There aren’t that many people who can handle all that’s truly real. I mean, the hard stuff, the realization that we’re not here for long, that someone who looks strong has been abused, had an eating disorder or a breakdown, and still has a lot to offer. In fact, the person who has suffered may very well have more to offer than the person who hasn’t. It has an affect on a person’s compassion, spirituality  and perspective on life, as though s/he’s been endowed with a tool that shows human events at their actual scale. We all see through the lense of our experience. If we’ve never been through something truly horrific we’re much more likely to think that something like a bad sofa selection is an earth-shattering event when in fact, it’s just a bunch of fluff and upholstery. The world is never going to end because something on which a person rests her ass is one shade too pink to meet expectations. 

People who can handle the real stuff are treasures. They are the deepest and most honest friends. They’re likely to remind us when we become too obsessed with first world problems. They probably have kind eyes. Scars are probably hiding themselves under their respectable clothing, which stays silent out of respect. At least, clothes made with natural fibers will. Nylon and spandex are notorious gossips, but what can we really expect from petroleum by-products?  Scars aren’t so bad, anyway, except that wise people know that not everyone can handle them. People who’ve suffered develop a kind of radar over time, and become fairly skilled at identifying kindred hearts, usually gaining a few extra scars while learning the craft. The phrase “throwing pearls before swine” comes to mind. 

The fact is, our pain is precious, and most definitely not because God sent it to us in some cosmic attempt to make us into better people. It’s valuable because it hurt, and that gives us the ability to more fully empathize with others in pain. We’re less likely to say to a grieving parent something stupid like, “God must have needed her in heaven” or “trials are sent here to test our faith.”  The fact that they do test us is incontrovertible. The idea that a theoretically benevolent God would cause a child to be hit by a car in order to do so, is abhorrent. 

No. Just because suffering can cause us to grow does not mean that it’s sent here purposefully for that reason. Suffering just happens. It’s a glorious, shitty, morally  bankrupt but surprisingly love-filled world, and sometimes tragedy strikes. Once we’ve experienced it, we are changed. It’s like being inducted into a club without ever having applied for membership. And yet,  even though we never signed a pledge or received a gold-plated membership card in the mail, it remains something we keep in our wallet because we never want to forget what it is we’ve lost, gained, and thrown into the emotional landfill. It’s part of what’s made us who we are, and whether we like it or not, it may have made each of us more of a safe haven for someone else who’s just been knifed in the gut by his very own introduction to becoming another of the walking wounded.