Three Lessons from a Benevolent Universe

I try to remember that everyone is going through something and has gone through something.

No matter how wealthy or poor, how powerful or meek, how healthy or sick—everyone suffers. And at times, suffers brutally. Grief, loss, and addiction affect everyone—whether it's presidents or paupers.

This is the first lesson I learned about suffering: if everyone suffers, and suffers gravely, then I have an opportunity to help them mend just by treating them with dignity. And practically speaking, I can’t handle having a different MO for people who I like and respect and trust, and for people who I distrust or even find repulsive.

My soul can’t code-switch in the same way that my language can.

If I try to selectively treat some people with dignity and not others, it feels like my character splits in two—like a self-inflicted Jekyll and Hyde. I lose myself. So I try to offer the same dignity to everyone. It’s all or nothing—not because it’s easy or even comfortable, but because it’s the only way I know how to stay whole.

What to make of suffering itself, though?

I had this thought experiment in the past week—which has been the most intense we may have ever had. Our family is entering a season of tremendous challenge, and equally tremendous joy.

And as I look to the horizon ahead, I had one of those raw, reflective daydreams that stripped my heart down to naked honesty.

Let’s assume there is a higher-order being that influences our lives, orchestrating at least some of the suffering and joy we experience. Let’s further assume that this being actually does care about us and wants us to thrive.

If you are a theist, that being could be a benevolent God. If you are a non-theist, maybe you still hold space for the idea that something greater—life itself, the universe, some force beyond understanding—is trying to help us grow.

If we assume that there is a benevolent being that truly cares about our long-run best interest, and that being is intentionally influencing the suffering and joy in our lives, there must be some reason.

So what are they trying to teach us?

I can never know for sure, but I think it’s something like this—something about how we are in relation to others:

Learn to take care of yourself.
Take care of others.
And let others take care of you.

Or—
Learn to be a light.
Help others find their light.
Let others find the light in you.

Or even—
Learn to laugh at yourself.
Help others laugh.
Let others help you laugh.

Each part of the triad points to a different kind of human bonding.

To love the self is to become a vessel—open to love, radiant with light.
To love others is to offer them that light.
To let others love us—that’s the hardest. It requires trust.
It asks us to believe that we’re worthy, and that others are safe enough to let in.

Again, I don’t know for sure, but I don’t think that benevolent higher being is trying to teach us this—though too often, our actions wrongly suggest otherwise:

Learn to make money.
Take money from others.
Prevent others from taking your money.

Or—
Learn to live in the shadows.
Put others in darkness.
Fight the people who put you in darkness.

Or—
Learn to create fear.
Project fear onto others.
Shield yourself from the fearful others.

The first triad is a lesson inviting us into trust, love, and connection. The alternative traps us in a cycle of fear.

The first is an open hand; the other is a dagger at the neck.

The point is in how we are in relation to others. I don’t think the suffering and joy the benevolent being is throwing our way is to teach us to be in a state of conflict and exploitation. I think what they’re trying to teach us is to be in a state of harmony and intimacy.

Every experience of suffering and joy follows this pattern of pedagogy:
Experience love.
Love others.
Let love in.

Not one, not two, but all three:
Learn to love (an act of the self).
Love others (an act onto others).
Let love in (an act of others onto us).

We can’t graduate with just one of these lessons—we need all three. Hinduism has taught me this. So has Catholicism. Even my reflections as an indifferent agnostic in my early twenties taught me this.

Life has taught me, through all gives and takes from us, that we need all three threads of this triad, braided together.

As I grapple with the road ahead for our family, we are starting down tremendous suffering—but probably more than our fair share of joy, too. In prayer, contemplation, and written reflection, I’ve come to this conclusion again and again—including this week—and more strongly every time.

Maybe there is nothing out there. Maybe there is. Your beliefs and your guess are as good as mine. But it is helpful to think as if a benevolent being is trying to teach us something.

Because the conclusion I’ve come to—over and over—is powerful and instructive:

All this suffering and joy reminds us that the meaning of it all is to refine our relation to others—
By experiencing love,
Loving others,
And letting love in… again and again.

We must create important jobs

As Robert and I left the campground sink after washing the dishes, he was a little disappointed. He wanted to carry what he thought was more important: the 8L sack of potable water we’d use all day at our campsite, rather than the washbasin full of dishes.

I thought back to a lesson I learned at Student Council camp in high school: all jobs on the team are important.

At camp, years ago, one of our exercises was a simulation of a manufacturing process—we had to replicate a design, transport parts, and rebuild the design to spec in a different room. I felt unimportant as the truck driver—all I did was follow orders, wait around, and move parts from one room to another.

But my camp counselor reminded me during our debrief, “Could the team have built the design without you driving the truck?” I learned one of the most important lessons in leadership: if it needs to be done, the job is important. And no matter what the job is, the person who does it should be treated with the same high level of respect as everyone else on the team.

That’s what I told Robert: it’s okay that the sack of water was too heavy for you to carry. You’ll be stronger someday. But carrying those dishes? We need those dishes too, and I appreciate you carrying them. You’re doing an important job.

Over the years, as I’ve taken on more leadership roles, the lesson I learned at camp has deepened. It’s not just about recognizing that all jobs are important and treating everyone with respect, regardless of status. It’s also about ensuring that everyone has a role that truly matters.

Too many people in too many organizations have jobs that underutilize their capabilities, sometimes in ways that are almost insulting. Generally, if someone is good enough to be hired, they want to contribute meaningfully. Not everyone aspires to senior roles, but almost everyone wants their job to be impactful, not bullshit.

Unfortunately, some leaders seem to think that their team members should figure out what’s important on their own—they can’t be bothered to help those with less power craft meaningful roles.

I don’t live by that standard. If we have more authority and status than someone else, we need to help them find and fulfill an important job. We need to create opportunities for others to be respected. Sure, it’s a two-way street, but more of that responsibility lies with those of us who have more authority.

One of the most impactful things we can do as leaders is to actively help others create roles that matter. When we create opportunities for everyone to contribute meaningfully, we not only respect them—we elevate the entire team.

We must create important jobs.