What If?

No one enjoys suffering.  No one likes when plans go awry, when mistakes happen, when injuries occur.  The first instinct is always to find a reason, look for a solution.  How to restore order and comfort and control to our lives.

What if we considered....that God may have a hand in this?  That He orders our lives and controls our circumstances?

What if we realized our "go-to" attitude was prejudicial in nature?  Shaped by our culture, maybe, or our own selfishness?  

Those with financial difficulties - they mismanage their money.

Those parents with a prodigal child - they didn't train their children properly, were uncaring, indifferent, disciplined too harshly, or worse.

Those that suffer from depression or mental illness - if they'd only try, they could snap out of it.

Those overwhelmed with large families - they were irresponsible, they asked for it, now it's their problem.

Those who have ongoing physical illness - if they had cared for their bodies better, this wouldn't be happening.

Those struggling with the effects of trauma - if they would truly forgive and forget, it would all go away and everything would be fine.

Do we hear ourselves?  What are we really saying?  That we control our lives, our circumstances?  That it all depends on us?

So where is God in all this?  Are we leaving room for Him?

Yes, God has set up natural laws that govern our world.  And spiritual laws for our good.  There is such a thing as cause and effect.   But that aside, have we ever considered that God also arranges our lives to shape us, for His glory?  We are His image bearers.  Shouldn't our response to suffering reflect Him?

I believe God ordains suffering to refine us.  To teach dependence on Him.  Not only for our own good, but for those around us as well.  Easy to say, a pat answer.  Infinitely more difficult to live out.

What if the suffering we are experiencing IS ordained of God?  Are we willing to learn the lesson He wishes us to learn?  Are we willing to come alongside others who are suffering and sacrificially walk with them, begin open to whatever lesson God has for us as well?

And what if the suffering we are experiencing doesn't end?  What if, despite all attempts to fix the problem, it goes on and on, with no resolution in sight?  What if comfort and happiness is an elusive dream?  

Joni Eareckson Tada reminds us, "There is virtue in suffering.  We are not entitled to a perfect, pain free life.  When inconvenience or pain, especially pain, encroach on our life, we start to despair."

And seeking a solution, a cure, a reconciliation, is not wrong.  In fact we are commanded to do so.  But in the process, remember Who is in control.  It's not about us.  

All of you, clothe yourselves with humility toward one another, because,

“God opposes the proud

    but shows favor to the humble.”[a]

6 Humble yourselves, therefore, under God’s mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time. 7 Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.

8 Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. 9 Resist him, standing firm in the faith, because you know that the family of believers throughout the world is undergoing the same kind of sufferings.

10 And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast. 11 To him be the power for ever and ever. Amen.

I Peter 5:5-10

Hey, It's Snowing!

Sunday morning.  The Passenger was up early, to prepare this household's traditional Thanksgiving feast for those who remain.  She was having a hard time feeling thankful.  Actually, she would be glad to skip the next six weeks or so and land right in January.  Rather than a celebration, holidays magnify the loss felt every day of the year.

But guilt swam around in her brain as well.  While she assembled lunch dishes in the kitchen, she made conscious effort to list things for which to be thankful.  Emotionally exhausting, but necessary, it was.  This tension between allowing grief its due and the need to count her blessings for the good of her spirit, was ever present. 

Hours later, the Trucker sat by, waiting for the last minute touches to be completed.  Randomly, he checked facebook. 

Hey, it's snowing in __________, he said.  I'm jealous, she said.  In her heart, Lord, I would so love to see snow, she said.

And then they were off.  To join a crowd of worshipers on this damp and rainy November morning.

Midway through the service, from their spot near the end of a bench, the Trucker tapped her arm and gestured discreetly toward the window a few feet away.

Snow.  Large, moist flakes mingled with the rain.  White, fluffy answers to the longing in her heart.  Large, moist tears mingled with the song on her lips, blurring her vision and her voice.

Such a simple thing.  But such an evidence of care from the Creator.  She whispered in the Trucker's ear, Could you snap a few photos with no one noticing?  Smiling, he shook his head slightly.  She understood.  Sometimes celebrating God's answers would be a distraction to the worship of others.

To her left, a small boy with more wiggles than his body could contain.  Standing on the bench beside his father to see over the heads of other singers, the snow reached his field of vision.

"Hey, it's SNOWING!"  His spontaneous exclamation rolled across the sanctuary.  Heads turned.  Smiles broke out.  Was it her imagination, or did their expressions of worship and thankfulness gain a bit of momentum?

The rain eased away, and the snow intensified.  The service proceeded decently and in order.  They needed to leave, then, earlier than most.  Driving away, the Trucker handed her his phone.  On it, photos of the snow falling outside the window, after all.

He understood her unspoken desire.  Snow was such a small thing, really.  And it could be argued that the storm, moving eastward, would just naturally reach them, regardless.  But only He controlled the temperatures, the winds.  And He heard the cry of her heart.

Such a simple thing, really.  For the God of the universe to hear, to reach down with His finger.  To whisper into her heart.  I AM here.  I AM still here.

And in that, she rests.

Reunited, and It Feels So Good

Could it really be two years ago, when the Trucker and I made a cross country trip to bring him home?

At the beginning, the time seemed never ending.  Three months, a quick week home, then six months.  Then one more month.

Now the long awaited time had indeed come.  They had driven cross country, gotten settled in a motel room.  The class was to be meeting til late afternoon.  Then there would be time to go out for a quick supper with him before the evening commissioning service.

What would their son be like after the term?  More independent, certainly.  How would the time away have changed his thinking?  Things would never be the same as before, but would he return home with them to live, or move on from here?  He was still so young.

They drove to town, parked across the street from the church.  And waited, debating entering or waiting outside.  Everything in them pulled to go inside.  But they didn't know where the class was meeting, and couldn't interrupt.  The text came; class was delayed, would run later.  Sigh.

At long last, the church doors opened.  A team member came out.  Then another.  One by one, they filed out and clustered on the sidewalk, smiling.  Where was their son?

They stepped out of the truck, waiting.  Then he appeared in the doorway, eyes scanning the street.  Taller he was, and broader.  Yet his face had a lean, almost dark, look.  Shadows in his eyes that had not been there before.  

She slipped into the street, then, and ran, her eyes on his face.  Tears came, blinding her sight.  The sense of hearing took over.  She heard his boots, those cowboy boots they had dropped off in July, pounding the sidewalk.

And then she was in his arms, weeping, her head pressed into his chest, glasses digging into her face.  His muscular arms held her in a desperate grip, his shaggy head bowed over hers.  The father's arms circled them both, a quiet, secure comfort.  Unseen, the Father was there surrounding all with his soothing, healing presence.

She could hear his heart thudding under her ear.  His chest heaved. Groans jerked from his throat.  Was it laughter?  Or sobs? Maybe both.  Drops of moisture fell on her head, soaking her hair.  A rain of love, washing away the pain and loss, the separation of the months.  His team on the sidewalk cheered, and then fell silent in respect.  Wiping their own tears.

Their reunions would come later.  For now, they cherished his.  The lighthearted banter, joking over his impatience to see his parents, the knowing they were near but he was not yet released, faded away.  All realized anew the depth of love, the pain of separation.

Because phone calls, even video chats, are never completely honest.  Often, there was so much concern for the other as to deny their own longings, and the true struggles never found voice. 

Finally, to see with one's own eyes the other, was intense relief.  Words and sharing would come over time.  For now, the baptism of tears was enough.