“I have told you this so that you might have peace in me.
In the world you will have trouble, but take courage,
I have conquered the world.”

John 16:33

More than 15 years ago I fell in love with the woman of my dreams, and two years after, in what was one of the happiest days of my life, we stood before the altar and made our marriage vows. Our life together as a married couple was pure bliss, for we shared many similar values and built a very strong bond by supporting one another. Yet even then, God gave us a cross to bear - we were unable to conceive a child, and watching all our friends, peers and family welcome new additions to their families hurt us as much as the happiness we felt for them. This eventually led us to isolate ourselves from some of our friends, and I left the church, as I simply could not understand why God did not answer any of our prayers for a child. We were not asking for material possessions, or status, or power, but to expand our family through love. Was that something not consistent with God’s will for every married couple?

Beyond all hope and expectation, my wife conceived in the eleventh year of our marriage. I was cautiously optimistic but silently prepared for the worst as she was not young anymore. Furthermore, aside from the barren years we had, I had also experienced several other heavy crosses in my life already by this time. Yet the pregnancy went very smoothly, and we welcomed God’s miracle in our lives with much relief and joy. The first two months were physically exhausting, as we adjusted to life as new parents to a healthy new girl, and more so for my wife who experienced heightened anxieties associated with hormonal changes after she had delivered. Yet the joy of being a father was un-describable, and all I could think about at work was getting back and hugging my wife and my little bundle of happiness. Collectively, we could now go on building our lives together as a “complete” family, and I planned to return to the church once the covid situation improved.

Yet God’s plans for us included an even heavier cross for me to carry. As we approached the third month of our daughter's life, my wife fell ill and passed on within a week. I was traumatised and shellshocked. Nothing made sense at the time. I couldn’t fathom why God, who was the supreme good, could permit such a thing to happen? Wasn’t He the God of love? What had we done to deserve this? Why did it happen to my family and I? How was I going to cope with this? How was I going to raise my three-month-old daughter without her mother? Why was I brought to the pinnacle of the mountain, only to be cast down to the bottom of the valley within a short period of just three months? It just made no sense. No sense at all.

Yet something in me at that point told me I had to return to God to get through this. But initially I was having none of it. In moments of solitude, I screamed and yelled and even cursed at God through the torrent of tears, and even asked Him to take me too. Why had I been left behind to experience such an unbearable pain? Why had He seemingly abandoned me? Why was He so silent in my pain?

Time seemed to crawl in those dark early days of my grief, as I struggled to find answers to why this had happened, whilst dealing with a grief that threatened to break me at times. I would lie on my bathroom floor, staring up at the ceiling, tears streaming down my cheeks, paralysed by the sadness and the shock of losing the love of my life. I was spiritually and emotionally lost, like a shipwreck survivor stranded in an ocean of tsunami-like waves. I knew I had to recover from this, and I knew I wanted to for the sake of my daughter, but the weight of this cross seemed too much to bear and thoughts of self-harm even crept into my mind. How was I going to get through this grief?

As the days passed, I began to get out of the house more often, forcing myself to take walks to try to clear my mind and to think about what to do next. It was on one of those walks that I felt an inexplicable calling to walk to the grotto of the church that I had attended until I lost my faith. I stood in front of the statue of Mary, and kept asking her why this had happened. I asked her for answers, knowing that she had once stood at the foot of the cross, consumed by sorrow, and had probably been stricken by the grief of why her son had to suffer and die in such a manner. I did not get the answers I was searching for that day, but I felt a sense of calm that I did not feel since the fateful day my wife left.

After that day, I planned each of my walks with a visit to a church grotto, and gradually I began to sense that Mother Mary, Our Lady of Sorrows, was trying to tell me to trust in the Lord. This was followed by a voice I heard one morning which woke me up with the words, “trust me”. There was no one around me, just me and an empty bed, and I knew I had not been hallucinating. That night, feeling resigned and mentally exhausted, I prayed a prayer of surrender, and surrendered my grief to Jesus. Thus began my journey home to the Lord, in the midst of the worst suffering I had ever experienced in my life, carrying the heaviest cross I had ever had to embrace.

