What Only Suffering Can Teach Us

Hebrews 12:2 says in part, “For the joy set before him he endured the cross.”  

The only time I knew my faith pleased God was when I responded the right way in suffering, and this was especially so when my heart attitude was humble, accepting with joy that I could bear the pain with God.  

Not that I can say that I’ve done this very often.  I’m sure God has blessed me with humility just enough to see His power that works for good for those who love Him and trust His goodness — who are called according to His good purpose.  

What I have seen and know to be true is worth stating.

It’s only when we suffer and respond well that we are blessed with the closest intimacy with God.  

It’s only we’ve chosen to be humbled by the suffering circumstances out of our control — and wisely so when we did it — that a deeper knowledge is afforded to us.  

We learn in these places of poverty of spirit that the lament of complaint and a calm acceptance can co-exist, or that we may vacillate between these, much as if we meander through the grief process.  

Suffering torches the prosperity gospel faith that if I do good and am good that all of life will be good for me.  It’s clear through the circumstances of life — grief will catch up with us eventually — that God desires to purge us of such an arrogant faith that we think we’re worthy only of blessing and every good thing we desire and that we’re saved from suffering.  

It appears to me that life is the other way around — that we are confirmed as the Lord’s anointed even as we wait on the Lord in our suffering.  I know as much, again, by the relatively few times I’ve looked up to God in the midst of pain and said, “Lord, You know best, I trust that You are good, and thank You that Your love rushes toward me even as this situation breaks me, and that I receive Your love most intimately when I run toward You when I would rather run away from my life.”  

There are relatively few Christians who attest to the depths of intimacy with God amid suffering, and that’s because such suffering is quite a raw phenomenon, and because when most people are there they resent it.  

The biblical witness is trustworthy and true.  When we’re suffering — whether it’s our fault or not — blessed indeed is the person who can roll with it, even to allow the suffering to crush them, for them to be broken open by the suffering rather than just be broken by it.  

Each life has a golden opportunity in suffering.  To accept the painful things about it that cannot be changed: the circumstance, how one got there, the unknown timeframe of the present and future suffering, and to learn to trust in what is perceived as an injustice that reactions of hurt, bitterness, and resentment are only to be expected, but to transcend these — even if regularly enough that we experience the intimacy with God and the power of His blessing.  

What is biblically true is this: the more we bear our crosses well, the more we participate in Christ’s suffering, the more we will glory in Christ’s resurrection.  

When James 1:2 says, “Consider it pure joy when you face trials of many kinds,” he backs it up with what God is able to reliably do in and through us when we suffer without always getting bitter and resentful.  

What Jesus was able to do perfectly — endure the cross — we can do much less perfectly, but we can do it, and when we do it we receive something only God in this world can give us.  

That is a joy for mourning, a beauty for ashes.  

Let us also not forget that what the world is silent about, the Bible majors on; the Bible has answers for us on HOW to suffer when we are afflicted.  Wise are we to heed its ancient counsel. 

Endurance by faith in future’s hope

22 years ago to these very days, days I did not know if I would or could endure, I did endure, one day at a time.  Those days, some darker than others, were the spiritual battle for and of my life.  

The enemy of life itself had beset my hope, yet what kept me alive at that time was the community of AA, then within months it was the community of God’s church in Christ, all of it underpinned by my daughters and my parents.  

Still I was beset in daily spiritual battles that the enemy would sometimes threaten to win.  And even when the enemy seemed to win, when defeat was a day’s experience, when I was broken again in teary lament, there always seemed to be the hope of a resurrection — which always did come to pass a day or days later.

I knew endurance by faith in future’s hope would keep me alive, surviving and sometimes thriving.  That faith in future’s hope was always there even if the strength of my hope when under attack made it seem that that hope was temporarily lost.  

The future hope was this: that I would receive the second chance at life God had promised me, that I would recover from the grief of having lost my first marriage, that I would become of good use in the hands of God, and ultimately live with joy, hope, and peace in my heart.  

22 years is a long time.  I can say that I have felt in the place of my realised future hope for nearly four years now.  

The beauty of the future hope that seems lodged deep in one’s heart is that somehow the darkness cannot conquer it; indeed, the darkness only seems only to reinforce it.  

What others may intend for our harm,
God uses for our good, ultimately,
if we don’t give up.  

This is an encouragement for the circumstantially broken to read.  I don’t need to apologise for writing to the person broken by their circumstances.  If only one reads this and derives hope, my aim is accomplished.

The person broken by their circumstances needs hope, because when that person gets through a dark day, knowing with a hint of gratitude they had sufficient strength in their weakness to do so, they know they can do it again when attacked again… and again… and again… for as long as it takes until they arrive at their future hope.  

What got me through was many things, loving community, a purpose to live for, specialist support when required, practicing acceptance of those things I cannot change, all of this underpinned by faith.  

