When Life Hurts: Finding Purpose in the Pain

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Held on Every Side

“As the mountains surround Jerusalem,
so the LORD surrounds his people
both now and forevermore.” > —Psalm 125:2

Surrounded By God

The city of Jerusalem does not sit on a flat plain, exposed and vulnerable. It is nestled within a ring of high hills and mountains—the Mount of Olives, Mount Scopus, and others forming a natural defense. For the ancient pilgrim, this geography was a living symbol of safety and permanence. The mountains were constant, unmoving, and protective.

It is this image the psalmist uses to help us understand the nature of God’s care for His people.

First, consider the corporate surrounding. The psalmist says the Lord surrounds “his people.” The mountains do not protect a single house; they encircle the entire city. This is a picture of the Church—not as scattered individuals hoping for safety, but as a community held together within the unbreachable care of God.

We live and move within His presence as a people. When one rejoices, that joy echoes across the hills of God’s faithfulness. When one suffers, they do so not in isolation, but within the protective valley of His sovereignty—held by prayer, love, and grace.

Yet God’s majesty never becomes impersonal.

Imagine standing in Jerusalem. You can see the mountains stretching across the horizon, but you can also feel the breeze they channel into the streets. In the same way, the God who surrounds His people is also the God who draws near to the individual soul.

He surrounds you.

Your specific fears.
Your quiet hopes.
Your unseen battles.

His presence is not merely a wall in the distance—it is the very atmosphere you breathe. The same power that established the mountains is the same tenderness that shields your fragile heart. He knows your name. He sees your path. His vast, eternal nature is focused with loving precision on the details of your life.

And this promise is sealed with time: “both now and forevermore.”

This is not a temporary shelter. The security you have in Him today is the same security that will hold you at the end of your days and carry you into eternity. Mountains do not wander away. They define steadfastness. So does the Lord.

To live in this truth is to walk with quiet confidence—to face uncertainty not with fear, but with the assurance that we are held, together and alone, within the unbreakable circle of God’s care.

Prayer

Father, thank You for being the mountains around me and around Your people. Help me rest in the security of Your corporate embrace, knowing I am part of a community held safely by You. And draw my heart into the intimacy of this promise—that You surround my life, my fears, and my future with Your faithful presence. Teach me to live today as one who is safely, completely, and eternally surrounded by Your love._
Amen.

When Jesus Wept

Key Scripture

“Jesus wept.” —John 11:35

It’s the shortest verse in the Bible—just two words. And yet, those two words carry the weight of eternity.

“Jesus wept.”

Why would the Son of God—who knew He was about to raise Lazarus from the dead—pause to weep at a tomb?

Back to the Beginning

“God saw all that He had made, and it was very good.” —Genesis 1:31

In the beginning, there was no death, no sorrow, no brokenness. Creation pulsed with harmony, beauty, and life.

But then came the fall.

Sin entered the world through disobedience, and with it came the curse:

“Cursed is the ground because of you…” —Genesis 3:17

From that moment on, everything changed. Sin infected not just human hearts, but the very fabric of creation. Death became a reality. Tears became a language. And the world began to groan under the weight of what was lost.

The Grief of God

So when Jesus stood at Lazarus’ tomb and saw Mary weeping, Scripture tells us He was “deeply moved in spirit and troubled.”

The Greek word used here suggests more than sadness—it implies indignation, even outrage.

Jesus wasn't sad. He was angry.

He wasn’t angry at the people.
He wasn’t angry at their grief.
He was angry at what sin had done.

At the pain.
At the loss.
At the distortion of what was once “very good.”

Why Jesus Wept

Jesus wept because this was not how it was supposed to be.
He wept over the sting of death.
He wept over the sorrow of His friends.
He wept over a world broken by sin.

And He still weeps today.

Not because He is powerless.
Not because He is surprised.
But because He loves.

And love always grieves what wounds the beloved.

Jesus hates sin—not merely because it is rebellion, but because of what it does to us.

To His creation.
To His children.

And one day, He will wipe away every tear…

because He wept first.

Prayer

Lord Jesus, thank You for being a Savior who weeps.
Thank You for feeling the weight of our sorrow and the sting of our brokenness.
Help me to hate sin—not just for what it is, but for what it does.
Give me eyes to see the world as You see it, and a heart that longs for restoration.
May I live in the hope that You are making all things new.
Amen.

*Written in confinement.*

A Meditation in Suffering

“Because for Your sake I have borne reproach;
dishonor has covered my face.” —Psalms 69:7

O God, this isn’t about me at all.
It is about You.
It has always been about You.
You alone.

How could I think that any of this was for me?
All of this is to bring You glory.

I can’t see the end.
I don’t know how, but You will be lifted up.
Men will turn to You.
They will know that You alone are God—
the only God who delivers men from sin.

It is You who rescues,
You who redeems,
You who lifts my soul from the grave.

It is You who has set my feet on a firm foundation.

You are God.
To You I give my life.
To You I offer my worship.
My life is in Your hands.
There is nowhere I would rather be.

