A Transformational View of Suffering

Johanna Stamps introduces one simple question that seems to transform some people’s experience of suffering. 

The sunrise was just about to peek over the horizon. I took a moment, before I ran for the shoreline with my surfboard, to sit and look at the near-perfect waves that were curling over and propelling toward me, then slowly creeping back — almost pulling me into the ocean. I knew this was going to be a morning surf I would never forget.  

In the midst of gratitude for the beauty enveloping me, I also had a moment of gratitude that I was free of suffering. It was almost as if I had outwitted suffering. I had run so far away that it couldn’t grab me and pull me back any longer.  

The Danger of Avoiding Suffering 

When I think back, this almost seems like an extreme version of anti-suffering. It’s not that I was adverse to feeling the lowest lows of life; I had just had enough for one lifetime.  

What happens when you move from one perfect day to the next? 

It’s like the highest highs felt muted, and I did everything possible to not experience the lows. In the rhythms of my “perfect” existence, I was severely flatlining.  

I remember the moment, 10 years ago now, when I heard my father was in a hospital bed 8,000 miles away with a subdermal hematoma. When I received the news, I was taking a walk on my favorite waterfront path. As soon as I received the call, I went into avoidance mode. The mode of choice for the day was one too many drinks at a dinner with friends.  

I wasn’t even asking the questions of “why?” to suffering. I was, instead, saying, “NO!” to suffering.  

Choosing the Alternative: Embracing Suffering 

Thankfully, my father miraculously pulled through, and I began to question my response. Why did I not jump on the next plane to be with my family in a moment of need?  

I began to seek out examples of people who had a different approach to life. I looked at prominent figures like Mother Theresa, who had chosen to live with the extremely poor and marginalized. Closer to home, I thought about Corrie Ten Boom, who had made extreme decisions with her family to save others during World War II. I thought of those who lived in obscurity, like priests and nuns, who served people with leprosy for the entirety of their adult lives.  

These were people who chose to give everything up (all comfort, all things, and, in some cases, all safety) to love others and suffer deeply. 

These stories don’t introduce the question, “Why suffering?”  

This is the question that so many of us struggle with. These examples, and millions more, put suffering in a completely different context.  

The “why” question often leads us to stop putting ourselves out there. It leads us to suffering avoidance, which, in turn, often guides us to a life of flat-lining — not really living at all.  

The question of these fearless sufferers seems to be something completely different: 

How Am I Being Called to Love Now? 

I believe we reach this place in many different ways (if we’re open to it). Often it means we have to face our biggest fear — and survive. When this happens, it’s like our life is brought down to the studs and only the most basic, most important, elements exist in front of us.  

For me, this was the loss of everything I thought I had: a home, my husband, a job. I had convinced myself that life was on an upward trajectory, but instead, I had co-created a house of cards. When it tumbled, all I had was the clothes on my back, one suitcase, and a baby in my womb.  

Nothing about what followed was easy, but at some point, I stopped thinking about clawing my way back to what “success” (by the world’s standards) might be like and sat in my existence. 

Last night, I was at an event for our local maternity home. I was surrounded by the board members, the local executives who help fund the home, and faith leaders who are there to support. As I heard the account of one of the mamas I knew, I could resonate more with her story (eerily similar to my own) than the stories of the lawyers and doctors sitting at the adjacent tables.  

I have started to become comfortable in the smallness of existence because of this powerful question: “So, Johanna, who are you called to love now?”  

Practically, in the day-to-day, this looks like doing the task in front of me, to learn to love my family well, and to forgive without regard for what I think I may deserve or what’s fair.   

It doesn’t negate or minimize the suffering. Instead, it says, “Yes, and there is more.”  

Life’s deepest tragedies have a tendency to isolate us and keep us from looking up and forward. Our lives can be a fearless calling to love boldly in the midst of our suffering. 

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Copyright 2026 Johanna Stamps
Images: (top, bottom) copyright 2026 Johanna Stamps, all rights reserved; (center) Canva