You Will Suffer. So Choose It Well.

To be human is to suffer. Full stop.

That’s not pessimism. That’s Scripture. That’s reality. That’s the echo of Ecclesiastes, the cries of Job, the groaning of the Psalms. It’s also what Christ confirmed when He said:

There it is—both truths in one breath. You will suffer. And He has overcome.

But the in-between? That’s where you and I live. That’s the war we rise to every sun up. The war of choosing what kind of suffering we will walk through. Because there is no option where you get to avoid it altogether. That lie comes from the one who authored the illusion.

The deceiver, the prince of this world, was granted a kind of dominion over the earthly realm. That much is clear from Scripture:

And again:

So the Father, in His perfect foreknowledge, allowed this temporary reign. And Satan, always the thief, didn’t just want to rule—he wanted to feed. To devour. To siphon life from those made in the image of the King.

What does this mean?

It means the kingdoms of this world had been corrupted. When mankind sinned in the garden, we didn’t just break a rule—we handed over authority. Dominion was given to Adam and Eve, but when they listened to the serpent, they surrendered that trust. And ever since, Satan has been operating as a squatter king—offering power, influence, and glory to those who will bow to him. He couldn’t offer what wasn’t his to give. But for a time, in this age, he holds sway over the systems and structures of the world.

And how does he do it? Through suffering. Through despair. Through the numbing grind of meaninglessness and pain and spiritual erosion. He needs our lifeforce, and he gets it when we suffer without hope. When we suffer without Christ. That’s the deal.

But the Father, in His mercy, made another offer: choice.

You may not get to avoid suffering in this world—but you can choose the kind of suffering you walk through. You can choose to suffer with Christ. Or you can drift unconsciously and let the serpent choose for you.

And let me tell you—Satan is a master manipulator. If you don’t choose your suffering, he will choose it for you. If you don’t consciously say yes to the narrow road, to the fire that refines, then he will slide you into the fire that deforms.

He does this every day through laughter. Through entertainment. Through culture. Ever notice how we laugh at things that are deeply destructive? Family breakdown. Addiction. Cynicism. Jokes about hell. Jokes about loneliness. Jokes about numbness.

What is laughter if not consent?

The moment you laugh, on some deep level, you’re saying: “I agree. I accept. I’m in on the joke.” But what if the joke is on you?

Satan is subtle. He doesn’t just torture people. He tricks them into choosing their own torture. And then laughing at it. He lets them pick from a menu of distractions and delays and fake comforts until one day they wake up enslaved—bound by the very “freedoms” they thought would spare them.

Because there is no opting out. This is Satan’s realm. And in this fallen world, suffering is built into the terrain. It’s the weather of the battlefield.

You will suffer.

So you better choose what kind.

You see it in children. A boy raised on a farm might suffer in small ways every day—waking early, carrying pails, getting sunburnt. But he grows strong. Rooted. Humble. Connected. That suffering shapes him. Grounds him.

Then there’s the boy in the marble-floored house. No chores. No demands. No boundaries. Just abundance without structure. Comfort without challenge. And what grows inside him? Resentment. Confusion. Entitlement. Emptiness.

Both suffered. One by fire. One by famine.

We don’t get to pick “if.” Only “how.”

Even Christ, our sinless King, chose suffering. He didn’t run from it. He walked into it with His eyes wide open, “despising the shame,” enduring the cross. And He did it for joy.

What does this mean?

It means Jesus didn’t enjoy the suffering. He wasn’t numb to the pain or detached from the weight of it. He sweat blood in the garden. He cried out on the cross. But He saw something beyond it. He saw the joy on the other side. The joy of resurrection. The joy of redeeming you. The joy of defeating death and shame forever. And that joy was greater than the agony in front of Him. It pulled Him forward. It made the suffering worth it. That’s what it means to endure with hope—not because the cross feels good, but because what comes after is glorious.

That is the pattern. Not avoidance. But holy endurance. Willing suffering. Chosen obedience. And the reward? Glory. Real joy. Eternal inheritance.

So when you or your children reject one form of suffering—when you say no to the training, no to the discipline, no to the long obedience in the same direction—what you’re really doing is saying yes to another kind of suffering. One you didn’t choose. One that comes without purpose. One the enemy picked for you.

The dealer’s choice.

And Satan always deals from the bottom of the deck.

The irony is that his version of suffering looks painless at first. That’s how he hooks you. His suffering is delayed. Postponed. Coated in sugar. But make no mistake—it comes.

So here’s the truth I want burned into your bones:

If you don’t pick your suffering, your suffering will pick you.

Let that sink in.

There’s wisdom in hardship. There’s peace in choosing the hard way while you still have breath in your lungs. There’s beauty in raising children who know how to work, how to serve, how to pray, how to bleed a little. Because if you raise them to avoid suffering, all you’ve done is teach them how to hand over their suffering to the enemy. You’ve handed the reins of their soul to the one who only came “to steal, and to kill, and to destroy” (John 10:10).

But Christ? He came that we might have life, and have it more abundantly.

And how does that life come?

Through the cross.
Through the death of who we used to be without Christ.
Through suffering that saves.

What does that mean?

It means the person we were—self-centered, sin-bound, survival-driven—has to die. Not physically, but spiritually. The old patterns. The old agreements. The identity shaped by fear, shame, and pride. That version of you must go to the grave. And in Christ, it can. Scripture calls it “crucifying the flesh” or “putting off the old man.” (And no, that doesn’t mean a literal old man—it means your old nature. The you that lived apart from Christ.) It’s not poetic—it’s painful. But it’s also powerful. Because when the old you dies, the Spirit breathes life into someone new. Someone freer. Someone truer. Someone born of heaven, not shaped by hell.

So ask yourself: What are you avoiding right now that might actually be your appointed furnace?

What are you laughing at that you should be weeping over?

What form of suffering have you fled, only to find yourself trapped in a deeper one?

The Father gives us the dignity of choice. In a fallen world ruled by shadows, He gave us agency. But not all choices are the same. And not all suffering bears fruit.

Some suffering leads to life. Other suffering feeds the pit.

So pick wisely.

Because you will suffer.

But with Christ, suffering becomes the seed.

And from that seed, a joyful, fulfilled life will grow.

So, what kind of suffering are you unconsciously choosing by avoiding discomfort?