Struck

1. Affliction awakens a profound sense of wonder and purpose.

When my doctor told me I was dying, I came alive.

Sudden clarity. A life-threatening diagnosis can strip away the mundane, revealing a heightened sense of wonder and curiosity about existence. This unexpected exhilaration, a feeling of being at the start of a great adventure, is a common experience for those facing their mortality. It forces a re-evaluation of priorities and a commitment to truly "see" life.

New perspective. Affliction acts as a "megaphone to rouse a deaf world," as C.S. Lewis put it, making us attentive to things previously unseen. Like newly sighted patients struggling to interpret vision, the world can become bewildering yet filled with profound beauty. This new lens allows for an interrogation of suffering, seeking what it might reveal about life, faith, and self.

Embracing the journey. The author committed to experiencing his affliction, not just enduring it, viewing it as an adventure to follow to its end. This involves paying close attention to the medical, spiritual, relational, emotional, and physical aspects of the journey. The goal is to learn to see the world through the eyes of affliction, transforming confusion into beauty and wonder.

2. Faith is tested and refined at the precipice of mortality.

I had been my whole life a bell, and never knew it until at that moment I was lifted and struck.

Foundational beliefs. Facing one's own death forces a confrontation with deeply held spiritual premises. The author, a Christian, questioned if his faith, built on the resurrection of Jesus and the promise of eternal life, would hold when confronted with his own mortality. This personal crisis became a test of whether faith required specific outcomes or could endure through uncertainty.

Early encounters. A childhood experience of finding a frozen dove and praying for its resurrection revealed an effortless, genuine belief in God's power over death. This early faith, though untested by personal mortality, laid a foundation. The author wondered if this "boy in the snow" would be exposed as a fool now that he was "more like the bird than the boy."

Surrender and trust. The author's prayers shifted from petition to surrender, acknowledging God's ways are higher and often inscrutable. True faith, he realized, means trusting God even when understanding is absent, and not requiring specific personal outcomes for belief to stand. This journey became about discovering what would "resound" within him when "lifted and struck."

3. The body's innate drive to heal echoes a deeper longing for life.

I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

Sacramental revelation. Witnessing his own heart beating on an echocardiogram, much like seeing his unborn son's heart, revealed both meticulous design and profound fragility. This "sacramental" experience highlighted a problem beyond his control, mirroring his spiritual journey into faith and dependence on a greater power.

Resilience in trauma. Despite severe trauma—a broken sternum, paralyzed foot, and cognitive impairment—the body immediately fought to recover. This rapid healing, from wiggling toes to walking with a walker in days, was not miraculous to medical staff but a predictable testament to the body's inherent drive to live. Pain itself served as a cooperative mechanism for healing.

Protest against death. The body's fight for recovery, even in the weakest patients, suggests that death is an intruder, not a natural state. This innate resistance to dying, coupled with the longing for strength, clarity, and freedom from pain, echoes a deeper truth: we were meant for a world where life prevails, and our bodies strive towards that intended state.

4. Depression is a predictable, multi-faceted monster in recovery.

My depression feels like anxiety. Worry and fear are never far from me.

Post-op reality. Doctors warned that depression is a common aftereffect of heart surgery, triggered by factors like anesthesia, PTSD, pain, and medication side effects. The author experienced this as a "four-headed monster" of anxiety, grief over wasted days, apathy towards former passions, and futility regarding his future.

Unmasking the beast. Naming these feelings—anxiety, grief, apathy, futility—was crucial to prevent them from becoming untamable. The author recognized that the monster's lies were laced with gilded threads of truth, making it difficult to discern. Objectively understanding the physiological and emotional causes helped to cage the beast, allowing for observation rather than surrender.

Active resistance. Overcoming depression requires conscious effort, even when motivation is absent. The author committed to basic self-care (sleep, diet, exercise, hygiene) and spiritual disciplines (friendship, prayer, Scripture, rehabilitation). This season, though challenging, became a "gift" to study the beast, learning its movements and triggers for future battles, as depression was not new to him.

5. Anger and ego are natural, yet dangerous, responses to suffering.

My heart is taking aim, and no one is safe.

Inner tempest. As physical strength returned, a new facet of brokenness emerged: anger. This rage, like a tornado, ripped through his inner life, leaving everything broken and scattered. It manifested as blame towards friends, resentment towards the infection, and even anger at his dental hygienist.

Ego's defense. Blame is an exercise of ego, which protests against feeling hurt or humiliated by affliction. Ego demands to be the hero, strong and self-sufficient, and is deeply offended by weakness. The author recognized his own ego's attempt to cast him as a "spiritual hero," a dangerous path that could lead to isolating himself from those who loved him.

Divine Thwarter. The author grappled with the question: "What if it was God who broke my heart?" He concluded that God, the "Divine Thwarter," lovingly opposes human attempts at independence to foster deeper dependence. This "severe mercy" is a wise gift, meant to awaken desire for God and set one on a new path, even if it means losing control and experiencing pain.

6. Lament is a vital, honest process of grieving loss before God.

I need to say that I am not okay—not completely.

