The Opposite of Suffering
"I just wanna make a difference," she said. "I been in here a long time, you know, but I'm about to get out soon. There's a lot of things I want to do."
She's tall and authoritative, even sitting down, and her brown eyes are serious. The others always listen when she talks, like she's a wise old woman, but she's probably only 30. She has a lot of opinions, is skeptical of most things, and she talks about suffering more than the others do.
When we discussed abortion, she was the first to say a severely disabled child should be "aborted so it wouldn't have to suffer." When we talked about suicide, she didn't raise her hand before giving her opinion. "I just feel like if life is total suffering to someone, they should be allowed to stop it."
Why wouldn't we stop suffering?
She doesn't talk much about her own life but I see her old suffering, below the surface of her eyes. She takes care of the other women like a mother trying to protect her kids from the pain she's known. I think she has real children out in the world somewhere, but she doesn't talk about them much. She talks about everything else.
"Did you know they used to sterilize people with Down Syndrome? Can you believe that? Do you think it's alright for Down Syndrome people to get married? I don't know. I think they could be taken advantage of. I'm doing my project on that."
Sometimes her opinions, like the rest of the class, are based on feeling instead of logic. Sometimes they are contradictory, and I think it's because her life has been full of mixed messages. Most of my students find no problem with being pro-life and pro-euthanasia, or pro-women and anti-feminist. They can agree life is sacred, but wonder if In Vitro babies have souls. I think they just follow the pain and rail against it, no matter how inconsistent they end up being.
Where is the suffering? And how can I stop it?
"There's a girl in here who's been locked up for 11 years and she's only 25. She killed her grandparents. It's a crazy thing because she didn't wanna do it, you know, she was 14 and high on cocaine. She has two life sentences. There's nothing I can do for her."
I tell her she's a good friend, and she has a lot of hope for someone who's been here 7 years.
"Yeah well, there's nothing I can do for her except try to keep her spirits up."
That's enough, I think.
"I have stuff I wanna do when I get outa here. I have big plans and I ain't gonna stop. I'm a force to be reckoned with, you know. Nobody's gonna talk me out of things."
I tell her I know, and she's going to do good things, and I'm going to hold her to it. She has tears on her cheeks and she says it's because she hadn't said that out loud before. And I tell her to keep saying it. Keep saying it so the passion stays alive, and so the hope stays.
She wants to mentor girls and teach them the things she never knew. She wants to help other women in prison when she's out. She wants to get a degree from Emory just so she can spend time in the big theology library.
The first week of class I was lecturing on the meaning of health. I was talking about the possibility of being sick physically and healthy spiritually, or vice versa. I started talking about suffering and asking them if it's possible to suffer and still be healthy on another level.
"When we talk about suffering, what do we mean? What is missing? What is the opposite of suffering?" I asked.
Someone raised her hand bravely, and I waited for an answer like "happiness" or "comfort," but it didn't come. Instead, she said simply, "Wholeness. The opposite of suffering is wholeness."
Yes and amen. The wish of God's heart for us is wholeness, and as redeemed people in the end we will be so. I tell them pain is never God's punishment, but it can be used for good, and that's called redemption. I think they understand that a lot better than I do.
Where is the suffering? What can we do to stop it?
And what can we do to be whole?
She's tall and authoritative, even sitting down, and her brown eyes are serious. The others always listen when she talks, like she's a wise old woman, but she's probably only 30. She has a lot of opinions, is skeptical of most things, and she talks about suffering more than the others do.
When we discussed abortion, she was the first to say a severely disabled child should be "aborted so it wouldn't have to suffer." When we talked about suicide, she didn't raise her hand before giving her opinion. "I just feel like if life is total suffering to someone, they should be allowed to stop it."
Why wouldn't we stop suffering?
She doesn't talk much about her own life but I see her old suffering, below the surface of her eyes. She takes care of the other women like a mother trying to protect her kids from the pain she's known. I think she has real children out in the world somewhere, but she doesn't talk about them much. She talks about everything else.
"Did you know they used to sterilize people with Down Syndrome? Can you believe that? Do you think it's alright for Down Syndrome people to get married? I don't know. I think they could be taken advantage of. I'm doing my project on that."
Sometimes her opinions, like the rest of the class, are based on feeling instead of logic. Sometimes they are contradictory, and I think it's because her life has been full of mixed messages. Most of my students find no problem with being pro-life and pro-euthanasia, or pro-women and anti-feminist. They can agree life is sacred, but wonder if In Vitro babies have souls. I think they just follow the pain and rail against it, no matter how inconsistent they end up being.
Where is the suffering? And how can I stop it?
"There's a girl in here who's been locked up for 11 years and she's only 25. She killed her grandparents. It's a crazy thing because she didn't wanna do it, you know, she was 14 and high on cocaine. She has two life sentences. There's nothing I can do for her."
I tell her she's a good friend, and she has a lot of hope for someone who's been here 7 years.
"Yeah well, there's nothing I can do for her except try to keep her spirits up."
That's enough, I think.
"I have stuff I wanna do when I get outa here. I have big plans and I ain't gonna stop. I'm a force to be reckoned with, you know. Nobody's gonna talk me out of things."
I tell her I know, and she's going to do good things, and I'm going to hold her to it. She has tears on her cheeks and she says it's because she hadn't said that out loud before. And I tell her to keep saying it. Keep saying it so the passion stays alive, and so the hope stays.
She wants to mentor girls and teach them the things she never knew. She wants to help other women in prison when she's out. She wants to get a degree from Emory just so she can spend time in the big theology library.
The first week of class I was lecturing on the meaning of health. I was talking about the possibility of being sick physically and healthy spiritually, or vice versa. I started talking about suffering and asking them if it's possible to suffer and still be healthy on another level.
"When we talk about suffering, what do we mean? What is missing? What is the opposite of suffering?" I asked.
Someone raised her hand bravely, and I waited for an answer like "happiness" or "comfort," but it didn't come. Instead, she said simply, "Wholeness. The opposite of suffering is wholeness."
Yes and amen. The wish of God's heart for us is wholeness, and as redeemed people in the end we will be so. I tell them pain is never God's punishment, but it can be used for good, and that's called redemption. I think they understand that a lot better than I do.
Where is the suffering? What can we do to stop it?
And what can we do to be whole?
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