He doesn’t comment on my photos telling me how “gorgeous” or “hot” I am to him, and I don’t get the “I love you too, baby’s” whenever I post something admiring him.
We played phone tag for hours and then he texted me a text I hope no one ever has to receive from someone they love and miss: “Still not working. Phone’s going to die. If this goes through, I love you.”
When I find myself within the scorching furnace of suffering, when I’m being swallowed by the leviathan of suffering, my trials don’t seem like what it says in the light momentary affliction verse.
How could I possibly reconcile these losses? They were unspeakable. Preventable. Unexpected. And in the face of such catastrophes, my natural question was “Why?” Why did this happen? If God was in control, why did he allow it? Why didn’t he stop it? That question haunted me for years.
Jesus whispers to our doubt and struggle, “I won’t rescue you because this kind of struggle leads to deep roots, community with others, and legacy of overcoming…”
"Why does God answer yes to some prayers and no to others? Why does God miraculously heal some people and not others? Why does disaster strike one city and not another?"
"Suffering isn’t easy. It’s not designed to be. It’s the crucible of Christian hope, beating out its imperfections and smelting it into something more beautiful and pure."
"I left that room and decided that eventually I was going to break the silence. Because the truth is, I’m far from the only one who’s been through this."
