Seven Day Writing Challenge Day Three:How Do I See Those Who Suffer
Luna Tian
Prompt:
Imagine that you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth—financially free, never needing to worry about money.
How would you view those on this planet who are desperately struggling—through poverty, through war—just to survive, to climb, to compete?
This is a difficult question.
In my understanding, everything that happens now is predestined.
What hasn’t happened is infinite, and I cannot assume a life I have never lived.
Still, it’s a worthy question—so I’ll try my best to imagine this hypothetical.
If I were born into wealth—never troubled by bills or survival, free to choose my path—
then the suffering I feel might not be less, but greater.
Because when I don’t have to worry about my survival,
I will begin to worry about everything in this world that still remains unsolved.
All the pain that exists in the world will dwell with me—
and so, suffering, though distant from me, will not become less bearable.
Why is the world so unfair?
I know this much:
Wealth is a gift, not a reward.
As a Christian, I cannot simply convince myself that everything is fate.
Every abundance I receive is not because I deserve more than others,
but because of God’s grace.
And that grace is calling me to see the struggles of others.
“What do you have that you did not receive? And if you did receive it,
why do you boast as though you did not?”
— 1 Corinthians 4:7
This humbles me.
It does not make me proud; it fills me with reverence.
What God has entrusted to me is not mine to possess, but mine to steward.
The pain of others is my calling.
Refugees fleeing war,
laborers struggling below the poverty line,
those silenced in the cracks of the system—
they are not just numbers.
They are not just headlines.
They are living, breathing people.
And their existence is asking me:
If God placed me where I am today,
then what should I do?
How should I act?
How should I respond?
I will never say, “They’re just unlucky.”
Instead, I’ll ask:
Is God showing them to me for a reason?
“I was hungry and you gave me something to eat,
I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink,
I was a stranger and you invited me in.”
— Matthew 25:35
If I only enjoy and do not share,
then I am the rich man watching coldly, not the friend of Lazarus.
My blessings will come with a burden of responsibility.
I will be grateful for all that I have—
but I will never be content in comfort.
Not because wealth is inherently sinful,
but because the more I am given, the more I owe.
I will use what I have—my resources, my skills—
to grow in capacity,
so I can help more people.
I will ask myself:
Am I willing to see the suffering of others?
I have seen it.
Now that I’ve seen it,
I cannot pretend I don’t know.
I want to be the one who helps.
I want to grow stronger—
not to rise above others,
but because:
“From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded;
and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked.”
— Luke 12:48
If I still have this same soul,
then I believe I still have the same duty:
to witness, to walk alongside, to reach out and share.
I too have been crushed by injustice.
I know what it’s like to be forgotten by the world,
to be oppressed by a system,
to be drowned in a label.
That pain has made me a bridge.
A bridge between myself and those who suffer.
If I hold a silver spoon in my hand,
I hope I use it—
not to fill my own bowl,
but to serve those whose bowls have been empty for years.
Not out of charity,
but because we are all created equal,
equally loved, equally human.
If I truly lacked nothing,
then I could finally stand up for those who lack everything.
I would use my wealth to support those in genuine need.
I would lift up the organizations I believe in,
devote time to education and care,
and use my influence to speak for justice—
to fight for it—
just as I’m doing today.
So, to return to the question:
How would I see them?
I would see them through the lens of a soul that cannot look away.
I wouldn’t see them as victims of “social problems.”
I wouldn’t treat their lives as background noise in the news.
I would see them as my brothers and sisters—
made in the image of God,
with dignity and soul.
Their suffering is not a separate kind of life—
it is a reality that my life must respond to.
I would look at their struggles with reverence.
Because I know:
those who survive suffering
are stronger and braver than I am.
I would look with compassion—
not just sympathy,
but a will to walk alongside.
If their lives are spent fighting to stay alive,
then mine has no right to be lived lazily.