The Simons God Sent Me: Not Alone on the Road to Calvary

As I have walked through this season of suffering, I have found myself returning again and again to the image of Simon of Cyrene stepping forward to help Jesus Christ carry His cross. It is a moment that can easily be passed over, yet it holds a quiet depth. It reminds us that even in the most painful journey, God does not intend for us to walk alone. He provides companions, people who step in, often unexpectedly, to help carry what feels too heavy. It is not lost on me that I am walking through this during Holy Week, a time when the Church enters most deeply into Christ’s suffering, death, and the promise of resurrection.

There is something deeply human, and deeply holy, in that moment Simon is drawn into suffering he did not choose. And yet, he becomes part of Christ’s journey to Calvary.

I have come to understand that moment differently through my own suffering.

My hysterectomy, and the complications that followed, became a kind of cross I did not choose. There were moments of fear, moments of pain that felt overwhelming, and moments when I simply did not know how I would take the next step forward. Physically, emotionally, and spiritually, it was heavier than I anticipated.

And yet, I was not alone on that road.

God sent me Simons.

Before I even realized how much I would need them, Sister Elaine was there. She walked with me every step of the way. She sat by my bedside in the hospital, a quiet and steady presence in moments that felt anything but steady. She prayed with me and for me, grounding me in a peace that did not come from my circumstances. She read Scripture aloud, reminding me of God’s promises when my own strength felt depleted.

Her care did not end when I left the hospital. She brought me back to the convent with her, creating a space where I could truly begin to heal. She made sure I took my medications, encouraged me to walk when I needed to move, and gently reminded me to rest when I pushed too hard. Through her attentiveness and love, I experienced what it means to be cared for in both body and soul. She did not simply help me carry the cross in one moment. She stayed.

Janean, too, became a Simon in one of the most difficult moments of my journey. Through FaceTime, she was present with me during what felt like one of the most traumatic experiences in the hospital. Even through a screen, her presence was real. Her voice was calm and steady when everything inside me felt anything but.

She spoke words I needed to hear. She reminded me that I was safe. She reminded me that I was not alone. And most importantly, she reminded me that Jesus was right there with me in that moment.

There is something powerful about someone who can hold space for you when fear rises, who can speak peace into chaos. Her voice became an anchor, helping me breathe, helping me remain present, helping me trust that I would get through that moment.

There were others too. Prayers spoken for me. Messages sent. Quiet acts of love that reminded me I was surrounded by a community willing to carry this with me.

Simon did not take the cross away from Jesus. He shared in it.

That is what love does.

It does not always fix or remove suffering. Sometimes it simply enters into it, lifts with you, and refuses to let you walk alone.

In my recovery, I have found myself drawn more intentionally into uniting my suffering with that of Christ. Not in a way that glorifies pain, but in a way that gives it meaning. Crucifixion of Jesus is not the end of the story. It is inseparable from the Resurrection of Jesus.

That truth has carried me.

There were moments when my body felt broken, when healing seemed slow, when I questioned why things had become so complicated. But even there, I began to see that suffering, when united with Christ, is never wasted. It becomes a place of encounter. A place where grace quietly enters.

In the hardest moments, I have prayed not for the cross to disappear, but for the strength to carry it with Him.

And in that prayer, I have also come to see that I am not only the one being helped. I am also being formed. Softened. Drawn closer to the heart of Christ, who knows suffering intimately.

Simon’s act was brief, but it was enough. Enough to change the course of that moment. Enough to remind us that God allows others to step into our suffering as instruments of His love.

I will never forget the Simons who have walked with me.

Their prayers, their presence, their faith, have been a living reminder that even on the road to Calvary, love is never absent.

And as I continue to heal, I carry this hope:

That just as Christ’s suffering led to resurrection, so too will this season of pain give way to new life.