First Comes Pain, Then Comes Love

For millennia people have struggled with the apparent contradiction of the presence of a good, loving, all-powerful God and the existence of pain and evil.  I won't deny it: I, too, have had to wrestle with the issue. 

Because I consider myself to be pretty theologically solid, I usually navigated that morass by relying on concepts such as "free will," "the Fall," and "original sin."  That usually satisfied my brain.  It rarely satisfied my heart. 

I am coming to a place, however, where I am becoming not just reconciled to, but thankful for, the pain in my life.  (No, I am not falling into masochism!)  Rather, I am beginning to sense something of the heart of God in the midst of our sufferings. 

This morning, I read the following passage:

"For you, O God, tested us; you refined us like silver.  You brought us into prison and laid burdens on our backs.  You let men ride over our heads; we went through fire and water, but you brought us to a place of abundance." (Psalm 66:10-12)  

Notice to whom the psalmist is giving responsibility for his suffering?  Not the prison guards or the soldiers.  Not even the psalmist himself.  GOD.  GOD has done this. 

What?  How does that fit? 

All I can tell you is what I've been experiencing in small ways for two years and in a far greater way over the past two months: 

God brings us into pain so we can find relief in Him.  

I would not have known what security in God's hands meant if I hadn't experienced insecurity.  I would not have known the wealth of God had I not experienced penury.  I would not have known the faithfulness of God had I not seen the faithlessness of humanity. 

Most of all, I would not have known the love of our Lover-Creator-Savior had I not known what is is to be unloved. 

For I am now--after nearly 40 years of walking with the Lord--just now experiencing the passion Christ has for us.  I brought my best to the world, and the world counted it as trash.  I brought my broken, tired, bruised self to Christ, and He exulted in it.  He knows my every thought, and He cherishes them all like priceless gems. 

He considers me his treasure, the same person who spat upon Him as he stumbled to Calvary and drove the spikes through his hands and feet and mocked him as I hung dying in my own sin.  This person, he adores. 

I look back over my life and see that the times of ease, though delightful, have not necessarily been the times of greatest growth.  It has been holding God's hand over the slick rocks and the thorny paths and the icy patches and never slipping that has brought me to this place of indescribable, abundant love the likes of which I have never before known. 

I'll be honest:  It doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me.  But then, who ever said love makes sense?