Taking Inventory of Suffering
My dad was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer early last summer. He suffered through 12 brutal chemotherapy treatments, pausing only for surgery to remove the part of his pancreas where tumors were visible. But my dad’s endurance and his doctors’ efforts were no match for the microscopic cancer cells that refused to die, lurking silently inside his body.
Dad began experiencing renewed pain in his abdomen this May. By June, he was no longer able to ignore the pain, and he went for a CT scan on June 6. The next day he received word that his cancer had returned and could not be treated. His doctor gave him a life expectancy of three to six months. Three weeks later, my dad was gone.
If Dad was unhappy about his impending death, he did not let on. Several people have told me how excited he seemed about going to heaven, about being reunited with my mom, about seeing Jesus face to face. Dad appeared almost gleeful as he anticipated the moment of his passing.
His biggest expressed concerns were that he did not want to suffer and he did not want his children to suffer. My mom passed away from pancreatic cancer in 2017, so we had some idea about what his final days might entail. We had gained painful experience dealing with death and loss. We knew that some measure of suffering was almost inevitable.
Almost everyone experiences suffering. Although a universally accepted definition of suffering probably does not exist, I find it helpful to think about suffering as distress that is intense or prolonged. In 2 Corinthians 4:17, Paul used intensity and duration as factors for evaluating his own suffering. Paul described his trials as “light” (i.e., low in intensity) and “momentary” (i.e., short in duration) in comparison to the eternal glory for which God was preparing him.
I believe my dad came to view his own suffering as Paul did: light and momentary. I think Dad’s optimism about his situation was fueled by an acceptance of the truth that he simply could not eliminate all of the suffering and by a sense of confidence that he and his children would receive sufficient grace to endure the suffering that could not be eliminated. Dad believed that whatever suffering would come would be microscopic and momentary compared to the joy he expected to find when his final trial was finished.
In counseling, I often help people take inventory of their suffering. We make a list of the sources of suffering in their lives. We then work together to discover the most painful sources of suffering by assigning numbers to the intensity of their suffering and the anticipated duration of their suffering. Here’s how that process works:
Perceived Intensity. I ask people to choose a number between 1 and 10 to describe the intensity of their distress. A “1” would indicate that “this suffering is easily manageable.” A “10” would indicate that “I don’t think I can continue living unless this suffering is reduced.”
Anticipated Duration. I ask people to choose a number between 1 and 10 to describe the anticipated duration of their distress. A “1” would indicate that “I expect the intensity of this suffering to be reduced or eliminated soon.” A “10” would indicate that “I expect the intensity of they suffering to remain at this intensity or higher for eternity.”
We then multiply these two factors (Perceived Intensity and Anticipated Duration) to arrive at a “Perceived Suffering” score that can range from 1 to 100. We use these scores to choose which sources of distress to focus our efforts on and to measure healing over time.
Christians are encouraged to count their blessings. That’s good advice. But counting your sufferings also can be helpful, because honesty about your distress can be a good first step toward eliminating the suffering that can be eliminated and toward planning strategies for enduring the suffering that cannot be eliminated.
Above all, Christians can view suffering in light of eternity. We can have confidence that God’s grace is able to sustain us through our darkest days and to bring us safely home to Him.
(Posted by Jim Gant PhD)
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