The Grace of Suffering

My wife and I have a similar chink in our armor right now--reminders of the deployment.

I enjoyed one of my happiest moments since returning when, earlier today, Dana Lyon responded to the several Facebook messages I had sent to her. I never expected her to respond. But she did. She expressed her gratitude for the prayers and encouragement, and was interested in coming out here to run in the Ragnar Relay in honor of her husband (per my invitation).

I was joyous to the point of tears, but the joy mingled with sorrow and the tears have remained in the corners of my eyes the whole evening. I was made raw again. So was my wife. I remember that two months of trying to heal from a deployment is slightly less than the time that Dana has been grieving the loss of her best friend. My wife remembers that she lost, and will never regain, the joy of being parents for the first time.

My sweet wife wonders if her tears are an indication that she is in trouble. I told her than it is our strongest indication that hope abounds.

Before I left, I expressed my concern that our marriage was too professionally oriented. It was a good marriage, but it carried with it the seeds of an unsatisfying future. I felt this reality most within myself. I was a tightly-sealed package. I played a part for the amusement of others and for my own preservation. It felt like our Lord was in the periphery of our marriage, another box to be checked in the category "Not Work Related."

I can feel again! I am a mess, but I can feel again. I have not felt this undone since the pain of my childhood, and for the first time since my childhood, I can feel again! In my present suffering, I can not only look to the future glory that awaits, but I realize anew that like Pinocchio, I am a real boy. God has so crushed my heart that I finally feel at the end of myself. I believe my wife is in a similar place, but the wounds are so much deeper, the struggle so much greater, that it is hard for her to see it. May God grant her tender heart that measure of grace.

Again, I confess that I am a mess. My struggle with sin has never been more pronounced. But amidst the cresting and ebbing of the waves, I can pass my hand through the water and taste the salt in my mouth. My suffering is a clear indication of God's present, abounding grace. I am Naomi, awaking to the reality that my God has been for me this entire time (Ruth 1-2; Romans 8:31).

In the past, I avoided the intangible things that didn't pay immediate dividends for my ministerial role. I labored in those tasks that were listed under my job description. I was more eager to meet someone if they might possibly attend my church.

My wife and I have probably spent time with more people in the past week than we did in a given month before I left. I might expect that we would resent this fact--these people are interfering with our work! But time and again, we have been reduced to tears as we hear what is going on in peoples' hearts. Like the Irish friend in Malawi whose salvation I so desperately desired, we truly want to see our unbelieving friends know the grace of Jesus, and that our believing friends might come to enjoy it more.

Perhaps I will awaken from this post-midnight post tomorrow and regret what I have typed just now. But I don't think so. I hope not. Bearing the burdens of years of indifference and a callous heart, there is nothing I want more than for all this to be true. To go from slumbering at Jesus' side to being awakened and called to His side--what a thought!