Chapter 1: The problem of pain and the promise of Christ.

The Universal Human Struggle—with a Name and a Story

Suffering is universal—but it is never generic.

It has a face.
It has a history.
It has a name.

Mine is Shane Stanford.

For most of my life, suffering has not been an abstract theological question—it has been a constant companion. I was born a hemophiliac, which meant from the beginning my body carried a fragility most people never have to consider. Every fall, every injury, every unexplained pain carried a weight of possibility.

Then came diagnoses that would redefine not just my health, but my identity—HIV positive, Hepatitis C positive, diabetes. These were not just medical conditions; they were labels that, at times, felt heavier than the diseases themselves. They changed how others saw me. At times, they even tried to change how I saw myself.

One of the most visible markers of my suffering is the loss of my right eye—a result of a bleed that could not be stopped in time. It is a daily reminder that suffering is not theoretical. It is embodied. It leaves scars that do not fade.

But physical suffering has not been the only arena of pain.

There has also been betrayal—by people I trusted, by systems I served, even by the church I loved. I was once refused an appointment to my first church because of my health. Before I ever had the chance to lead, I was judged. Before I could serve, I was dismissed.

That kind of suffering cuts differently. It is not just about what happens to you—it is about what is taken from you.

And yet, in the midst of all of this, I have also lived a life of incredible blessing. I have a beautiful family. I am the author of 21 books. I have been given platforms to teach, lead, and serve. My life has not been defined solely by suffering—but it has undeniably been shaped by it.

And perhaps that is the truest statement any of us can make: suffering does not define us, but it forms us.

When God Seems to Disappear

There is a particular kind of suffering that is harder to articulate than all the rest—the feeling that God Himself has grown distant.

This is not just physical pain or relational betrayal. This is spiritual disorientation.

It is the question that gave birth to my book When God Disappears.

Because at some point, suffering stops being about what is happening and starts being about where is God in all of this?

There are moments when prayers feel like they hit the ceiling. When Scripture feels distant. When the presence of God, once so real, feels strangely absent.

You begin to wonder:

Has God stepped away?
Has He grown silent?
Or worse—has He chosen not to intervene?

This is where suffering challenges faith at its deepest level. It is not just about enduring pain—it is about holding onto belief when the evidence feels thin.

And yet, what I have learned is this: God’s perceived absence is often not His actual absence. It is an invitation into a deeper, more honest faith.

Why Suffering Challenges Faith—Because It Makes It Personal

It is one thing to talk about suffering in theory. It is another to live it.

Suffering forces theology out of the classroom and into the hospital room. It moves faith from the sanctuary into the silence of unanswered prayers.

For me, faith was never allowed to remain comfortable or superficial. My circumstances demanded more. They demanded honesty.

I could not pretend that following Christ meant an easy life. I could not cling to a version of faith that promised protection from pain. My life contradicted that narrative at every turn.

And so I had a choice:
Abandon faith—or deepen it.

Many people assume that suffering destroys faith. And sometimes it does. But it can also refine it. It can strip away illusions and leave behind something more resilient, more authentic, more real.

Faith that has never been tested is often faith that has never been fully formed.

Jesus Does Not Remove Suffering—He Redefines It

If my life has taught me anything, it is this: following Jesus Christ does not exempt you from suffering.

Jesus Himself never promised that it would.

In Bible Gospel of John 16:33, He says it plainly: “In this world you will have trouble.”

There is no fine print. No exception clause. No hidden promise of immunity.

But what follows is where everything changes:

“But take heart! I have overcome the world.”

Jesus does not remove suffering—He redefines it.

He steps into it.

He experiences it.

He transforms it.

When I look at my own life—the diagnoses, the losses, the betrayals—I do not see evidence that God has failed. I see evidence that I am living in the very world Jesus described.

But I also see something else: I see a Savior who has already declared victory over that world.

The cross is the ultimate example. What looked like defeat became redemption. What appeared to be the end became the beginning.

And if that is true for Jesus, then suffering itself cannot be what it appears to be on the surface.

The Hidden Work of Suffering

I will not romanticize suffering. It is painful. It is disorienting. It is, at times, overwhelming.

But I will say this: it is rarely wasted.

Suffering has shaped my life in ways I would not have chosen—but in ways I cannot deny.

It has deepened my compassion.
It has clarified my priorities.
It has stripped away what is trivial and revealed what truly matters.

It has also shaped my family.

My children have grown up in the shadow of my suffering. They have seen hospital visits, difficult days, and moments when strength was not easy to find. That reality carries both beauty and sorrow.

It is beautiful because it has formed resilience, empathy, and perspective in them that cannot be taught any other way.

It is sorrowful because, as a father, I would have preferred a different path for them—one with less pain, fewer questions, and more ease.

This is the tension of suffering. It gives and it takes. It forms and it wounds. It creates strength, but it also leaves scars.

The Promise Within My Pain

Over time, I have come to see that the promise of Christ is not theoretical—it is deeply personal.

It meets me in hospital rooms.
It meets me in moments of rejection.
It meets me in seasons of silence.

The promise of Bible Gospel of John 16:33 is not that I will avoid trouble. It is that trouble will not define the final outcome.

And that promise has anchored my life in three ways.

1. My Suffering Is Real, But It Is Not Final

There have been moments when suffering felt overwhelming—when the diagnoses stacked up, when the losses accumulated, when the weight felt too heavy.

But none of those moments were the end of the story.

Christ’s victory reminds me that what I experience now is not what will define eternity.

2. I Am Not Alone

One of the most profound truths I have discovered is that God’s presence is often most real in the places of greatest pain.

I have encountered God not in spite of my suffering, but within it.

Not always in dramatic ways. Sometimes in quiet assurance. Sometimes in unexpected peace. Sometimes simply in the strength to take the next step.

But always there.

3. My Suffering Has Purpose—Even When I Cannot See It

If you had asked me earlier in life whether I believed suffering could be redemptive, I might have answered cautiously.

Now I answer with conviction.

Not because I understand all of it—but because I have seen glimpses of it.

I have seen how my story has opened doors to minister to others who are suffering. I have seen how honesty about pain creates connection that perfection never could. I have seen how God can take what was meant to diminish and use it to deepen.

Living Between Trouble and Triumph

My life, like yours, exists in the tension of Bible Gospel of John 16:33.

There is trouble.

There is also triumph.

Some days the trouble feels louder. Some days the triumph feels closer. But both are real, and both are part of the journey.

Faith, for me, has not been about escaping this tension. It has been about learning to live within it.

To acknowledge the pain without losing hope.
To wrestle with questions without abandoning belief.
To grieve what is lost while still trusting what is promised.

Take Heart

Jesus’ words—“take heart”—are not spoken from a distance. They are spoken by One who has walked the road of suffering Himself.

They are not a dismissal of pain. They are a declaration of victory.

And for me, they have become deeply personal.

Because when I look at my life—hemophilia, HIV, Hep C, diabetes, loss, betrayal, rejection—I can say honestly: suffering has been real.

But so has Christ.

And in the end, that is the promise that holds.

Not that suffering disappears.
But that it is not ultimate.
Not final.
Not victorious.

Because He already is.

Conclusion: A Story Still Being Written

My story is still being written.

There are still challenges. Still uncertainties. Still moments when questions outnumber answers.

But there is also a steady, unshakable truth that has carried me through every season:

“In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” — Bible Gospel of John 16:33

I do not fully understand suffering.

But I trust the One who has overcome it.

And that trust has made all the difference.