I’ve been home on sick leave for the past two days. And a colleague decided to have some fun at my expense. Even if I were hale and hearty, her selfishness would have rankled; battling the flu, the tiniest dart was magnified.
And so began the back and forth that is my lot every time someone hurts me: the plotting of my response, followed by running to God. Then, the revisiting of that wound, another round of plotting, repentance, back to God. It’s the same wearying cycle every time that you’d think I would have tired of it at this age.
Not even the flu could keep me away from this negative cycle.
The only difference was perhaps that I ran very quickly to God every time I was tempted to a snarky rebuttal. I prayed and prayed for the grace to suffer this mere splinter of a Cross. What was the use of coming this far in the journey only to be felled by a yellow breath?
Yet the struggle wore on. I went to bed with it on my heart, even with all the prayers. When I awakened, feverish and aching in the purple-wreathed dawn, my hurt was before me. I was chagrined. Why did I not seem to be improving? Why wasn’t I becoming a stronger person when others hurt me? Why was I so sensitive to the callousness of those around me? It seemed that the more I learned of God, the weaker and more feeble I was becoming.
Why are You allowing this? I asked God.
Your sufferings will be made of weakness and weariness and dependence on others. ~ Anonymous, In Sinu Jesu
Even in my feverish state, the words pierced through. Not any other type of suffering, but the one that hurt me most – made of weakness, weariness and dependence on others. Oversensitivity to a curt remark, a stony look, a snide giggle. No need for an actual sword to bring me to my knees. All it took was the tiniest dart and I would fall.
Your sufferings will be made of weakness and weariness and dependence on others.
Because it is willed. Because sometimes, the greatest of my Crosses will be concealed within in the tiniest dart.