Ten Questions With One Alum

Real life is painful. I saw it in the Philippines. A two-year-old boy toddled out to my vehicle beside a busy Manila road. His “house” was just three feet off the road — literally so close to the road that if he stepped outside carelessly, he could easily be run over by a passing car. This child had worms, impetigo, scabies and who knows what other illnesses. Maybe that is why his mother came to me at a church service and asked me to pray that God would grant her prosperity. Prosperity, in her mind, most likely meant clean running water, a change of clothes for her children and a dependable source of food. And all I had was the Gospel. How did that help?

Real life is the family who welcomed me into their home in India. The house consisted of a dirt floor and corrugated aluminum sides that blew over several times a year during the rainy season. The clothes they wore were the only ones they owned. I know, because I watched them go to the river, strip down, wash their clothes in the muddy river water, and put them on wet. Indian tradition required them to offer me something to eat as a visitor in their home. They plucked a banana from a tree just beyond their barren yard. I felt guilty eating it in front of them as I watched their children watch me. And again, all I brought for them was the Gospel. What good did that do them? It certainly didn’t make them less hungry.

Every Friday afternoon for more than eight years, I spent several hours working with Atlanta homicide profiling violent crime. I’ve seen hundreds of dead bodies, and I’ve noticed that I don’t recognize landmarks in the city by buildings anymore. I recognize them by who was murdered where. These victims had families who grieved over them — their loved ones’ lives snatched from them without notice. Most of us can never even begin to understand this kind of pain.

Yet in the context of the suffering I’ve described, most of our concerns about masks, COVID-19, vaccines and our current disruptions may look rather trite. It is easy for me to praise

God — even to believe in God. After all, He has given me a nice comfortable home, I’ve never truly been hungry a day in my life, and, even more important to me, my children have had every advantage. It is easy to praise Him when everything is going relatively well for us. But what do we bring to those who are suffering? Jesus himself seemed to be almost indifferent to suffering on occasion. Remember, in Matthew 26:11 he told us we would always have the poor with us. I’ve seen it with my own eyes, and I know he was right so far. I walked through a train station in Agra, India, where lepers lined the station portico as far as you could see. This could be as close as it gets to how it was in Jesus’ day. This is real life like it was for Him, but Jesus only chose to heal a few. Why? I’ve painted a very dark picture, and the quesI’m beginning to realize tion remains, “How can we endure our pain?” The only solution is to recognize that our hope lies beyond this world. In Romans we read, “For that despite our wealth and affluence, we are just as hopeless in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what he already has? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, as these people I’ve described . . . we wait for it patiently. In the same way, the we just have better anesthetics. Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints in accordance with God’s will. And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” (Romans 8:24-28) Permanent solutions to pain in this world are impossible. Power, position and money provide only temporary relief for an eternal problem. The gospel is the truth that provides eternal healing, hope and peace. I’m beginning to realize that despite our wealth and affluence, we are just as hopeless as these people I’ve described above. We just have better anesthetics. Come to think of it, maybe it is these destitute people who should pity me. Because of my life of relative luxury, I am less able to see where my hope really lies. It is ironic that the very thing that makes us stronger is the very thing we avoid. James (1:23) admonishes us to “Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds,

because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance.”

Philip Yancey presents an interesting argument in his work Where is God When It Hurts. He makes the point that even though we can’t see it, pain is actually our asset. We have learned, for example, that lepers don’t physically degenerate because of leprosy, as once thought. Instead, leprosy kills their nerve endings, making it impossible for them to feel pain. Since they feel no pain, they injure themselves, those injuries get infected, and the skin then dies from serious infections, not leprosy. Because they feel no pain, they have no protection.

Sometimes it isn’t the pain we see in others that troubles us. Sometimes the pain we see is our own. It is daunting when our world seems to crumble around our feet and we cry out to God for relief, but He seems chillingly silent. Yet when I catch myself whining about my own pain and my search for the answer to “why me,” I feel a little like Job must have felt when he asked God the same question. God’s response was, “It’s none of your business.”

