Tag: suffering

Hold You

February 3rd, 2026

There are times when out grandson, Asher, wants me to carry him. That is usually not a problem. He’s just over five years old, and he tips the scales at just over forty pounds. The thing that I have to keep in mind is that, with each passing day, Asher is a bit bigger, and I am a bit older. At some point, perhaps soon, I won’t be able to carry him. That’s just reality.

Last night was a rough one for Asher. He sleeps with me. He has done that for years, and he dozes off with his heavy head lying on my left bicep. When he came to bed yesterday, his legs were hurting. He had been playing and kicking a lot earlier in the evening, but I don’t think that’s why his legs were bothering him. He has sudden growth spurts, and when those occur, his legs ache. Sometimes, the soreness is mild. Last night it was fierce. He quite literally had growing pains.

Asher fell asleep in my arms, but he was awake again after only an hour or so. He was crying and moving around. I got up to find him some Children’s Tylenol. My wife and I asked him to take the Tylenol for his pain, but Asher wanted no part of it. He doesn’t like to take pain meds. That might be a good trait for later in his life.

Eventually, Asher settled down and slept again. About two hours later he was up again, once more crying. My wife came to bed to comfort him. Asher laid between the two of us. The tears flowed for a while, and then he calmed down and slept.

This cycle went on for most of the night. Asher would sleep fitfully for a while, then wake up and cry because of his aching legs. Each time, I held him close as he wept. I could feel his body slowly relax and his sobs fade away. I couldn’t think of anything to do anything to ease his pain. I could only hold him so that he would endure it. He did.

The last attack came before 3:00. It wasn’t as intense as the previous bouts of pain. His body was finishing its work extending his bones and muscles. Asher eased on to my shoulder and closed his eyes. He finally slept peacefully.

I stayed awake. I stared at the skylight and thought about the words of a song:

“I can’t carry you forever, but I can hold you now” – lyrics from, Hold You Now by Vampire Weekend

Pray Boldly!

July 27th, 2025

The three of us went to Mass this morning, like we do almost every Sunday. Karin, Asher, and I sat in a pew near the altar at the front of the church. We always sit there. Asher needs to see what is going on during the liturgy. We brought along some things to keep Asher busy during the Mass: snacks for him to eat and crayons for him to draw. Karin and I want to get something out of the service, so we do what we can to make sure our four-year-old grandson does not become bored and restless. He does anyway, but we have to try.

The priest who celebrated the Mass was relatively young. He was enthusiastic and clearly loved the old school ritual. This priest is new to our parish. He’s only been with our congregation for five weeks, which is not enough time to get to know hardly anyone. He definitely knew nothing about our family when the service started. Things were different by the end of Mass.

My wife and I are raising our grandson. We are his legal guardians, and we have an open-ended commitment to care for him in a fulltime capacity. We expect to be involved in his growth and development as long as we live. Asher is a wonderful little boy, but he is a little boy with a plethora of needs. Caring for him is an all-consuming endeavor. We haven’t had a day off since he got out of the NICU at the end of 2020. Things may change, but for right now, Karin and I are his sole support. The responsibility is at times intense, at least for me.

In addition to that, we also have other crises that flare up. I find it all difficult to handle. It’s overwhelming. They say that God never gives you more than you bear, and I have found that to be utter nonsense. I have known people to be crushed like Job by their burdens. I often wonder if God cares. The evidence of his love and mercy seems kind of iffy.

The priest gave a homily (sermon) at Mass about the power of prayer. One of the scripture readings was from the Book of Genesis. It was the part where Abraham haggles with God for the lives any innocent people in Sodom and Gomorrah. I’ve always liked that passage. Abraham had chutzpah. Somehow, the priest tied that Bible reading to the topic of prayer. He used the story of Abraham as an example of a person praying with confidence. In fact, he exhorted us,

“Pray boldly!”

One thing he mentioned was that congregants sometimes approached him saying that they were angry with God. He would always ask them ,

“So, have you told God about this?”

The point was that God already knows if you are angry with him, and He apparently can deal with that. God doesn’t necessarily want somebody to flatter him. He wants a person to be completely open and honest in prayer. He wants a relationship more than anything else. Relationships can be rocky.

The priest spoke about other aspects of prayer, but his words concerning honesty and authenticity resonated with me. I don’t recite long, involved prayers. I cut to the chase. For a long time, I have been angry with God. Mostly, I have upset that innocents suffer, that kids like Asher suffer. I don’t mind him hurting me that much. I’m an asshole, so I probably deserve it. But why allow kids in Gaza to starve? Why let children in Ukraine get killed? That sort of thing pisses me off.

After Mass, I approached the priest to talk about prayer. He was busy gladhanding congregants. I don’t think he wasn’t expecting somebody to actually talk to him about his sermon. He gave a great sermon, and I really did listen to it. I suspect priests sometimes assume that everybody in church suffers from amnesia as they head for the parking lot.

I had Asher with me. I tried to quickly explain our situation and what a struggle it is. He listened. I said to him,

“Regarding prayer, my prayer to God is simple: ‘Stop fucking with me and give me the strength to do this.”

I am sure he thought I was unhinged. I probably am. So be it. I spoke from the heart.

He looked at me and said, “Keep praying! Reach out to me if you want to talk.”

Pray boldly.