What’s the Point if Pain Has No End?

I slowly worked my way to the window and opened the blinds for the first time in over a week. My world had been reduced to the next time I could take more pain meds, the next time I had to force down a little food or fluids to keep the ER at bay, and the next time I had to make the dreaded long walk to the bathroom.

The life I had known came to a screeching halt. It began months earlier with debilitating achiness and a lack of appetite for unknown reasons, but most severely when an unusually bad case of Influenza and other infections began to overwhelm my body to the point of yearning for unconsciousness more than anything else. 

From there, it set off a firestorm in my body that left me bed-ridden, unable to walk, and in physical agony. One week turned to three. Then three weeks turned to five. Then five weeks became seven. 

I lamented to my husband that I felt like a shell of a life. “I’m no longer living,” I said. “I’m simply alive—and barely that at times.” As the weeks dragged on with little relief, I began to wrestle with deeper questions than ever before.

What’s the point? 
Is this a life worth living if this is all I’m left with? 
Why would God allow a wife and mom of four to become so debilitated, that her children would wonder if they’d ever have their mom back, and her husband would become caretaker rather than life partner?
What does living look like when you can’t leave your bed or escape the misery you’re trapped in? 
Is it possible to hold onto hope when the circumstances seem hopeless?

These questions weren’t easily asked or answered. But as the hope of healing felt more distant by the day, I was forced to ask them. 

Being brought to the end of ourselves does just that. It exposes Christian cliches for the empty fluff they really are. It strips us of self-confidence. And it reveals how much we live with the delusion of control. A delusion that was now shattered into a million pieces. 

Yes, I was freshly aware of how fundamentally fragile and dependent we are as humans. We don’t grasp the magnitude of that until our entire being is stripped of the ability to do anything but simply fight for each breath.

During that painful season, I clearly remember when one of my children broke down at the sight of my frailty, shaken by her mom’s body wasting away before her. Her tears of worry sent a wave of grief crashing over me. A fresh realization that debilitating pain isn’t just about us (regardless of whether it’s physical, mental, or emotional). It affects everyone around us, which makes it all the more painful.

So the question my family and I had to wrestle with (and still do in many ways) is this: when the healing we long for isn’t a guarantee, and the life we once knew may never be the same, does our life still have purpose? Does it have value when what we do and how much we do is reduced to virtually nothing but existing?

Although that question would require an entire book to answer, God’s nearness to me through that season has taught me that it does—it really, truly does. How do I know? Because the God who gave us life tells us so. We are not a random mass of cells who live and die by chance. No, we are designed and sustained by the God of the universe.

“For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them.”

Psalm 139:13-16

If God has given you and I breath, then our life has value—not because of what we bring to the table, but because the Giver of physical and eternal life gives meaning to every breath. No, we won’t always understand or feel that within our limited beings, but I don’t think he expects us to. We do, however, need to fight for truth and hope with a strength beyond our own when our bodies, minds, and emotions tell us otherwise, and we experience despair that threatens to swallow us whole.

I had to face this hard, but foundation question: If I never walk again. If I never feel “healthy” again; if I never get to be the mom and wife I long to be again (at least my version of what that should look like); if I never get to write again; and if my life is simply stripped down to the bare bones of humanity – then what do I have left?

I am precious, loved, and valued to the fullest extent in Jesus’s eyes—no matter what I can give in return. I am so loved and valued that Jesus was willing to give his life to breathe hope and purpose into mine. And the same is true for you.

You and I are not the sum of what we do or what we have to show for ourselves. We are children of God who are dependent on him to endure the next breath, and loved by a Father who sees our anguish, bore it on the cross, and carries it with us now. And thank goodness this isn’t all there is. The pain won’t last forever. Our relationship with Jesus will. Maybe that’s the most profound reality any of us can truly grasp, but we don’t fully understand it until there’s nothing left to fall back on.

And when we find ourselves in this place, we understand the words of Romans 8:26-27 in a way like never before:

“In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for God’s people in accordance with the will of God.”

Sometimes, we simply have no words or the ability to express them. Thankfully, the Holy Spirit speaks them for us.

Lord willing, the day will come when we will either see his faithfulness in healing or his good purposes in our pain. But until then, we can rest in his sustaining grace—even if from our bed of agony.

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1. What pain or trial in your life tempts you to despair and fear it may never end? 
2. If everything you value is stripped away—strengths, gifts, health, comforts—would you still feel a sense of purpose and value? If not, what does that reveal about where your identity lies? 
3. Do you believe God truly wants what’s best for you, even if it comes through the very circumstances you don’t want?

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Write Psalm 40:1-3 on a notecard to remember or memorize:

“I waited patiently for the Lord, and he turned to me and heard my cry for help. He brought me up from a desolate pit, out of the muddy clay, and set my feet on a rock, making my steps secure. He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see and fear, and they will trust in the Lord.”

Home is around the corner, 

Sarah 

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To read more of Sarah’s writings, you can pick up a copy of He Gives More Grace: 30 Reflections for the Ups and Downs of Motherhood, Hope When It Hurts: 30 Biblical Reflections to help you grasp God’s purpose in your suffering), Tears and Tossings (short evangelistic resource on how God carries our sorrows), or Together Through the Storms (for married couples navigating the trials of life). Lastly, you can now order Sarah’s Pilgrim’s Progress inspired children’s book based on the account of the Prodigal Son, titled “The Long Road Home” (Crossway).