worst days, my students appeared to me less like humans, and more like little demons-- sent from the fires of Hell to test me. And it felt like I failed that test daily, as I would end each day by crying to my mom and trying to actually finish that glass of red wine before I passed out from utter exhaustion. Just like when I was 16, I felt like a piece of trash: I couldn't control my class while other teachers could. Keeping up with grading and planning was impossible. And the kids were so mean to me that I began to actually internalize this view that I was hopelessly inadequate.
Then I had this magical epiphany one December morning during early announcements. At this point, we all (teachers and students) knew the school would close after the academic year was complete. And it dawned on me that this time next year, this school would literally not exist. I felt like jumping for joy during the "Pledge of Allegiance." I would be free from this prison-- and I would never even set foot in here again. And in all likelihood, I would never see my students again. Suddenly, a little freer, the rest of the year didn't seem so bad. In June, as I walked out those doors with the last of my things, I was smiling from ear-to-ear: I did it. Once again, although my depression-- which was only a matter of a months ago-- was very real, none of that mattered at all anymore. The suffering was done and I felt like I was in Heaven.
I moved on to teach in a nicer school with much more respectful students. I already knew so much of what to do because I had already got my "what-not-to-do's" out of the way. I set up an effective classroom and for the first time, felt like a good teacher. Sometimes I heard teachers complain to one another about frivolous things, like the fact that we couldn't wear jeans on Fridays. It was hard for me to not burst out in laughter. I would tell the teachers time and time again: "This is an amazing school, and you have no idea how lucky you are." They would somewhat shrug off my comments and I knew it was because they just truly didn't get it. I had traveled back to the Shire from the fires of Mordor, and they were just little happy hobbits who never left home.
Like many others, I can see the reason for those relatively short periods of suffering. My first failed relationship taught me how to date wisely in the future, and my first year teaching taught me how to be a better teacher. But some types of suffering seem too great to possibly rationalize.
Recently, chronic migraines have robbed me of gainful employment, of time with family and friends, of hiking and jogging, of reading and writing when I want to, and of joy.. I have literally had a constant headache for almost a year now, and it is enough to make a person go insane...or at least, deeply depressed. I seem to go through cycles of depression. For weeks at a time I feel this sinking hopelessness that is so extensive it doesn't even touch my sadness in the past. Moreover, all my suffering seems to be completely pointless: utterly in vain. I see the lessons in my past periods of suffering, but the agonizing pain present in a migraine does nothing but hurt me. And how could it possibly benefit others when I am stuck in bed for days at a time? Also, at least in the past, I knew deep down that the suffering was temporary. But now, I have no idea how long these headaches will last-- it could be two more months, or it could be for the rest of my life. And the latter scares the hell out of me.
However, even if I do suffer from my headaches my entire life, it is still very temporary. And although the pain feels far deeper and more mature than past pains, one day it too will make sense. Although a life-time of pain sounds horrible on Earth, it is a spec of dust in comparison to a pain-free eternity in Heaven.
Theologian Timothy Keller explains that despite popular opinion, suffering on Earth proves the existence of God. (The Reason for God: Belief in an Age of Skepticism, 0:55:00 - 1:09:59). He argues that humans are outraged at suffering because we view it as evil and Why would a good God allow evil? Yet, we have to pause and recognize our disdain for evil reveals the moral compass God has built within us. Keller States: "If you have a god great and transcendent enough to be mad at because he hasn’t stopped evil and suffering in the world, then you have, at the same moment, a god great and transcendent enough to have good reasons for allowing it to continue that you do not know," (The Reason for God: Belief in an Age of Skepticism, 0:58:50). So this would mean that despite how I feel, my pain is not pointless or in vain. It is silly for me to assume that just because my finite human brain can't comprehend the reason for my suffering, that there isn't one.
Keller also relays an excerpt from The Lord of the Rings, when Sam discovers that Gandalf-- whom he thought was dead-- is actually alive. Sam asks him, 'Is everything sad going to become untrue?' Keller answers: "The answer of Christianity is: “Yes. Everything sad will become untrue. And it will somehow become greater for having once been broken and lost" (The Reason for God: Belief in an Age of Skepticism, 1:12:89). This means if nothing else, my pain is preparing me for Heaven-- and that's pretty huge in itself. This means my darkest moments will only mean greater glory awaiting me in Heaven. Keller explains that God came to Earth to suffer. His agony was real, but it served the greatest purpose we could fathom: our eternal life in Heaven. In His passion, death, and resurrection, God takes the greatest evil and transforms it into beauty and truth.
In this way, it is entirely possible to be suffering and joyful at the same time. I'm not there yet, but I will be. God is allowing me to suffer so that He can transform it into beauty and truth (even if I don't fully get it yet). I look forward to the day I can finally enter Heaven's gates. I'll ask God for the reason behind the pain, and when he answers, I'll respond: "Woah! That is so cool. How was I so blind while I was on Earth?" And then, I'll be filled with God's grace and love so completely, that my earthly pain will start to fade and soon become but a memory.
Keller, Timothy. The Reason for God: Belief in the Age of Skepticism. Dutton Penguin. 2008. Audiobook.
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