The Unwelcome Invitation

originally published in Arise Daily Devotionals

Scripture: “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” – Psalm 34:18 (NIV)

We send invitations for joyful occasions—weddings, birthdays, milestones—gathering people we love to celebrate life. These are moments we choose.

Suffering is different.

It doesn’t arrive with an RSVP card or polite warning. It barges in like an unwelcome guest and makes itself at home, giving no hint of how long it plans to stay. None of us would ever send out an invitation that reads, “Come share in my grief, my fear, my loss.”

Surprisingly, suffering carries its own kind of invitation. Not wrapped in ribbons, but in refinement. It meets us on the road of life and beckons us down a path we would never choose—a path that may uncover strength we didn’t know we had, relationships we didn’t realize we needed, and changes we might never have made otherwise.

We can ignore this invitation. Many of us do. We stop where the pain began, letting grief, anger, or disappointment shape the landscape of our souls. Bitterness quietly takes root. Cynicism grows. Movement stops.

Or we can acknowledge the suffering. We make peace with what happened and adjust to a “new normal.” But even here, we can settle into passive acceptance—enduring life rather than engaging it, surviving but not truly walking forward in faith.

Then there is a third path: accepting the invitation.

Accepting suffering does not mean pretending it’s good or minimizing the pain. It means choosing to walk with God through it. It means facing the hard questions instead of avoiding them. It means being honest—especially with ourselves.

In that vulnerable place, something holy happens. We gain new vision. We find steadier footing. We discover the nearness of the God who walks beside us in the dark.

This journey became real to me when illness affected my vision—both literally and figuratively. Daily tasks I once took for granted now felt like fleeting memories. I couldn’t tell if I would ever drive again. I struggled to see where the tip of my pen touched the paper, and even the whites of eggs against a white pan became a challenge to see.

I felt dependent, frustrated, and defeated. My faith felt fragile. I was angry—not only at my situation, but at the anger inside me. For some reason, I thought being a person of faith meant I shouldn’t wrestle with questions about my own suffering. Why would God allow this? Did I do something wrong? If He is good, why does this hurt so much?

Over time, I realized God wasn’t asking me to be strong or push through my questions. He was asking me to accept the invitation—not only to endure suffering, but to be honest about the pain I was in. When I did, something shifted. The road didn’t suddenly smooth out, but it became sacred.

I began to see that God’s presence isn’t proven by our comfort—it’s revealed in our need. He didn’t promise me explanations, easy healing, or a perfect ending. He promised me Himself. And He has been faithful to that promise.

In the silence of suffering, I found the voice of love. I discovered a God who stays close to the brokenhearted—not because we’ve earned His care, but because love is simply who He is.

Reflection: God doesn’t expect us to carry the weight of suffering alone. He invites us into His presence, to find not just relief but purpose in the pain. Will you accept His invitation today?