2024 is over; it was a surreal year. Over 50 countries had major elections, setting a new course for history and unlocking infinite future scenarios. This year brought more war, natural disasters, and something that excites me: huge technological advancements.
I am feeling optimistic and grateful, yet I'm still feeling the weight and soreness of the year, like the muscle pain you feel a couple of days after an intense workout.
I've been enjoying the holidays, waking up in the same home as my parents in Ensenada, feeling grateful they're still here. In a little over a year, we've faced several things we did not hope for, including death, disease, and disappointment. To say the least, it's been a difficult season, mostly due to my dad's diagnosis.
The year started in Mexico City for me, still unsettled and uncertain about my dad's future treatment. A couple of months into the year, I moved in with my parents in Sonora as my dad began radiation therapy through the social security system. The process, intended to provide relief, first tested us through a nightmare. Long waits—sometimes up to eight hours—were caused by an old machine prone to breaking, requiring time to cool down or be repaired. We spent those hours surrounded by pain—and by people who bonded over it.
Radiation wasn’t enough, so we moved on to chemotherapy, a process that has just ended and we’re now close to finding out if it worked as expected. During this time, we’ve received moral and financial support from family and friends. I couldn’t be more grateful. There’s no doubt that difficult times reveal who truly stands by you.
However, pain sometimes pushes you to look for or create solutions. This year, some friends and I laid the foundation of a startup in agriculture, which is my dad’s background. We did so without funding; and while we have put things on pause, it has been an incredibly eye-opening experience so far.
This year, I got to see Adele live in Munich, a dream come true. For months I was afraid I was going to need to cancel the trip, but I’m so glad I didn’t because it turned out to be a big respite! I’m still experiencing the dopamine from that night. Oh, and I also almost drowned in the Isar—a river in Munich with a strong current. Floating with the current while looking up at the tree leaves felt like heaven for a moment—until I almost ended up there. Thank God a local friend was there to help me stay afloat and get out safely. Note to self: I don’t float, at least not for long.
Afterward, I traveled to the UK and spent a couple of weeks with some of my dearest friends. We attended David’s Tent together, a 72-hour non-stop worship festival that truly feels like a pilgrimage. I hope to make this trip an annual tradition.
These are some of the highlights of my year. It was definitely a mixed bag, I can say it was a turbulent one, but one that has deeply shaped me. The common theme was uncertainty and the mental torture it represents for those like me who dream of having it all under control.
This season has led me to reflect on pain, and suffering—the subjectivity and relativity of it all. While these aspects of life are difficult to measure, I’ve spent much time considering their impact on me. Even as I write this, I hesitate to label my experiences as pain and suffering, as there is still some of that optimism that often emerges once a struggle is perceived as behind us, when the intense emotions start to fade. While I’m thankful for this adaptive trait, I must also hold on to the genuine memory of how I felt during those moments.
Pain—whether you believe stems from the devil’s commission, God’s omission, the brokenness of this world, our own choices, or simply a random occurrence—is something we all experience to varying degrees. While we cannot romanticize it, and we certainly should not intentionally inflict it, I believe that depriving someone of the opportunity to experience and develop proper coping mechanisms is a disservice to their human development.
We are shaped by many things, but few are as effective in changing us as pain—and that change can also result in beauty. Those well-rounded pebbles you want to take home from a river were once sharp, unappealing rocks. Only through the process of being eroded by constant external forces did they take on a new shape.
As scripture says, "Iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another." We are sharpened or softened by our experiences, mostly through interactions with others and more often than not, through the painful ones.
Suffering afflicts the mind, the spirit, and the body.
As much as I want to avoid pain by living a Godly life marked by wisdom, I must recognize that pain and suffering are inevitable.
During this season, I've often wished I could skip forward to the better times. I've looked up to heaven and asked God, "What are you doing in me? Why are we going through this?" I've felt like this time has been wasted, thinking I could be more productive if these circumstances were not happening to us.
In a conversation with some trusted voices in my life, the thought was raised that I might be undergoing a process of pruning. That discussion has led me to reconsider many things. If I am under some type of test, then have I passed? My resistance to slowing down, fueled by my desire to do as much as I can with the time I have left on earth, sometimes blurs my judgement.
Pruning is a necessary process that, knowingly or unknowingly, those who have surrendered their lives to God have simultaneously said yes to.
Pete Scazzero, a respected author on emotional and spiritual health, recently shared something that deeply resonated with me:
"Instead of "Why me? perhaps the question might be: "why do I expect a life free from pain? What might it look like to NOT organize my life around avoiding pain and suffering? How might God be expanding my limited image of who He is and trying to free me from any disordered attachments?"
Pain reminds us of our dependence on God and our humanity. It also invites us to trust—to believe that even when we don’t understand, something greater is being accomplished, if not around us, then very likely within us.
The biggest problem I see with pain is that it leaves us with fear. A recurrent thought I've caught coming back like a boomerang is, "And now what?" What terror might await us around the corner? However, I am learning to surrender those thoughts, let go of what's not happening yet, and hold today as a treasure.
Suffering tests and clarifies our purpose, allowing us to let go of distractions and sharpening our vision. It can make us bitter, or it can deepen our long-awaited joy. It can bring us to our knees, teach us humility, thicken our skin and soften our hearts.
All this time, I feel like I have not been the one in charge of my life, and perhaps that hints at what God might be doing in me. Pain has definitely shaped me. I feel more rugged, more anchored, like I’ve aged and I've been forced to develop resilience. More than anything, my trust in God has grown stronger. My desires and values are changing. I feel more comfortable with the idea of living in anonymity, give me a cabin in the woods and small piece of land to subsist, and I am good. Is that the result of a changed heart, or perhaps my desire to reduce my chances of being the victim of pain and suffering. I don't know, what I do know, is that I am much more interested in that which is eternal.
And on that note...
Aren't we all longing for a better world—one without pain, suffering, disease, or poverty? A place far removed from all these things? Is that place somewhere here, or are we longing for something in a different plane of existence, a separate realm entirely? I believe we are ultimately longing for heaven, and sometimes we catch glimpses of it here on earth. Heaven is currently breaking into our present reality. When that happens, it is glorious, fueling our hope to keep moving forward and to await and participate in the redemption of all things.
"For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." – 2 Corinthians 4:17–18
I am so ready for a better year. But so I was before 2024. However, a better year is not guaranteed. There is very little we can control. There might be more suffering waiting for me and you this year but what if we started the year with an attitude of surrender. I am not saying that we shouldn't live guided by wisdom and making the best decisions possible, but perhaps we can practice detaching ourselves from absolute outcomes. Could we find a balance between running to win (1 Corinthians 9:24) while recognizing that the biggest win might be what failure, pain and suffering accomplished in us?
While I run to the future, sometimes still hoping for better days, but determined to focus my energy in building a better future, my prayer is, "God, have you done everything in me that you desired to do through all this?"
I guess, we'll find out.
If you've had a painful season, maybe sprinkled with some joyful events in between, and you're ready for better days, I want to remind you that God's default and end-goal for us is Joy. But here in the in-between, there's comfort available in Him, and sometimes, we get to experience those glimpses of heaven too. I hope you catch many of them this year.
This verse has been resonating with me:
"...to bestow on them a crown of beauty
instead of ashes,
the oil of joy
instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
a planting of the Lord
for the display of his splendor." – Isaiah 61:3
I want to be called an oak of righteousness— to grow old and wise. If pain and suffering are part of the path to that, then so be it.
May we live with our eyes fixed on the eternal, and lead long, fulfilling lives that speak of His splendor.