I believe that, in God’s mysterious and wonderful plan, he puts us in specific places for specific reasons. This revelation became as clear as day for me when I volunteered during the second semester of my freshman year of college at a hospital in Richmond, Virginia. We were allowed to choose an area of the hospital to work in, so I picked Palliative Care. It’s a unit dedicated to the pain management of those who are recovering from a serious illness or dying.
I committed to a two-hour shift once a week. The more time I spent there, the more I learned how peaceful and welcoming the people and staff of Palliative Care were. The unit’s directors made it feel like a home away from home by maintaining an in-unit kitchen—decorated with butterflies to symbolize hope—and creating a warm environment through actions and attitude. I also enjoyed enlightening morning talks and time together with two gregarious senior volunteers who became my friends.
But there is one memory that sticks out the most. One cloudy morning, a middle aged woman walked into the kitchen area where I was preparing coffee and tea. She looked quite solemn and resigned, as if her troubles were too much to bear. I could tell that she had been crying from her slightly swollen eyes. As with anyone who walked into the kitchen, I offered her something to drink. I watched as the senior volunteer started up a simple conversation with her about where she lived. After a little bit, I joined in, too. In a matter of minutes the lady was leading the conversation, telling us about her life history, her family, and even the touchy subject of why she was in the hospital. She confided that her husband had been in Palliative Care for a while, and it seemed that his recovery was unlikely.
As our conversation continued, her sorrowful disposition was replaced with budding vitality and hope. It was fascinating to see how much this conversation was helping this lady. With every word that was said, I felt like her troubles were streaming out of her, if only for that moment. I am glad that I was there for her that day as a volunteer, because it showed me how something as simple as a conversation can do so much.
—Cyrelle
On suffering, the Catechism of the Catholic Church says, “Our experiences of faith and suffering, injustice and death, seem to contradict the Good News; they can shake our faith and become a temptation against it. It is then we must turn to the witnesses of faith. . .” (CCC 164, 165). Everyone experiences suffering on some level. Think of a time when you suffered. Did your faith help you live that time with hope? If not, how could it have?
Just as the woman in this story did, Saint Paul shared with the people of Corinth some of his many trials:
But whatever anyone dares to boast of . . . I also dare to boast of that . . . with far greater labors, far more imprisonments, with countless floggings, and often near death. Five times I have received from the Jews the forty lashes minus one. Three times I was beaten with rods. Once I received a stoning. Three times I was shipwrecked; for a night and a day I was adrift at sea; on frequent journeys, in danger from rivers, danger from bandits, danger from my own people . . . in toil and hardship, through many a sleepless night, hungry and thirsty, often without food, cold and naked. . . . (2 Cor 11: 21, 23–27)
How has God intervened in your life? What experiences has God given you that touched you deeply?