As part of my journey home, I began to discover that social media such as YouTube contained a treasure trove of material that could help me rediscover my faith, and more importantly, situate my suffering in the context of Jesus’ passion and mission. Along with those resources, a friend who was a pastor also asked me to unite my suffering with Jesus on the cross, a concept that initially seemed a bit alien to me. However, I found videos from several church religious such as Father John Riccardo eschewing us to do just that. So one night, I reflected on it, and prayed and offered my suffering to Christ, and asked that I be able to unite my suffering with what he experienced on the cross.

I cannot fully explain it, but something felt different that night. I still felt the trauma and the consuming sadness and grief, but I felt less alone, as if the weight on my shoulders had lightened. Gradually, I began to see that offering my suffering to Christ in prayer was an invitation for Him to walk with me, to carry the cross together, for a united purpose that I could not quite make out what it was at that stage. I found more online sermons, in particular from Bishop Robert Barron, that explained that the trust that was requested of me by God, was to fulfil a much larger divine plan of which my suffering was just one small part of. As if to reinforce the notion that a larger divine plan was in play, I received several signs over the next few months – little coincidences or what some Christians would term “God-incidences”, that carried messages which I felt could only have originated from my wife – telling me that she was well, and that she was watching over my daughter and I.

I also began to understand the true cost of being a Christian, that carrying the cross was not just for a chosen few, but every single one of the body of Christ. Far from being a collection of disparate individuals professing allegiance and worship to one God, we are not just a community, but in fact, one body, with Christ as the head. When we unite our cross with Jesus, we unite with His divine purposes and become His hands and feet on this earth. By offering my pain to God, I discovered that my suffering, far from being senseless and meaningless, allowed me to be more sensitive to the pain and suffering of others, and when I prayed for them, it felt as if my prayers did matter, that they were not just lost in an ocean of conversations with God. By being more sensitive to their pain, I was also able to better minister to those around me, whenever the opportunities to do so came along. Christ wants us to pray, and work, and care for each other as one body - carrying the cross should therefore not be seen as a punishment for sins, but on the contrary, an invitation to draw closer to and to participate in the divine mission of God, our creator and Lord, the one who had given us the gift of this life.

In Col 1:24 St. Paul had written,

“now I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh

I am supplementing what is lacking in Christ’s afflictions

on behalf of His body, which is the church.”

Christ never meant to save the world on His own. He would lead the effort with His example, but He wanted us as co-redeemers, and the means to which He calls us is through the Cross. It has been almost two and half years since my wife passed, and through the faith and through the immense support of family and friends, I have found a level of acceptance that has enabled me to rebuild my life, to be present for my daughter in her formative years, and to continue to carry my cross. I continue to be an active participant in several support groups which helped me in the early days of my grief, and now give active feedback in the running and facilitation of these groups, and also try to help new members or others that may be struggling with their emotions and thoughts. One of these groups is the Beginning Experience, a peer-to-peer ministry for those who have lost a spousal relationship through death, divorce or separation.

Despite coming to this level of acceptance, there are days when I am still angry with God, days when I still ask why my cross had to be such a heavy one? I still miss my wife tremendously, and not a day goes by that I don’t wish she was still here, celebrating the wonderful bond that we shared, and being able watch our little daughter achieve milestone after milestone in her development and growth. It is definitely not easy, but I live in hope that we will be united again when I finish fighting my fight, and running my race. In addition, I have found two quotes that serve as signposts to encourage me each time I feel weary about having to carry my cross, and they also remind me that this is not a journey I need to take alone.

The first quote comes from St Paul, who wrote in the letter to the Galatians (2:20),
 

“I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live,

but Christ who lives in me.”

The second quote comes from St. Josemaria Escriva, the founder of Opus Dei, who penned this beautiful reflection in one of the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary,

“See how Jesus lovingly embraces the Cross.

Learn from Him.

Jesus carries the cross for you… you carry it for Jesus.

But don’t drag the Cross…

Carry it squarely on your shoulder, because your Cross,

if you carry it so, will not just be any Cross;

it will be… the Holy Cross.

Don’t bear your cross with resignation;

resignation is not a generous word.

Love the Cross. When you really love it,

your Cross will be… a Cross without a Cross.

And surely, you will find Mary on the way, just as Jesus did.”

I hope these quotes will help you too. God bless.