Honest farewell. Lamentation is the intentional process of grieving and mourning, bidding an honest farewell to what has been lost and embracing a new identity shaped by affliction. It's a "complaint bound to faith," where confusion and trust coexist, and petitions are offered with allegiance to God, even when understanding is absent.

Complicating grief. The author learned to "complicate" his grief by exploring all the losses: relational changes (friends moving on), functional losses (inability to use his body), mental lapses (memory loss, cognitive decline), and role losses (interruption of pastoral duties). These losses, though not always visible, created a "stored up sorrow" that needed to be acknowledged and mourned.

Worship in sorrow. Lament is a legitimate form of worship, crying out over suffering, pain, and brokenness before God. It acknowledges God as both Healer and the one who permits affliction. While God may not provide all the answers, His "silent, certainly not uncompassionate, gaze" reminds us of His presence and that His ways are higher, calling for trust even in the midst of tears.

7. Relationships are transformed, revealing both distance and profound connection.

Often it isn’t that the afflicted are unwilling to let others in. It is just that there comes a certain point in a person’s suffering where there is no apparent port of entry.

The space between. Affliction creates a unique distance between the sick and the well. Loved ones, though caring, struggle to understand the depth of pain, leading to awkward interactions or avoidance. The afflicted, in turn, often feel a burden to comfort those who fear for them, creating a strange relational dynamic.

Shared burden. Despite the distance, true friendship is defined by burden-bearing. The author realized he could not demand perfect empathy but could choose to meet others in their attempts to connect. His wife, Lisa, exemplified this, enduring his post-op scowls with grace, crying in secret, and remaining steadfastly present, fulfilling her vows in sickness and in health.

Community's role. The crisis revealed the immense value of community, from friends providing practical help (meals, childcare) to those offering emotional support. These acts of "trail magic" and "holy service" were crucial for navigating the chaos. The author's return to "burden bearing" for his friend Barbara's family marked a significant step in his own healing, moving from receiving to giving compassion.

8. Suffering can be a "severe mercy" that fosters dependence on God.

What if the bacterium in my heart was a Father’s wise and loving gift to his son?

Divine wisdom. The author grappled with the idea that his affliction came from God's hand, not as punishment, but as a "severe mercy." This perspective, inspired by C.S. Lewis, suggests that God uses suffering to awaken desire, thwart self-sufficiency, and move individuals into deeper dependence on Him.

Beyond human understanding. God's ways are often inscrutable to humans. While we seek reasons, God's purpose in suffering is not always to provide a clear "moral of the story" but to draw us closer to His eternal presence. This requires humility to accept that much remains unknown, trusting in God's faithfulness even when explanations are withheld.

Weakness as strength. Scripture teaches that God's power is made perfect in weakness. The author's physical and emotional limitations, though unwelcome, became a conduit for experiencing God's grace. This realization transformed his perspective, allowing him to bless the name of the Lord even for a broken heart, seeing it as a catalyst for profound spiritual growth.

9. Life's journey is a series of manageable objectives, leading to growth.

We weren’t just hikers that day. We were also learners—people who had to understand how to climb a mountain.

Strategic ascent. The author's climb up Quandary Peak with his wife mirrored his recovery journey: a series of small, manageable objectives rather than an overwhelming single goal. This approach, "a long obedience in the same direction," allowed them to overcome despair when faced with the daunting summit, focusing on one step at a time.

Marriage as curation. Marriage, like climbing a mountain, is a unique journey of shared experiences and mutual shaping. It's a "holy curation of another person's life," where two individuals fuse together, their strengths and weaknesses colliding to form a new, unique landscape. This intimate knowledge, built over decades, creates a bond where dignity and reputation are sacredly guarded.

Continuous transformation. The past two years of affliction and recovery were a series of difficult but doable objectives: healing, battling depression, rebuilding relationships, grieving. This process transformed the author and his wife, making them different people than before. They learned to navigate life's challenges by moving from one point to the next, trusting the path leads somewhere good.

10. True hope transcends earthly desires, pointing to eternity.

Unmet desires in this life are intended to arouse a hunger for the next.

Beyond the summit. The author's longing to explore beyond Quandary Peak's summit, into the "magnificent mystery" of a world without end, reflects a deeper spiritual hunger. This desire for a glory not found on this side of the mountain, a "best possible" that this world cannot deliver, is a core aspect of Christian hope.

Three ways of longing. C.S. Lewis identifies three responses to unmet desires:

• The Fool: Naively expects perfection in this world, blaming people/things when they fall short.
• The Disillusioned: Reduces desires to manageable expectations, believing the "best possible" is a fool's errand.
• The Christian: Assumes desires point to a fulfillment in another world, a renewed self, and an appetite for eternity.

Doxology of praise. Through pain, uncertainty, and grief, God's grace proved sufficient. The author's faith held, not through his own tenacity, but through God's faithfulness. This led to a boast in God, not self, and a longing for a perfected body, an end to sorrow, and perfect peace with God. This hope, a gift, does not put us to shame.