An Unexpected Guest and a Sense of Purpose

Today, I thought I’d tell you about the unexpected houseguest I had this weekend. His story is a bit sad, but it’s applicable to so many of us that I thought I’d share it.

I found him standing at my door looking like his world had just disintegrated. Being a man, a gentleman at that, he was desperately trying to maintain his composer, but failing miserably. I could see right through the not so casual way he greeted me. Something was up, of that I was certain.

I asked him in, offered him a seat, exchanged a few “How ya doin’s”, and fixed him a drink - Vodka. It looked like he needed it.

I took the chair across from him, tucked my legs under me, and listened to the sound of the ice clinking in his glass. His hands were shaking, trembling ever so slightly. He sipped, then gulped, then stared at the empty glass. I waited. His eyes left the glass and started floating around the room. He looked at everything, but me. He couldn’t meet my eyes. I waited. Give him a minute, I told myself. He’ll talk. He obviously needs to. I waited.

Sure enough, he finally told me what was going on. Apparently, his wife had gotten involved with a woman. Gentleman or not, he didn’t refer to his wife’s ‘friend’ as a woman; he called her another name that we don’t have to use. I’m sure you can imagine what this man thought of the woman that had invaded his life, disrupted his home, left him sitting on my couch looking angry, lost, utterly destroyed. I witnessed his grief, and listened to him run through a gamut of emotions.

At one point, he asked if he could stay with us a few days. He said he didn’t want to go home quite yet. He said, Somebody might get hurt. He let out a self-deprecating little snort when he said that. The implication was that somebody had already been hurt. The implication was that that somebody was him.

I moved from the chair and sat next to him on the couch. I’d said very little, wasn’t sure what to say to tell you the truth. What do you say? Where do you find the words to comfort someone in this kind of distress? Words don’t do it, and all you can do is reach out. So, that’s what I did.

He was sitting there, leaning forward, his head hanging low, his lifeless hands dangling down between his legs. I put my hand on his back. Didn’t say a word. Just touched his back, and he started to cry.

God, it just tore me up. For an instant, I hated his wife, but only for an instant. I knew that she too, had a story - a tale of confusion, painful longing, broken dreams. Leave her to God, a voice inside me whispered. I put her out of my head, and turned to my friend.

Relentless, burning, angry, heartbreaking tears fell in heavy drops from his eyes. I watched them travel his cheeks and get lost in his beard. Then the questions that I knew would come…came.

He wanted to know what he had done to deserve such treatment, such betrayal. He wanted to know where he’d gone wrong. He wanted to know how he could have missed it – not seen the signs. He questioned. He cried. He cursed.

It’s moments like this that help me understand the purpose of suffering. Because I’ve suffered, because I went through so much behind my husband’s addiction, because I’ve had to ask the same questions that my friend was asking, I had something to offer him.

Complete and total understanding.

We’ve all got something - something that’s torn at our heart, and left us all shredded up asking why. Here’s to trusting that God, in his wisdom, does have a purpose for our suffering. Here’s to trusting that we have the strength and character to seek out, and then live out that purpose.