Michael Lee is a member of Beginning Experience, an affiliate of Catholic Family Life. BE is a peer-support ministry serving single-again persons – those who are widowed, separated, or divorced. For more information on BE visit: www.besingapore.com

“I have told you this so that you might have peace in me. In the world you will have trouble, but take courage, I have conquered the world.”

John 16:33

More than 15 years ago I fell in love with the woman of my dreams, and two years after, in what was one of the happiest days of my life, we stood before the altar and made our marriage vows. Our life together as a married couple was pure bliss, for we shared many similar values and built a very strong bond by supporting one another. Yet even then, God gave us a cross to bear - we were unable to conceive a child, and watching all our friends, peers and family welcome new additions to their families hurt us as much as the happiness we felt for them. This eventually led us to isolate ourselves from some of our friends, and I left the church, as I simply could not understand why God did not answer any of our prayers for a child. We were not asking for material possessions, or status, or power, but to expand our family through love. Was that something not consistent with God’s will for every married couple?

Beyond all hope and expectation, my wife conceived in the eleventh year of our marriage. I was cautiously optimistic but silently prepared for the worst as she was not young anymore. Furthermore, aside from the barren years we had, I had also experienced several other heavy crosses in my life already by this time. Yet the pregnancy went very smoothly, and we welcomed God’s miracle in our lives with much relief and joy. The first two months were physically exhausting, as we adjusted to life as new parents to a healthy new girl, and more so for my wife who experienced heightened anxieties associated with hormonal changes after she had delivered. Yet the joy of being a father was un-describable, and all I could think about at work was getting back and hugging my wife and my little bundle of happiness. Collectively, we could now go on building our lives together as a “complete” family, and I planned to return to the church once the covid situation improved.

Yet God’s plans for us included an even heavier cross for me to carry. As we approached the third month of our daughter's life, my wife fell ill and passed on within a week. I was traumatised and shellshocked. Nothing made sense at the time. I couldn’t fathom why God, who was the supreme good, could permit such a thing to happen? Wasn’t He the God of love? What had we done to deserve this? Why did it happen to my family and I? How was I going to cope with this? How was I going to raise my three-month-old daughter without her mother? Why was I brought to the pinnacle of the mountain, only to be cast down to the bottom of the valley within a short period of just three months? It just made no sense. No sense at all.

Yet something in me at that point told me I had to return to God to get through this. But initially I was having none of it. In moments of solitude, I screamed and yelled and even cursed at God through the torrent of tears, and even asked Him to take me too. Why had I been left behind to experience such an unbearable pain? Why had He seemingly abandoned me? Why was He so silent in my pain?

Time seemed to crawl in those dark early days of my grief, as I struggled to find answers to why this had happened, whilst dealing with a grief that threatened to break me at times. I would lie on my bathroom floor, staring up at the ceiling, tears streaming down my cheeks, paralysed by the sadness and the shock of losing the love of my life. I was spiritually and emotionally lost, like a shipwreck survivor stranded in an ocean of tsunami-like waves. I knew I had to recover from this, and I knew I wanted to for the sake of my daughter, but the weight of this cross seemed too much to bear and thoughts of self-harm even crept into my mind. How was I going to get through this grief?

As the days passed, I began to get out of the house more often, forcing myself to take walks to try to clear my mind and to think about what to do next. It was on one of those walks that I felt an inexplicable calling to walk to the grotto of the church that I had attended until I lost my faith. I stood in front of the statue of Mary, and kept asking her why this had happened. I asked her for answers, knowing that she had once stood at the foot of the cross, consumed by sorrow, and had probably been stricken by the grief of why her son had to suffer and die in such a manner. I did not get the answers I was searching for that day, but I felt a sense of calm that I did not feel since the fateful day my wife left.

After that day, I planned each of my walks with a visit to a church grotto, and gradually I began to sense that Mother Mary, Our Lady of Sorrows, was trying to tell me to trust in the Lord. This was followed by a voice I heard one morning which woke me up with the words, “trust me”. There was no one around me, just me and an empty bed, and I knew I had not been hallucinating. That night, feeling resigned and mentally exhausted, I prayed a prayer of surrender, and surrendered my grief to Jesus. Thus began my journey home to the Lord, in the midst of the worst suffering I had ever experienced in my life, carrying the heaviest cross I had ever had to embrace.

