The Problem of Pain — When You're Eleven

The other night I had one of the most difficult conversations I've ever had with one of my boys. Son2, in addition to the migraines, has been having a lot of trouble sleeping lately. On Monday night he was...near despair. He's not the most optimistic fellow...and why would he be? But he'd had a terrible night's sleep on Sunday, and he was convinced he was in for more of the same. When he is like this, there is no reasoning with him. So this conversation about sleep led into one that was much more intense, and, frankly, disconcerting. Son2 wanted to know why he is the only one in our family who suffers. Hmmm. I tried to point out the things that his brothers deal with, and at the same time acknowledge his pain and the fact that he does seem to have more to handle than his brothers do. I know he feels like their lives are so much easier, so much more...blessed. Both are athletic, and popular. Both are sort of quintessential...boys. Son2's gifts are different, and amazing. But that's not what we're talking about. He agreed with me that he would not want someone else to have to deal with the pain that he does, but I could also tell that, honestly, part of him felt like it would be a-okay if his brothers were living his life and he was living theirs. I understand.

But still he wanted to know, why me? I admitted I do not know, that I only know that God is the only one who can take our pain and losses and bring good. That this is a miracle, and God can do that miracle for him. Then, of course, he wanted to know what good could possibly come from his pain, his trials. I said it would likely be a long time before we would know that answer. I said that great art most often springs from those broken places in our hearts, and that any art he makes in the future -- writing, music, sculpture, film -- would all be richer and deeper because of this. I also explained that only people who have suffered can truly comfort those who are suffering. That comfort is a work that Jesus does and that we can work with Jesus to comfort those who need it, to be with them in their pain. But still...he wanted to know, why me? Why am I the only one?

And so I had no choice but to let him know that he doesn't know ways that his dad and I may have suffered in our own lives as children. I said I could not tell him the things that I had been through as a child, that it wasn't right for him to know that now, that it is too sad, but to trust me that I had known deep pain at his age but that, unlike him, I was very alone, with no one to talk with about it, but that it is okay now and that somehow God saw me through those years. As soon as I started to explain this to him, my voice broke and I began to cry, and he jumped up and said, "Oh mom..." with such...compassion and understanding...and then he began to sob, and he put his arms around me.

I explained that all that pain I experienced and more pain and losses since have made me able to be with people who are suffering. And then I said, "Do you see? You're eleven, and you already can do this. You just did it." And he saw it, though he has no idea how rare it is.

That night, fortunately, he slept. And I did too, though that conversation left me drained and a bit worried about what adolescence may hold.