Prayer

O God, I surrender not only my suffering, but my understanding.
I place my life, my pain, and my purpose fully into Your hands.
Be glorified in me, even here.
Amen.

*Written in confinement.*

Still Waiting

And now, Lord, for what do I wait?
My hope is in You. —Psalm 39:7

Every time I stumble across this verse, it feels like splashing my face with cold water.

I have a tendency to get lost in my fears. What if I never reconcile with my children? What if my ex-wife forgets me? What if I am never able to secure gainful employment? What if I never find a place to live that doesn’t rely on the kindness of friends? What if … What if … It goes on and on.

When I get stuck in this loop, I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking of ways to avoid all my imagined fears. I should write letters to my kids. Send occasional gifts to my ex-wife. Push harder on getting resumes out. Find low-cost housing. I search the internet and query artificial intelligence.

I endlessly rework my budget and reexamine what I think I can live without. I look for ways to cut corners on expenses. I imagine conversations with family members. I bury myself in potential scenarios that could guide me in the direction I think I should go.

None of these are wrong; but none bring relief.

Then in the midst of my anxiety, I wander into Psalm 39, and here comes the cold water again to shake me from my funk and remind me of where I actually stand.

I'm reminded ask myself, “For real, Steve! What are you waiting for? What exactly are you thinking you can do to make any real difference in your present or future?” It causes me to refocus on Whose I am.

I rediscover that in order to focus on my fears, I first have to take my eyes off of Jesus.

In my fear, I find that I feel profoundly empty. Nervous. I want to avoid the future. But when my focus turns back to my Saviour, relief comes rushing back in like a flood. Suddenly, my fears lose their grip and I’m once again filled with faith and courage. Eager to embrace my future.

This is a sobering truth; but a welcome one. My hope is in a heavenly Father who has proven that He will never leave or forsake me. Whatever my future may hold, He is in control of it. And if He is in control, I have nothing to fear.

Prayer

Father,
You see how quickly my mind runs ahead of You.
You see the fears I rehearse and the futures I try to manage.

When my heart asks “What if?”
teach it to answer, “My hope is in You.”

Give me courage to do what is mine to do,
and peace to release what is Yours alone.

Help me wait without panic,
trust without pretending,
and rest in the fact that I am Yours.

Amen.

Waves

As a teenager, I had a friend who used to joking ask, “Is it eternally significant?” At the time, her question simply became annoying. But now, I wonder…

… visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children, on the third and the fourth generations of those who hate Me, but showing lovingkindness to thousands, to those who love Me and keep My commandments. —Exodus 20:5–6

“…iniquity … on the third and the fourth generations … but showing lovingkindness to thousands …” What a striking contrast!

We rarely consider the eternal implications of our actions. Sure, we think about our own eternal destiny. But the impact we will have on future generations? Not so much. It’s hard to imagine that everything I do today will affect multiple lives into the unseen future. But that’s what this verse promises.

It reminds me of a Winter evening I spent camping on the shores of a local lake.

While the cold bit through to the bone, the grandeur of the evening sky pulled me into thoughts of the eternal. When early morning arrived, I was mesmerized by a single bass boat speeding across the lake. My focus was slowly directed to the wake left on the surface of the water.

As a young water-skier, I had been aware that directly behind the boat, a single wake was created by the hull pressing through the water. But by the time that effect reached the end of my seventy-foot ski rope, there were two waves for me to navigate.

But that morning, I saw that as the waves finally reached the shore, their number seemed endless. While the waves got progressively smaller, they continued lapping the shore for what seemed like a very long time.

Following the eternal revelation of the seemingly infinite stars during the night before, my imagination easily saw deeper meaning in these waves. I began to think about a different type of wave.

In my mind, I saw a single stone dropping into the center of a large body of water. I watched as the waves generated by the stone began to multiply and move outward. Each wave continued until its progression was interrupted by some solid object. Even as some of the waves broke, others continued until they found a different target.

I began to grasp that this is what the passage in Exodus was showing me.

As we walk through our lives from day to day, we are faced with countless choices. Each choice gives us the opportunity to hear and follow the leading of the Holy Spirit, or not.

And each of those choices is a stone dropped into the sea of eternity. Each one generates waves that proceed out into the unseen and unknown. They affect our families. Our friends.

Generations.

Blessings carried forward or curses that echo.

Each coin dropped in the offering plate. Every prayer uttered. Every unnoticed kindness.

Impatience, temper, dishonesty. Small daily compromises.

Private obedience. Hidden sin.

Waves. They all create waves. Waves that will continue to affect people we love, and people we will never know.

Is it eternally significant?

I believe I have discovered an answer.

Yes.

A Theology of Weakness

And He has said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.” Most gladly, therefore, I will rather boast about my weaknesses, —2 Corinthians 12:9

It turns out that God is not threatened by human weakness, nor surprised by failure. Scripture shows again and again that God works not around weakness, but through it. Our limitations, wounds, and habitual struggles do not disqualify us for God’s purposes. In fact, it is those very weaknesses that make us appropriate vessels for God’s strength to be revealed.

If we were not weak – and aware of our weakness – we would become too prideful to be truly useful to God.

