Watching our children suffer...

...is there anything worse? No!

I am sitting next to Tabitha who is finally peacefully sleeping after 36 hours of misery. She started being sick on Monday at 5am, and by midnight we concerned enough to phone NHS direct who felt that she sounded dehydrated and recommended a trip to A and E. Now, Tabitha is normally the fittest and healthiest of children, and watching her retch so hard she was almost convulsing was distressing, as was seeing her terror at the thought of hospital (she has a needle phobia). But praise God for the wonderful medical facilities on our country, and unlike countless women who have to watch their children suffer and often die from D and V, Tabitha was treated and is now recovering.

It did lead me to think, though, about the "problem" of suffering. As a Christian, I believe that God knows my suffering, because he has known me for eternity. Likewise he knows my children and their suffering. In the darkest moments of last night I did not feel angry with God. I was praying that he would take Tabitha's illness away, but I wasn't angry with him. It came to me last night more clearly than ever before that he watched his own child, his own son, suffer in the most appalling way. So realising that God not only knew that I was having to watch my child suffer, but that He has felt that agony as a parent Himself was remarkable. Our God, our mysterious creator God, through whom all things are possible, chose to let His son suffer, and through that, chose for Himself to suffer also. I often think about Jesus' suffering from Jesus' point of view, much like I view my own suffering. But last night I had a bit of an insight in to God's suffering, and it hit me like a ton of bricks.

That's all.