As part of my journey home, I began to discover that social media such as YouTube contained a treasure trove of material that could help me rediscover my faith, and more importantly, situate my suffering in the context of Jesus’ passion and mission. Along with those resources, a friend who was a pastor also asked me to unite my suffering with Jesus on the cross, a concept that initially seemed a bit alien to me. However, I found videos from several church religious such as Father John Riccardo eschewing us to do just that. So one night, I reflected on it, and prayed and offered my suffering to Christ, and asked that I be able to unite my suffering with what he experienced on the cross.

I cannot fully explain it, but something felt different that night. I still felt the trauma and the consuming sadness and grief, but I felt less alone, as if the weight on my shoulders had lightened. Gradually, I began to see that offering my suffering to Christ in prayer was an invitation for Him to walk with me, to carry the cross together, for a united purpose that I could not quite make out what it was at that stage. I found more online sermons, in particular from Bishop Robert Barron, that explained that the trust that was requested of me by God, was to fulfil a much larger divine plan of which my suffering was just one small part of. As if to reinforce the notion that a larger divine plan was in play, I received several signs over the next few months – little coincidences or what some Christians would term “God-incidences”, that carried messages which I felt could only have originated from my wife – telling me that she was well, and that she was watching over my daughter and I.

I also began to understand the true cost of being a Christian, that carrying the cross was not just for a chosen few, but every single one of the body of Christ. Far from being a collection of disparate individuals professing allegiance and worship to one God, we are not just a community, but in fact, one body, with Christ as the head. When we unite our cross with Jesus, we unite with His divine purposes and become His hands and feet on this earth. By offering my pain to God, I discovered that my suffering, far from being senseless and meaningless, allowed me to be more sensitive to the pain and suffering of others, and when I prayed for them, it felt as if my prayers did matter, that they were not just lost in an ocean of conversations with God. By being more sensitive to their pain, I was also able to better minister to those around me, whenever the opportunities to do so came along. Christ wants us to pray, and work, and care for each other as one body - carrying the cross should therefore not be seen as a punishment for sins, but on the contrary, an invitation to draw closer to and to participate in the divine mission of God, our creator and Lord, the one who had given us the gift of this life.

In Col 1:24 St. Paul had written,

“now I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I am supplementing what is lacking in Christ’s afflictions on behalf of His body, which is the church.”

Christ never meant to save the world on His own. He would lead the effort with His example, but He wanted us as co-redeemers, and the means to which He calls us is through the Cross. It has been almost two and half years since my wife passed, and through the faith and through the immense support of family and friends, I have found a level of acceptance that has enabled me to rebuild my life, to be present for my daughter in her formative years, and to continue to carry my cross. I continue to be an active participant in several support groups which helped me in the early days of my grief, and now give active feedback in the running and facilitation of these groups, and also try to help new members or others that may be struggling with their emotions and thoughts. One of these groups is the Beginning Experience, a peer-to-peer ministry for those who have lost a spousal relationship through death, divorce or separation.

Despite coming to this level of acceptance, there are days when I am still angry with God, days when I still ask why my cross had to be such a heavy one? I still miss my wife tremendously, and not a day goes by that I don’t wish she was still here, celebrating the wonderful bond that we shared, and being able watch our little daughter achieve milestone after milestone in her development and growth. It is definitely not easy, but I live in hope that we will be united again when I finish fighting my fight, and running my race. In addition, I have found two quotes that serve as signposts to encourage me each time I feel weary about having to carry my cross, and they also remind me that this is not a journey I need to take alone.

The first quote comes from St Paul,
who wrote in the letter to the Galatians (2:20),
 

“I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me.”

The second quote comes from St. Josemaria Escriva,
the founder of Opus Dei, who penned this beautiful reflection in
one of the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary.

“See how Jesus lovingly embraces the Cross. Learn from Him. Jesus carries the cross for you… you carry it for Jesus. But don’t drag the Cross… Carry it squarely on your shoulder, because your Cross, if you carry it so, will not just be any Cross; it will be… the Holy Cross.

Don’t bear your cross with resignation; resignation is not a generous word. Love the Cross. When you really love it, your Cross will be… a Cross without a Cross. And surely, you will find Mary on the way, just as Jesus did.”

I hope these quotes will help you too. God bless.