Lord, I give you my creased brow and my gritted jaw. I hand over the rock in my stomach and surrender my fretful thoughts…how did I get in such a stew?

It starts like this…I met Amanda last summer. She’s a Canadian teacher who works with severely disabled kids. In particular, she described the ones who are permanently altered by their mothers’ alcohol abuse in pregnancy. They have “an abnormal appearance, short height, low body weight, small head size, poor coordination, low intelligence…and are more likely to have trouble in school, legal problems, (and) participate in high-risk behaviors.”[i] Her students are volatile, and can bite or turn violent in a heartbeat.

Amanda has to enter her classroom wearing a Hazmat suit.

That one glimpse of the human condition can sink my boat for days, weeks, and then perpetually on a low simmer.

God, how can I trust You when suffering falls on the innocent? How can You bear the sorrow…

“But for the joy…”

His words distinctly interrupt my thoughts—if I’m paying attention.

Yet, God speaks in mysteries. I pondered that phrase for a while. It echoes what is written in Hebrews—“who for the joy set before Him endured the cross.”[ii] He’s promised a time when all things will be restored…where each life is sacred.  

It always comes down to a choice between despair and faith. Or I can limp along, still tormented in limbo.

Let me explain from a different angle.Continue reading