“God has given me the gift of pain.” The speaker lived with a chronic debilitating disease as she struggled in a difficult marriage. But she saw the value of her pain-she recognized God had entrusted her with a gift that few, if any, welcome, and most resist.
I listened to her story about twenty years ago, and I’ve pulled that memory out to ponder many times as I’ve gone through my own experiences with pain. Can I really view pain as a gift?
We all have our tragedy stories. None of us are exempt from the pain of living in a fallen world. Yet, we want the storybook ending, the Cinderella ballroom experience of rising above our difficult circumstances. And if you’re like me, you’d like to throw in the fairy godmother dust of immediate relief and changed circumstances. You know, the snap-of-the-finger deliverances.
But how would our lives be different if we viewed pain as a gift-an invitation for the most intimate relationship with our majestic God? If we recognized that His gift, wrapped in suffering, was a treasured glimpse into His mysteries, His glory, His grace? A divine appointment.
The difficulties become easier when we see through His eyes-that we are privileged recipients of the promise of His presence. Suffering beckons us to embrace Him a little tighter… to cling to Him… to know Him.
Oswald Chambers said, “If God has made your cup sweet, drink it with grace; or even if He has made it bitter, drink it in communion with Him. If the providential will of God means a hard and difficult time for you, go through it.” Go through it. Go through it with Him.
Pain is our gateway to an intimate walk with a holy God (who has every reason to throw us out of His presence). To discover a life of wonder as we commune with Him. To even welcome the difficulties as well as the times of ease.
I’m not there yet. When difficulties shake my life, I’m hiding, not welcoming. Give me the cleft of the rock. Where can I find His pinions? Does anyone know the way to His bulwarks? That’s where you’ll find me when pain hits.
And I’m certainly not singing for joy. I’m usually begging for His help, whining for His intervention, and crying for relief.
And He hears. He assures us that our tears are precious to Him. He keeps them in His bottle. (Wonder what He plans to do with our flask of sorrows.) The tears represent moments of our lives that only He can explain, when we presented before Him the surrender of our hearts, the sacrifice of our souls, in response to His gift of pain. Only He knows the worth of the gift, and only He knows the value of our offerings.