The final thing to say is this: endure by faith in your future hope, for it will arrive at the right time if you do not give up.  

That First-Love Gift

I never thought in my hardest, loneliest days – 22 years ago now – that those would also be the times I felt closest to God.  

Not that I’m not close to God today.  I just recognise that I’m ever clamouring to get back to that time, spiritually, when I absolutely needed God every day, and many of those days it was one moment at a time.  

Many of those first days
I had nothing but God.  

I had my daughters and my parents,
but I also had a lot of time alone.

God was front and centre and proved
His presence with me every time.

But with time, and especially as life becomes easier, our love for God cools.  I know that God understands and accepts the ‘cooling’ of our love for Him over time.  Perhaps we don’t love Him less, maybe it’s a refining of our love.  

The tension in us to get back to the first-love status is all that is needed.  

I call it a tension because on the one hand we want what we had in the past, and somehow it impels us forward in the future.  And on the other hand, accepting that we’d always want that heart-aflame passion means, we affirm those who are there – those on fire for God.  They fan aflame our faith by the Holy Spirit.  The young in faith are a gift that we need.

Wanting what we had honours the past.  I never thought when I was really broken that I had something that I would want to reclaim in the future.  

I guess part of my hope back then was that God would truly use some of that brokenness for His glory.  And God has really honoured that.

Somehow, I’m hoping that there is someone reading this who’s right there in the beginning of their journey of recovery who needs this encouragement.  There is something I envy about where you’re at!  

Your spiritual proximity to God is something that isn’t always there when you’ve overcome the tyranny of circumstantial brokenness – when life has righted itself years or a decade or two on.  

There is a real beauty in a life full of lived purpose for the things suffered initially.  I love living out of the purpose God gave me more than two decades ago.

Be encouraged in your rock bottom state, that pressing into God right where you’re at, when you feel you’ve got nothing, is the absolute nexus, the prime position, to receive Jesus’ love.  

A decade or two or three on we’ve been through a lot and perhaps we’re worn down a little with life, or our love for God has cooled because we’ve begun to take what He’s done for us a little for granted.  

The sanctity of the first-love is precious, we’re receptive and more open to revelation.  Our insight is piqued, and our hope is strong because we’re weak.  

The sanctity of the first-love is precious also because we believe in the miraculousness of God, that God lives and moves and walks faithfully with us every step of the way.  

That first-love is a gift that we may feel is somewhere attainable but also somewhere on the horizon — visible, even touchable.  It’s enchanting and part of the hope we have to remain connected to the Vine which is Jesus.  

To have had that first-love — to be set on reclaiming it — is the greatest gift.

Beautiful Wisdom Parenting

I spoke at church last Sunday on the call placed on Barnabas and Saul prior to them being sent to the nations of the world (Acts 13:1-3), essentially taking the message of Christ to whole societies that has absolutely civilised the world.  

A ‘call’ is our innate purpose — something as Christians we receive from God.  

Yet, each of us is absolutely called — perhaps not to spread a message en masse — but certainly we all have a purpose because of the lives we have.  All our lives — whatever faith we have — has purpose, and a purpose: a calling.

I don’t need to say that God gave us our lives and placed us where we are, in our discrete situations, with our life experiences, with the families we have.  Much of this happened for us, whilst some of this we, ourselves, create, have created, and continue to plan for in the creation.  

Allow me to hone in on family — parenting and family leadership, to be precise.  Many, many of us — perhaps even the majority of us — are called into this place of making our contribution to society, and living our lives, so that others (not only ourselves) will prosper.

Indeed, the call on all our lives is to serve others, whether we have leadership or not.  And this is never more poignant than in the family with parenting and grandparenting.  I can say that service is our purpose because of the evidence on our own souls when we have provided service (when we have been kind, patient, gracious, have offered space, etc.) — that good feeling we receive is from God.

Beautiful wise parenting is all the love languages sprinkled as blessings in the lives given to us to love.  

It’s kind words, spoken with belief and authenticity to encourage; the lifeblood of the courage we all need through kind words spoken that say, “You are enough… I’m with you… you can do this thing ahead of you.”

It’s patience executed with grace, absorbing stress as a gift to and for the other.

It’s that quality time spent focused on the other person without distraction, with eye contact, listening, enjoying one another’s presence, turning phones off or leaving them in another room.  Quality time has that intransigent value of being timeless — it doesn’t mean hours on end, but it can be a priceless moment of matchless value, chock full of spiritual nourishment.  Life with lots of these moments with our loved ones.   

It’s beautiful acts of diligent service — where it adds value in the other person’s life, not to enable sloth, but to help where it would be significantly appreciated, but never done for our reward — never done with a string attached.

