“What? Your neck is tweaked, and you need to check it out?” I blurted. “You had lower back surgery six months ago. There’s no way this is happening again. I’m sure it’s okay. Let’s call a physical therapist.”
Filled with anxiety and frustration, I desperately wanted to fix the situation and avoid another lengthy recovery. My husband calmly listened to my panic-stricken voice, as he always has. While he had no desire to undergo surgery again, as a medical professional, he also understood what was happening in his body. I did not understand, however, and felt as frustrated as a child learning to tie her shoes. This must be a mistake, or at least there must be a way to remedy this dilemma besides another procedure and recovery.
I Wanted Control—What I Got was Surrender
My husband has always been the pillar of our family. His strength under pressure helped me feel like we stood on a firm foundation. This new health scare felt wobbly, uncertain, and scary. Suddenly, I had to become the solid one.
But what if something goes wrong? What if he doesn’t recover? With two big surgeries in six months, will we ever be able to ski, run, or hike together again?
My fears loomed as I focused on the worst-case scenario. Yet, my husband’s unwavering resilience in the face of adversity inspired me. I mourned the loss of our summer plans—the cabin, the backpacking trip, and all the end-of-summer events we eagerly anticipated. But deep down, I knew that God was in control. Though not always clear, His plan was one I had to trust. I was reminded that faith sustains us through uncertain times, assuring us that we are not alone in our struggles.
As I processed the situation, I felt a stirring in my heart. My husband’s hardship was not about me or our summer plans. He needed my support more than ever. I began to see this as an opportunity for me and my kids to grow in compassion and sacrificial love, as we canceled our summer arrangements. We scheduled the surgery, leaving the younger kids behind with their older siblings as we traveled for the inevitable procedure.
In Suffering, Love is Refined, Faith is Proven
Several months later, as we sat on the couch together, a sense of gratitude filled my heart. I gently kissed my husband's wound, embracing it as a gift. I reflected on the vows we exchanged so long ago: “I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.” It was a reminder that love remains constant even when hard times come.
In Making Sense Out of Suffering, Peter Kreeft writes, “Love is strengthened and perfected by suffering” (p. 25). While we are aware of this on a rational level, when it becomes personal, it challenges us to believe in God’s plan. We quickly forget He is with us, and our calling is to remain faithful even when life is hard.
Christ suffered and died for us. And the scars and wounds we carry hold the image of Christ when we allow Him into the center of them. Our pain, our trauma, and our disappointments are real, and sometimes they are debilitating. We must grieve these losses on this side of Heaven. Because if we do not allow Christ into those spaces, we will become angry and bitter. We will struggle with the why me syndrome, a typical human response to suffering that questions the fairness of our pain and can lead to resentment and despair. As Kreeft also writes, “For every one who becomes a hero and a saint through suffering, there are ten who seem to become dehumanized, depressed, or despairing” (p. 25).
Kissing Wounds: Saying Yes to God
Kissing the wounds God gives to us is a metaphor for accepting and embracing the suffering we did not ask for. I kissed my husband’s wounds because I desired to die to myself in order to love well. As a result, I am changed, and the world is changed too. Through suffering, we realize there’s a greater purpose to life than we understand, because God can use all things for His glory. As Saint Paul exhorts us, “And not only that, but we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us” (Romans 3:3-5).
I was not rejoicing when my husband mentioned his neck pain. In my frustration about another surgery, I fell into discouragement, disappointment, and suffering. And I’ve been in that place many times. But I did come around.
Our suffering creates the endurance, character, and hope that Scripture promises. I will keep kissing my husband’s wounds to symbolize my acceptance of our life—in the good and bad times.
As I pray, I invite Christ into the struggle, embracing it—because God is with us, He is for us, and He redeems our pain.
Sarah Green is from Wyoming, has been happily married for 27 years, and is a proud mom to six children, two daughters-in-law, and a Mimi to an adorable golden-haired baby boy. She holds a BA in Catholic Theology. Early mornings are her sacred time—journaling, reflecting on scripture, and getting her steps in with her trusty tennis shoes. With a heart for encouraging women, Sarah is passionate about helping them invest in themselves, even if it’s just one small step at a time.
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