One of Those Things...

This is yet another rambling post of things I've learned since losing Knox. I remember in those first days how I'd be out and see people with their little blond-headed toddlers and had to restrain myself to keep from telling them to hug them tight and love them well because they didn't know how much time they had with them. I'd get upset to hear people complaining about petty stuff and claiming a hard day when I was pretty sure they didn't know what a bad day was because in my book a bad day was finding your son not breathing. I'd get more upset with people making careless remarks about trading in their troublesome kids or offering them up for sale. I'd want to scream, "ARE YOU KIDDING ME? DON'T YOU KNOW WHAT A TREASURE YOU HAVE!"

At the same time, it didn't take long before I'd hear stories of other people's hardships and I'd think. "Wow....It would be terrible to have to walk that road. I'd hate to be called to do that." In other words, I didn't have the worst life out there. Kind of a weird feeling when you feel like you have been stripped of all you have(even though you really haven't). Before losing Knox though, I don't think I thought much of other people's hardships beyond a fleeting prayer mostly because of fear of what it would be like to get emotionally involved.

Getting back to my topic. I have come to realize that we all walk a different path with different hardships. The Bible promises suffering to us all which many want to think contradicts a loving God, but we live in a fallen world and, despite our salvation, we still fall short and sin. If we had heaven on earth, we'd have no need for a savior. That would be the real tragedy, to not know we need Christ. Realizing that we all walk different paths has also helped me to understand that I can't compare my life to others. It is too much like comparing apples to oranges. My son died. It is terrible and horrible and never a path I'd have wanted to walk. But it has been given to me and is mine to walk. It wouldn't be fair for me to tell someone, "You should be happy and not complain because your son is alive. You don't know what it is like."

It is true. They don't know what it is like. Just like I don't know what their hardship is like and what it is like to walk in their shoes. Honestly, I don't want to walk their path because I am sure it is hard and painful. At the same time, it isn't fair for them to compare their hardship to anyone else's. A friend whose husband doesn't have a job doesn't need to tell a friend who is battling an illness, "At least your husband has a job," or the friend who is battling an illness doesn't need to tell the friend whose husband is without a job, "At least you are well."

We could play that song and dance our whole lives, but the better thing to do would be to weep with one another, sharing one another's pain, recognizing it as real and pointing each other to the Man of Sorrows that understands our pain like no one else can. What a pleasure to have friends with whom you can share your sorrows along with your joys and know they are going to lift you up and encourage you.