But I suppose God has already answered our question — even before we asked it. “Do you not know? Have you not heard? The LORD is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He will not grow tired or weary, and his understanding no one can fathom. He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.” (Isaiah 40:28-31) Maybe this applies even to that decrepit old woman in Panama.

I believe the Psalmist, who tells us that “The Lord is near to all who call on him, to all who call on him in truth. He fulfills the desires of those who fear him; he hears their cry and saves them.” (Psalm 145:18-19)

I took many walks through the woods surrounding our home with my son, Benjamin, when he was small. He often scratched or cut himself on briars and thorns. I sometimes thought I would like to protect him from ever feeling pain, but I knew his pain would help him. I knew his pain was fleeting, even though he thought the pain of a thorn would last forever. The writer of Romans gives us this perspective when he says, “our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.” (Romans 8:18)

Benjamin also liked to lead. Sometimes he was too stubborn to admit he had lost his way as we walked through the forest. “Are we lost?” I teased him. “Will we have to spend the night in the woods?” He didn’t understand that I knew exactly where we were and exactly where we were going. Even though I was following him, my arms were never too far away to catch him if he stumbled.

Likewise, God is with us even when we might think otherwise. The Psalmist asks: “Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.” (Psalm 139:7-10) As a father walking with his son, I know God will be there for me.

Who knows pain like we’ve known? That’s a silly question, isn’t it? Jesus knows. This is the same Jesus who, just before his crucifixion, said, “I have come into this world that I should bear witness to the truth.” (John 18:37)

As for that woman in that filthy hovel in Panama, even there, I know God the Father is never too far away to comfort His children. Our God, who specializes in the impossible, knows that our pain is fleeting, and even though all I have is the Gospel, maybe that is enough.

Gregory K. Moffatt, Ph.D., LPC, CPCS, is dean of the College of Social and Behavioral Sciences at Point. Learn more about his work on his website at gregmoffatt.com.

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Carol Erica Pitts Parker ’11

1. What made you decide to attend Point?

It was honestly a last-minute decision. I knew some people from youth group going, so I decided to go, too.

2. What’s one item on your bucket list?

A month-long excursion at Disney World or in Fiji. About the same, right?!

3. Name one person from Point who made a lasting impact on your life.

Definitely Mr. Huxford. He always encouraged me and my ideas and craziness. He just let me be me, and that was always enough.

4. Cats, dogs or house plants?

I would say dogs, but my kids are allergic. We just bought our first two house plants and now there’s only one. It’s an aloe plant, so I think I can handle it.

5. What’s a quality or skill of yours that distinguishes you or that you’re most proud of?

I just like to create and excite people. I was told that I wasn’t creative as a child, but creating has been the recurring theme of my life. [Note: Parker has a business, ParkerHouse Littles, where she creates and sells hair bows, hats and other children’s apparel. Check it out at parkerhouselittles.com.]

6. What’s a favorite Bible verse or passage?

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart; do not depend on your own understanding. Seek his will in all you do, and he will show you which path to take.” Proverbs 3:5-6

7. “Looking at me, no one would guess...”

. . . that running actually makes me happy.

8. What are your biggest pet peeves?

My biggest pet peeve is when someone uses the word impossible. It’s lazy, lacks imagination and innovation, and keeps us “safe.”

9. What is your favorite Point memory?

As an RA, I loved getting dressed up in my crazy camp clothes and taking our dorm girls to the Chick-fil-A Dwarf House in the middle of the night.

10. What does Point’s mission of service and leadership for Christ mean to you?

My time in college is marked as a time of learning to lead by learning to serve people, and that has shaped my life. Point’s mission of service and leadership is foundational for me. Parker lives in Athens, Georgia, with her husband, Stanley ’13, and their children, Evan, Hazel and Bennett.

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