It’s easy to see how good things have a point: apple pie and cream, fried onions, champagne, sunsets and walking along a beach holding hands.
But bad things? Suffering? Is life merely random or does it have meaning?
My late wife wrote no book, held no important post in this life (mother to our three lovely daughters aside), and suffered with M.S. most grievously.
Our eldest, Hannah, said wisely, “Mum being how she was has made us better people,” (though I don’t know if she included me in her equation!) and I inscribed on Ruth’s memorial, “She taught with her eyes that disabled living can still be the start of eternal life.”
If life is just random, then breathing the next breath is pointless – but we have an inbuilt desire to hunt for meaning.
If it were not so, then no one would ask ever ask when suffering, “Why me?”
Or, “Why now?”
Out of bad things, good things can come, avoiding bitterness and striving for betterment – though Heaven knows, I can’t pull myself up by my own bootstraps. Help is always needed from without.
Hence charity – the old English word for “love”. Please give generously to your neighbours in need – i.e. all suffering with this cruel disease.
With grateful thanks,