If we go through enough pain and loss, we soon discover that our handy little answers don’t often hold up under fire.  But if we listen hard enough, beneath the clamor and roar our agony, we can hear the still, small voice of the One Who does.

I speak from experience. I had a happy childhood, raised by parents who loved me unconditionally.  But as an adult, I have faced periods of debilitating anxiety, depression, and insomnia, set off by intense spiritual struggles and accompanied by insomnia.

My tribulations have only seemed to increase in frequency over the past several years.

In February of 2008, I was serving with Youth with a Mission, (YWAM) near Tyler, Texas.  Less than two months earlier, I‘d spent Christmas with my family in Pennsylvania where I also attended an uncle’s memorial service.

I had been experiencing minor stomach and intestinal issues and my doctor finally ordered a colonoscopy which revealed a mass in the ascending colon.  Thankfully, a subsequent C/T scan revealed the cancer had not spread.

One afternoon, shortly before my surgery, I stood at my bedroom window and looked out at the pine trees on the front lawn. Their branches swayed in the wind and I thought of how the walls and the window glass protected me from the chilly winter weather. I heard the Lord say, “In the same way, I am your shelter in the storms of life.”

The surgery went off without a hitch and I was released from the hospital two days ahead of schedule.  God continued to be with me through the following six months of chemotherapy and the side effects that accompanied it.

The storm winds abated, only to blow in again with a fresh weather system a year later. I was fundraising in Pennsylvania in the fall of 2009 when my ministry director called me from Texas.  She told me she and her husband were in major conflict with base leadership.  By January, they had decided to leave and establish themselves elsewhere.

I returned to YWAM Tyler but soon realized I had no reason to remain.  The place that after seven years had become home to me, the place I thought would be mine indefinitely, was ripped from me. I moved back to the Northeast with little idea of what the future held.

Fifteen months later, I had surgery to remove a thyroid goiter I’d had since I was a young girl. Pathology found a small, cancerous tumor and I was scheduled for treatment—a complex process that included a special diet and semi-isolation at home for several days while the radioactive pill I was given did its work.  In September of that year, I also had a hysterectomy.

Death has not been a stranger.  I have lost many extended family members to cancer and in September of last year, my dad passed away from complications following what should have been a relatively minor surgery.  I now am watching a favorite aunt in the last stages of breast cancer and a cousin I am close to is fighting metastasized breast cancer.

The Lord Jesus identifies with us in our suffering.  Out of His incomprehensible love for us, Jesus submitted to a degree of agony none of us will ever face as he endured the mind-bending emotional and physical pain of Roman crucifixion.  Even greater was the ugly weight of the sins of the world, past, present, and future upon His innocent shoulders—and then the Father turned His face away.  No wonder some have declared that our Savior died of a broken heart.

Jesus calls us to the simple faith of a child.  However, even that can be incredibly difficult in the midst of searing pain.  But the One Who suffered for us, walks through our trials with us, and offers to take our crushing burdens on His shoulders. He weeps when we weep, rejoices when we rejoice.  He knows our frailties and failures and comforts us and counsels us with infinite patience.

Our tears in the midst of our pain and sorrow can water even the smallest, weakest seed of faith.  Like the woman in the Bible with the issue of blood, all we need to do is brush against the edge of Christ’s garment and He will respond. We can know He is there even though it doesn’t feel like it.  As we trust Him to walk with us through icy, howling “winters” of our lives and cling to Him even in the midst of darkness, He will make a beautiful mosaic out of the shattered, jagged shards of our lives.