Sometimes one’s lofty and even well-meaning theoretical notions are grounded by life’s radical reality.  Such was the case for me recently.  It was the last semester of graduate school and my mind was busy juggling various activities knowing all the while that three term papers hung loosely in the background.  In spite of some nail-biting angst regarding the final outcome of these papers, I had a developing fascination with one particular assignment that I just could not shake. Instructed to write on an issue which would engage the church and the world, I decided to merge my interests in theology and prenatal medicine in order to focus on the subject of bioethics.  While rushing out the door on the way to one of my weekend shifts at the hospital where I work as a registered nurse, I decided to stash several extra books on bioethics into my bag with the hopes of stealing a few moments for my burgeoning thoughts. 

The quiet moment I was hoping for came after morning rounds were complete.  A quick check of e-mail and I would be on my way to those books--or so I thought.  Clicking the inbox, I saw an entry from a friend updating me on her recent doctor’s visit.  About my age, Susan was expecting her second baby to arrive in just four months and so far everything had gone as planned.  The purpose of this e-mail was merely to report her mid-pregnancy ultrasound results.  I scanned the screen, but I could not find any sign of those reassuring words like “normal” or “healthy” that allows one to sit back and breathe a sigh of relief.  Instead, the ultrasound diagnosed an undeveloped infant brain which resulted from a genetic anomaly Susan never knew she had.  The baby was not only not alright, but she might not survive her nine month gestational term. 

Despite the myriad of noises and activities around me, I melded to my chair and began to cry.  I was no stranger to bad test results, but this news of my friend hit me in a place that I had not known before.  No longer was I reading about abstract bioethical case studies on the neatly printed pages of a book, but one was staring me straight in the face.  At that moment, with tears streaming down my cheeks, I was struck with the realization that a sovereign God was wielding the life of a little girl and her parents as well as drawing me into a web of suffering.  God was giving me this invitation to step into suffering by asking me to be a part of my friends’ lives in quite a different way than I had imagined. 

As the days following that most dreadful news inevitably beat on, I began to realign my conception of walking with my friends.  I felt a bit of the word-silencing grief that Job’s friends must have initially known as Susan described her purchase of an Easter dress which might be adorned by her daughter at her burial; this glimpse of her relentless love began to reshape me.   Still, I wished this suffering could be played out another way.  I was experiencing the meaning of the pain and toil that accompanies all of our days and was left feeling extremely unsettled. 

There has not been a precise moment in this process with my friends where my pleas for decreased suffering have subsided. In fact, they have probably multiplied.  Yet, on that seemingly ordinary day, I was stopped in my tracks by the devastating news of a friend.  As a result, I have been drawn into a series of events that enables me to see clearer and profess better a faith that gives way to hope.  That hope is this: that those who suffer with Christ not only receive comfort in like measure now, but also will reign with him in all his glory later.  I did finish that paper on bioethics, but the most important lesson I learned along the way was not from the sources in my bibliography.  The most important lesson I learned is that the price of walking into fellowship with suffering is enormous, but one which is decidedly worth the cost. 

© 2006 Melissa Kurtz