She looked younger than her sixty-plus years. I came to know her age because she came to tell me her story. I attended a conference in her area and stayed around to sign books at a local store. I do not recall which book she wanted autographed, but I clearly recall her expression: somber. Eyes tear-filled. Reflective. As she handed me the book she explained, "It was my husband's favorite."
"Was?" I asked.
"Yes, was. He died six months ago."
I asked her to explain. She did.
Married in their early twenties. Three kids. Happy life. Great career.
Then, at age forty, he began to experience some weakness in his hands. He made his living as a mechanic, so he noticed quickly. The diagnosis could hardly have been worse: ALS — a degenerative disease that, in time, atrophies muscle and renders the victim disabled.
He soldiered on. Bravely. Doggedly. Kept showing up, doing work, carrying his load. But soon he couldn't grip pliers or twist a screwdriver. Then came the wheelchair. Home health care. Breathing treatments. He lived but could scarcely move.
She stayed with him through it all. He was age forty at diagnosis and sixty at death. She supported him for twenty years. Half of her married life. One-third of her natural life. Never leaving. Ever praying. Never doubting that he would get better.
But he never did.
As she finished the story, she brushed away a tear and touched my hand. "Why, Pastor Max? Why?"
"I can't say that I know," I told her.
"That's okay." She handed me the book. "We read from this together many times."
I opened it to the interior page, wrote her name, signed mine, and then added this inscription: "Until we know why."
We don't, do we? We don't know why. When it comes to the hurts and heartaches of life, we have ideas, opinions, convictions, and beliefs, but the words of the apostle are ours:
We don't yet see things clearly. We're squinting in a fog, peering through a mist. — 1 Corinthians 13:12 MSG
At some point the fog will blow away and we will see it all, understand it all, comprehend it all. But until then we are candidates for despair, unwitting targets for the downward spiral of disbelief. How many lives of faith have crashed against the rocks of disappointment with God? How many days of joy have evaporated in the heat of unmet expectations?
We expected a long, happy marriage. We got a husband with ALS. We expected a family. We got an empty crib. We expected stability. We got transfer after transfer. It's not that our expectations are unfair. They are simply unmet.
No area demands vigilance more than disappointment with God.
Unmet expectations are the ground zero, the Roswell, New Mexico, for UFOs. The untruth (God isn't aware) creates a false narrative (God doesn't care), which leads to a tragic overreaction (God isn't even there).
We all have pain. Some sufferings we deserve. Many we do not. Deformities? Death of a child? Wartime atrocities? What do you do with these? Your answer determines much about the person you are. Why are some people bitter, angry, and harsh, while others are tender, receptive, and kind? Much of the answer is found in their response to pain.
Scripture makes three clear statements about affliction. First, there is no pain-free option.
In the world you will have tribulation. — John 16:33 ESV
Note that Jesus said, "You will have," not "might have," "could have," or "there is a potential that you will have." No, you will have tribulation. This world resembles a jungle far more than a playground. Pain is part of the package.
Second, everyone does something with their pain. Numb it. Alcohol. Workaholism. Pornography. Obsess over it. Wear it on your sleeve. Let it define you. Run from it. But it always catches up.
Pain is prevalent. Everyone deals with it. No surprise there. But you might be surprised to know that...
Third, pain displays God's glory. We exist to make a big deal out of God. We do not exist to promote self, gender, race, political persuasion, or denomination; we exist to broadcast God's glory. Regarding humanity, God declares,
I have made them for my glory. It was I who created them. — Isaiah 43:7 NLT
We are to God what the moon is to the sun: a light reflector. Alone we have no light, but properly positioned we cast God's light into the dark night we call this world. We billboard God. We are placed here to flaunt his excellencies. And
- nothing glorifies God greater than suffering.
Jewels shine brightest when set against dark velvet. Anyone can glorify God when the days are easy, but when the days are tough? Understanding your pain in the context of God's glory may be the salvation of your sanity. This is what Job discovered.
Do you recall his story?
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