All of us will experience trauma and pain at some point in our lives. This is because we are relational creatures, and relationship conflict is as inevitable as death and taxes. I have never met a couple who have had no disagreements or misunderstandings. Those who claim to be conflict-free are either hiding from it or deceiving themselves.

But how sweet is the knowledge that it is through conflict that we actually grow more intimate and, in turn, become more Christ-like.

Our first marital conflict was not trauma-inducing, but it was still a doozy. I was coming home increasingly stressed from working on my dissertation and doing overnight shift work on weekends, and my new wife, Alisa, felt like I was pulling away from her. She interpreted my distance as stemming from a misgiving I must have been feeling about marrying her. I could tell she was upset, but we had so little experience sharing our deep hurts and fears that we went a whole month without ever getting to the bottom of the real issue: she was hurt by my growing distance but felt she could not express it to me without hurting my feelings. It is a painful memory we can now tell with humor, but only because we worked through the hurt and pain and discovered the deeper issues at play.

Our first real moments of trauma came many years later when, in 2020, I was diagnosed with stage III colorectal cancer and given a 50% chance of surviving five years. Thankfully, I am still cancer-free today. But the physical and emotional toll of treatments—chemotherapy, radiation, and two surgeries—has been immense. Alisa was thrown into the unrelenting role of caregiver while she herself was battling melanoma and caring for our high school-aged daughter, who was experiencing debilitating back pain and eventually underwent surgery for a bulging disc.

Through these experiences, I began to wrestle with permanent neuropathy, daily nausea, PTSD, and other unmentionables associated with losing my rectum. As a believer and follower of Christ, I have access to God’s Word, a community of believers, and a God-fearing, Jesus-loving, Spirit-filled wife. As a social psychologist, I have also been privileged to learn from some of the best researchers and thinkers in my field, as well as in fields like positive psychology, where they study concepts such as grit and resilience. Here is some of what I am learning about resilience and the faithfulness of God.

Resilience is not erasing my pain and suffering. It is carrying wounds without letting them consume my story.
I am not the triumphant warrior. My victory is found in leaving behind the old and calling to mind the new.

Grit is not about becoming tougher. It is permission to grieve.
I want to cry for what was lost and not be ashamed.

Grit is allowing myself to feel anger as well as gratitude.
I want to yell at the devil and praise God with the same lips.

Resilience is not ignoring my struggles. It is the gradual regaining of my physical and emotional footing.
I want to feel good again while still processing a redefinition of “good.”

Resilience is not the absence of distress. It is integrating difficult experiences into my life story.
I want to swim in the sea of sorrow without drowning, confident in Jesus, the Lifeguard.

Resilience is meaning-making. It is taking all of my experiences and letting God transform them.
I want to use my pain and trauma to form a new and improved version of myself. I want to incorporate the good with the bad and come out more Christ-like.

Resilience is not living in the painful uncertainty of tomorrow. It is a rebranding of the future.
I have hope for what comes next. I trust in His faithfulness. I seek to reframe my pain and bring God glory through all my experiences.