I’ve often struggled to quantify human suffering. Growing up, my family could quiet my complaints with a simple, “People are starving in Africa, you’ve got it pretty good.” And in hindsight, I did have it pretty easy. But I remember clearly how difficult high school was and how minor incidents impacted me more than they did before or since. I was a raw nerve in high school, and the painful moments served to toughen me up for future challenges. I’m grateful for my suffering, even though it may have been minor.
So why did J’s story tug at my heartstrings as it did? What part of her e-mail spoke to me enough to commit to telling her story?