Comfort in Affliction

Have you ever had a moment where you felt like you could not keep going, and God gave you a moment of relief, peace, and comfort that gave you the strength to keep going? That happened to me two years ago, in the Badlands of North Dakota.

 It was the summer of 2024, and my family and I were volunteering at a family camp for Native Americans that our church was hosting. Months before, I had begun experiencing severe pain that sometimes made it difficult for me to walk, and although I had not yet found out what was causing the pain, I decided to go on the trip. The drive from Virginia to North Dakota was long, and anytime we stopped I had difficulty walking around due to pain and stiffness. At our last stop before arriving at our destination in the Badlands of North Dakota, we bought a hiking pole for me, and it became my lifeline for the next week as we helped at the camp.

This was my family’s second year helping with Family Camp, so I thought I knew what to expect. The volunteers camped in tents, there would be a good bit of walking, and this year I would be leading the nursery for the youngest children while their parents went to class. That first night was harder than I expected though. The temperature dropped below sixty degrees Fahrenheit, and the cold made my pain worse. As the week went on, I used my hiking pole and did my best to keep up with the kids and participate in camp activities, but each day the pain got worse.

By Wednesday evening, halfway through the week, I was at a breaking point. I could barely move due to the level of pain that I was in, and I was so scared of what could possibly be causing it and the unknown of whether it would ever get better. I just wanted to go home, but home was a long ways away. I felt guilty for even volunteering to lead the nursery to begin with, because the pain limited my mobility and my patience, and I felt vulnerable because it was difficult to hide the pain. That evening I sobbed and cried out to God that I could not take it anymore, because how was I supposed to serve Him if I could barely move? I went to bed early that night, physically and emotionally drained.

Thursday morning my dad woke us up early. That year for camp the lead Native American pastor our church worked with had brought four horses to camp for everyone to ride and interact with. It had become the highlight of my day to drive over to where the horses were being kept and pet them through the fence or ride them. I have always loved horses, and this was my first opportunity to actually ride them. This morning in particular, Dad had woken us early because he had arranged for us to help warm up the horses before breakfast. The sun was just coming up as we drove over to the horse pens, and it was the beginning of the most beautiful, peaceful, and comforting experience of my life so far.

For the next hour or so, I got to hang out with the horses in their pen. The morning sunlight shone on their coats, and as I pet them one by one, they stood still and sometimes even dozed off. I will never forget their gentleness; they seemed to sense that I needed comfort, and they let me pet and hug them without ever pulling away from me.

After awhile in the pen, the pastor who had brought the horses called me over and asked if I wanted to take a turn riding one that he had saddled. Of course, I said yes and for the next fifteen minutes or so I learned how to sit properly in the saddle and how to guide the horse with the reins. I thought that the pain in my legs would make it difficult to ride, but to my surprise and relief it felt comfortable, like stretching after a workout.

Eventually it came time for breakfast, and we reluctantly said goodbye to the horses. As we drove back to the main part of camp my heart felt so light. I praised God for making such beautiful creatures and thanked Him for the time spent with them. I realized too that my physical pain was significantly less. Whether that was because of the relief from stress, the physical activity, or a miracle of God I do not know, but it gave me hope for the remainder of camp and for the trip home. I still experienced pain the rest of the trip, but it was tempered by the memory of that peaceful morning.

Thinking back on it now, it reminds me of Elijah in the wilderness. In 1 Kings 19 Scripture says that Elijah fled from his enemies into the wilderness, and there he cried out to God that he did not want to continue on living. After Elijah had slept for awhile, God sent an angel to bring him food and water and care for Elijah. The comfort and care Elijah received gave him the strength to continue his journey.

When Elijah arrived at Mount Horeb, God spoke to him, not through the wind, earthquake, or fire as Elijah may have expected, but in a whisper. God gave Elijah instructions of what to do next, including calling a man to be Elijah’s successor, and gave him hope that he was not alone in his faith and struggle, that there were seven thousand other people who remained faithful to God. Elijah was able to go on his way confident that God could still use him, that there were other people who would help him, and that his work would not be in vain.

God does the same thing today; He allows us to get to the breaking point because that is where we are the most honest with Him and the most receptive to His comfort and instruction. Just like Elijah’s troubles were not over after his talk with God, my experience of pain was not over after the morning with the horses. What changed was my perspective; I had experienced God’s comfort, and it gave me hope that God could still use me even when I was hurting, and that I was not alone in this fight.

It was another ten months before I was officially diagnosed with Ankylosing Spondylitis, the cause of the pain. During the waiting, it was the memory of God’s grace and comfort in giving me time with the horses that helped me continue on, and it still does to this day. May God give you an opportunity to experience His grace, peace, and comfort in the midst of your struggle.