It’s appropriate physical touch — defined by the other as appropriate and sought.  Through the ages and stages of children’s lives, needs and boundaries change, their physical autonomy must be respected and adhered to, and keeping them safe never changes.  Loving our children and grandchildren requires wisdom and mastery especially around physical touch — everyone’s body is their own domain — and knowing when a hug or simple proximity (sitting and being together) are often powerful and necessary ways to love.  

All of the foregoing are gifts to our children, but there are physical resources and lovely things that can and ought to be given to nourish their lives.  

Being a parent and a grandparent is the most privileged and blessed thing, but with this comes the responsibility to love them well.  We won’t always get it right, so being quick and sincere in apologising is crucial.  Ultimately, WE as parents and grandparents are to be safe people who our children and grandchildren FEEL love them.

That’s the thing with
the beautiful wisdom of love —
the OTHER person gets to define
if it felt like love or not.  

Us being open to this feedback is fundamental.

It cannot be said better than Paul in 1 Corinthians 13:4-8:

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.  It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.  Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.  It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.  Love never fails.”

The gift of pain (if you know, you know)

Grief outbound of loss is a twilight zone of love and life gone wrong, one’s reality interminably gone, replaced with an untenably painful experience of sheer uncertainty — because we’re without what was.  

What you really want, vanquished. 
Nothing but shards, wonderful memories
dispatched as memories now too hard to bear. 
One shut-out of one’s own life — the way it was. 
Forced to ‘embrace’ a life we would never choose.

There are choices, of course, like denying the new reality, but doing that is to deny oneself.  

Some people try denial and it seems to be the way for them, but denying one’s reality leads to the loss of self, and the hardest of all is facing terminal regret too late to reconcile.  Others cannot contemplate that.  They would rather die than deny.  That proves to be the only wise choice — to face one’s pain, one facing at a time; to endure the painful journey to healing.  

Birds of a feather flock together, they say, and those given to the all-consuming world of loss and grief are estranged to those who haven’t suffered such an existential ignominy.  

But loss and grief are potential
destinations for any and all of us.

Those given to loss and grief find great commonality with those who face the execution of the old life.  

I do say ‘face’ — as in, present tense — for that is the reality; an ongoing sense of personal privation as in life becomes a parallel universe where what we THINK are peace, hope and joy — better put, this world’s comfort — are vaporised in a flash.  

Yet, therein lay an utter paradox — peace, hope and joy are BIRTHED from such a place of privation.  From time spent in the darkest pit valley, with God beside, the lofty mountain grandeur cherished for what it was and we hope it will be again — for, we cannot stop hoping.

Indeed, in deepest pain was God’s presence found.  It wasn’t a pretty experience.  There was a sodden pillow, a night full of tears.  The loneliest period of our lives.  Yet, God was found there.  As we looked back upon the presence of God that carried us through.

God was there, in the mire of it, and God was there each step as we looked back.  This is why we’re encouraged when we find a fellow sojourner, one whose face lights up when they SEE we’re kin.

If you know, you know.  It’s not like we cherish this ‘club’ as exclusivist.  We feel sorry for those who find themselves stuck in this liminal space.  But we’re nonetheless connected to and with them.  And we realise together, that if this cannot crush us, nothing can.

The MOST painful reality for those who know, is not being part of the grief but apart from it, like they’re convinced it needs to be touched.  

Because we cannot deny the pain,
it’s better to touch the wound and
endeavour to heal it than leave it fester.

If you know, you know, and there is
comfort in being with those who do.

There is certainly pain in some or many circumstances with those who have no idea — who don’t know — the worst of it, a lack of empathy or emotional and spiritual bypassing.

What suffering teaches us is we
have the opportunity of response;
an opportunity that can’t be ignored,
which is actually a choice:
accept the pain or become embittered by it.

To shake our fist at suffering or God or anything good — to become lost in bitterness — doesn’t shift anything.  Yet, the cross of Christ remains an indelible witness of God’s intimacy with suffering.  

God understands the conundrum of suffering.

God actually understands.  The doctor that met us with tears when he announced our baby was terminally ill gave us all we needed at the time.  We just need to be understood.  

When I believe in God, I subscribe in faith to the concept of judgement, of reconciliation of all things.  The truth will be revealed.  Compensation will be made.  And even though I cannot say for certain these things will happen, it gives me enormous peace, hope and joy to trust a good God.

The answer of God isn’t just the death of Jesus on the cross — it’s the resurrection of Christ.  

Even though we needed Christ on the cross for our redemption, God didn’t stay dead, and the nature of the resurrection — if you look closely enough — is the nature of life.

Suffering teaches us we have no security
other than salvation.  And when we receive it,
we recognise that’s only the security we’ll ever need. 

Has God got no answer for suffering in this world?
Suffering is the vehicle to understanding God’s answer.
That answer is the cross and resurrection of Christ.

Recovery of hope,
reconciliation of peace,
reception of joy.  

Grief forces us through the narrow gate.