We tend to view our sin as an end of sorts. We have become convinced that God cannot use those who continue to sin. So we set unrealistic goals for ourselves and become demoralized. Hopeless. We believe that every time we fail, God is somehow disappointed at best; angry with us at worst. But scripture simply does not support that idea. It is more likely that when we come to the father after a failure, that He leans toward us with a kind, loving smile, and gently says, “I know.” He then picks us up, holds us close, and starts us back on the way He prepared for us before the creation of the world. In this transaction, we must remember that our attitude is always one of repentance. We are saddened by our sin because we realize that those attitudes and actions are inconsistent with the new creation that we are in Christ. But God sees us differently than we tend to assume.

God sees the weaknesses that we think make us unfit as the soil for the seeds of strength.

Peter, after walking with Jesus for three years, denied that he even knew Him! (Luke 22) Understandably, as soon as he realized what he had done, he ran away and wept bitterly. One might assume that God was deeply disappointed in Peter — that the denial rendered Peter unfit to be used in the work that God had planned. But that’s not what happened at all. Jesus met Peter in his brokenness and pain and offered reconciliation. He not only reminded Peter of his calling, but confirmed that he was still called. Peter went on to be integral in the establishment of God’s Church.

God does not measure faithfulness by flawlessness. He looks at the softness of the heart, not the absence of scars. Like David, we are known not by the sins that trip us, but by our willingness to return—to repent, to trust mercy, and to keep walking with God in humility.

Weakness humbles us, strips away illusion, and teaches us dependence. It becomes the place where God’s strength is most visible and His compassion most believable. Ministry that flows from weakness is not polished, but it is true—and truth is what is the world needs.

This is not an excuse for sin, nor a denial of responsibility. It is a confession that grace is deeper than our failure, and that God remains faithful even when we stumble. God redeems broken people not by erasing their weakness, but by transforming that weakness into a testimony of His steadfast love.

Prayer

Father, I confess that I am often afraid of my weakness. I try to hide it, overcome it, or pretend it does not exist. I measure myself by my performance and assume You do the same. Forgive me. Teach me to see my weakness the way You do — not as disqualification, but as invitation. When I stumble, draw me quickly back to You. Give me a heart that is soft, repentant, and honest. Guard me from pride when I succeed and from despair when I fail. Remind me that Your grace is sufficient. That Your power is perfected not in my strength, but in my dependence. Use even my wounds as soil for deeper faith. Transform my failures into testimony. And make me a person who boasts not in myself, but in Your mercy. Today, I return to You again — trusting that You are not surprised, not threatened, and not finished with me. Amen.

Never Told Why

Reflections on the book of Job

Trust is a concept that I thought I understood.

But I didn’t learn about real trust until I believed that I had lost everything, and all I had left was God — if He was still there…

My first few hours in jail were a defining moment for me. It felt like I had nothing. No control. No reputation. No future I could see.

So I reached for the only thing that seemed real.

God.

I held on for dear life.

And ever since then, He has never let go.

There is really no way to learn to trust God until you are drowning.

As long as you can still touch the bottom, as long as your feet can still find footing, you are not trusting — you are balancing. You are managing. You are calculating.

Trust begins when control ends.

Job understood this, though he never understood why.

We are given the first two chapters of his story. We are told about the conversation in heaven. We see the challenge, the permission, the boundaries set by God Himself.

Job never hears any of it.

He never learns that his suffering was not punishment.
He never learns that heaven was watching.
He never learns that his name had been spoken in the throne room of God.

He lives the entire ordeal without the explanation we are given.

And yet he keeps speaking — not perfectly, not politely, not without frustration — but he keeps speaking to God.

That is trust.

We often assume that trust means silence. That faith means calm acceptance. But Job complained. He questioned. He poured out confusion and grief.

He just never walked away.

He complained toward heaven.

There is something deeply comforting in knowing that we are never told why either.

We imagine that if we only understood the hidden mechanics — the spiritual battle, the long-term purpose, the future fruit — we could endure more easily.

But God does not grant us a backstage pass.

He asks us to stay in the story without seeing the script.

And somehow, that is enough.

We cannot ruin our lives beyond God’s ability to redeem them.

We can sin. We can wander. We can wreck our own plans. But we cannot outmaneuver His sovereignty. We cannot sabotage His ultimate purpose.

All of the evil inside of me or surrounding me cannot separate me from the love of God.

He is not reacting to my life. He is weaving it.

As Creator and Sustainer, He does not waste material. Even my greatest failures become thread in His hands.

He sends what I need. If He does not send it, I do not need it.

That statement used to offend me. Now it steadies me.

We are like children trying to audit the calculations of a physicist. A seven-year-old does not question advanced mathematics because he lacks the framework to even understand the problem.

Yet we confidently evaluate how God is running the universe.

Does that make sense?

Trust does not require understanding. It requires proximity.

Job never stopped praying.

He never received the explanation we received.

But he encountered God.

And in the end, that was more than an answer.

God has still never let go.

My life is still a struggle.

I still can’t see the future.

But through it all, I can still have confidence that there is purpose beyond what I can see.

And He is still with me.