When the trials of life unravel the fabric of our plans,
when we face the deep confusion of painful circumstance,
when our feeble strength is broken, and we stand with empty hands,
that’s when the Father whispers "Trust the pattern I have planned."
Lyrics from song, The Weaver
I can't say I've experienced crushing tragedy.
I've never lost a child.
My health has not been at risk.
I've not been rejected by my spouse.
Bankruptcy has not tarnished me.
My childhood was not traumatic.
But I've had pain.
My parents divorced.
I watched my father die a miserable death.
Close relationships dissolved.
Providing for a family of six on one income brought great anxiety.
My sons were diagnosed with a scary childhood illness.
I grew up fearing I didn't measure up to society's standards.
In my pain I cried out to God.
Why? Why didn't you answer my prayer how I asked? What purpose could this have? Where is Your rescue? Why don't You come?
His consistent, soft answer was unmistakable.
Can I be completely honest?
His words weren't terribly satisfying or at all comforting. How is a person to trust the dark hole in front of them? How can you to see His light in the fog of hurt?
But He'd say it again.
All I could do was work on it. When I couldn't feel Him, I meditated on the Truth of His Word, over and over and over, willing my spirit to believe it, or rather, allowing His Spirit to transform my human thinking. And though tears were still shed, His peace nudged me forward a day at a time, until I discovered His track record in my very own little life.
He beckoned me in my trials, teaching me to believe, to trust Him, even when I didn't feel like it.
He did the rest, growing my faith, making me stronger, more usable, better suited for His purposes.
How can I not be grateful?
And without faith it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to him must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him.
May your suffering lead you to earnestly seek Him as well, my friends. For then, your pain is never wasted.
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