The Night Always Ends

The floor was cold. I thought as I laid on the chilly tiles of our house, whilst fighting the gut-wrenching (and literally, gut-wrenching) pain in silent screams. It has been two weeks already. I have been to three different hospitals, and annoyingly, they all said the same thing. I was diagnosed with gastritis, nothing much, supposed to last for a few days to a few weeks. A common illness, I suppose. I was told not to worry, nor to overthink, and definitely, not to panic. However, I did the exact opposite of what they told me to do. Well, being two weeks in medication and it having no effect on the pain, who wouldn’t? The pain felt like my intestines were being squeezed – like lemons to make lemonade – except instead of lemonade, it made acid – a going-to-burn-your-flesh type of acid. I screamed once more, and yet again, a silent one. For I need not disturb the peaceful slumber of my other family members, who were savoring the liberty of being in an air-conditioned room, while I suffered on the hallway, the cold, harsh wind howling and beating upon me through the window, as if to laugh at the sight. 

Perhaps this was a lesson, for me and my friend went out to the mall, enjoying ourselves, and forgetting the risks brought along with our careless action. ‘Twas a careless action to escape the torment of being confined within the boundaries of our home for the past 12 months. Was this a punishment? I wonder. That I can do, wonder. But nothing else. For it had seemed like God has rejected me, and all I have received for my prayers offered in tears was silence. Silence. All I could do whenever the pain would strike once more was to be silent. Silence. It wrapped around me like a blanket, with thorns underneath. Silence. It was my best company, or rather, my only company, during those dark times. 

My days were mostly composed of me tumbling over the bed, limbs and hair all over the place, struggling to find the perfect position that could at least ease the pain, even for a little. Most of the time, I’d force myself to sleep. Funny how sleeping is a temporary state of death – a world where peace triumphed, and where reality was dead. I forced myself to travel to this whimsical world so that I may escape the torturing hands of agony, even if it would just be for an hour or two. 

I remember one night when I couldn’t put myself to sleep no matter how hard I tried. My mother came to my room to sleep beside me, so as to give me comfort. I laid there for what felt like years, but still, I could not sleep. The pain was intensifying again, and I felt the sting in my stomach. I rolled over to my side to try to ease the pain, but it did not work. It was so great now that I knew I could no longer put up with it. Groans turned into short gasps, short gasps turned into sobs, and those sobs raised its voice, as if it could no longer remain silent in all the agony. My mother woke up and she tried to comfort me by gently stroking my back whilst softly hushing me. Tears streamed down my face, a mixture of exhaustion and, and questions. I asked her through uncontrollable sobs, “Mommy, ‘di na ba ako love ni God? Hindi ba niya ako nakikita na umiiyak palagi at nagtitiis?” I felt the weight in the atmosphere as if what I had just said was a considerable fact. My mother grew quiet, for she too was starting to doubt God and why He hasn’t granted me my healing when we’ve been praying for it every day and every night. Silence filled the room. 

They say that everyone will experience their own Job moment in their lives. It’ll come to us eventually, they say. All of us will become like Job at some point in our life, and during that month, during those moments of constant battling and having the feeling of being rejected, I knew I have received mine. My prayers were starting to sound more like I was demanding God, rather than begging Him. It even came to the point where I became angry at God for all of the things that had happened to me. And like Job, I started to question God. “What did I do to deserve this?”, “Why did you allow it to happen?”, “Why won’t you answer me in any of my prayers?”, and especially, “What do I do to make it stop?” What do I do to make it stop? And then, God answered me. He answered me and laid it out so simply, like I should have understood it weeks back. He said, “Trust me.” 

But how? How do I trust you, God? And yet again, He was silent. I pondered about what God has spoken to my heart and reflected on the things that has been going on for the past three weeks. And soon enough, I finally found the answer that I was looking for all this time. Trusting God is when I can say “I don’t understand what I’m going through and why I’m going through it. I don’t understand why you haven’t done anything about it yet, and why you have still not granted me my healing. I don’t understand a lot of things, God. But to trust you, I don’t need to know everything. The reason why I trust you is not because I know, but because I don’t. You are the one who knows everything, and I put my full trust in you because of that.” 

I no longer questioned, no longer worried, no longer overthought, and definitely, no longer panicked. I embarked on the rest of the period of my suffering with a new vision in mind, always remembering what God has spoken to my heart, “Trust me”, holding on ever so tightly to these two words. When the pain would strike again, I sat still. I focused all of my energy on resisting the pain, rather than squirming on my bed or rolling on the floor. It was as difficult a task as being told not to move when a bee is flying over your head, finding the perfect spot to sting you, but God gave me the grace to endure it. Yes, instead of taking the suffering away, He gave me the grace to go through it, because the only way out of any suffering is through. 

I have not counted how many suns and moons have passed since that day, but I can say that the period of my suffering lasted for roughly a month. It was, in all honesty, the hardest month I have encountered since the day that I was born. But with that temporary suffering came wisdom and experience. I learned how to put my full trust in God, for I only used to say that I do but did not really mean it. I learned how to be patient, for patience is not just simply waiting, but rather keeping a good attitude while we’re waiting. I learned how to endure, to not offer whines and complaints while I waited for the day of my redemption. I have learned a lot of things during this one month, and certainly, learned much more than what I could have learned in a year if this suffering had not taken place. 

A ray of sunlight came shining through the windows, the floor emanating the blinding light. It brought warmth, and it lit up the once gloomy hallway. 

The night is finally over.

- Sodenitte