Life disappoints. For certain seasons, it deeply disappoints. Intentionality proves inconsequential.  Sensibility is wronged. Diligence begets suspicion. Loyalty is unreciprocated. Effort goes unaware. Intensity lays waste to honor.     

Too often, what ought to be is not; too often, what ought not to be is. Living in the “is” is hard. As someone who is not always well served by my psyche—given its emotional peculiarities—living in the “is” can be really hard. I’m not wired to indiscriminately accept the reality disappointment springs. Unsurprisingly, this is not without consequence.   

The mindful Christian would obey 2 Corinthians 10:5 and hold captive the emotions tied to these setbacks. He would measure them against Scripture to test their validity. Not me; I’m not always mindful. I tend to stew over offenses, allowing the hurt and anger to fester. Such unfettered umbrage is dangerous (thus the reason to take all thoughts captive). It can both create false narratives—embracing pieces of reality that never were—and invite an assault on deeper convictions. An existential battle of sorts between the hellions of my psyche and the angels of truth has been known to ensue—a fight long on fiction and short on fact.

Of all the hellions I’m forced to confront, the little deist in me is the most formidable. Disappointment gives him an attractive platform from which to speak. And, I usually listen. I entertain his many machinations, soon finding myself once again “adorned” with the well-worn doubts of my past. Are you there, God? Do you see the injustices? Why the aloofness, the indifference? Why the inaction? Do you care? I have even gone as far as wondering if God is but Creator only—not the intimate, sovereign force of the universe replete in Scripture.

While out on a walk recently, a truck passed that had an interesting message plastered on its back window. It was something along the lines of, “Don’t let the hard days win.” As someone who doesn’t let an intriguing sentence go unexamined, I spent an inordinate amount of time that evening thinking about it. Given the many injustices he faced, of which mine greatly pale in comparison, I wondered how the Apostle Paul would have responded to the statement. And then I realized, he already has. “And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28, ESV).

For the blood-bought believer, hard days don’t win because the circumstances which induced them have already been won, if we will allow. Life’s problems are not a function of bad luck, condemned fate, or inopportune coincidence. Quite the opposite. They are a product of the superintending work of a sovereign, gracious God. While not all seasons of life are good, He will use all seasons of life for good. He squanders nothing. Hardship is intended to conform us into the image of Jesus so that we would carry the type of hope that transcends circumstance. Paul carried such hope. “We rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope” (Romans 5:3-4, ESV).

As the verses above make clear, hope doesn’t just happen. There is a maturation process by which endurance and character must be developed. Suffering is one forum through which such progress can be obtained. Here’s Paul again.    

So to keep me from becoming conceited because of the surpassing greatness of the revelations, a thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to harass me, to keep me from becoming conceited. Three times I pleaded with the Lord about this, that it should leave me. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. (2 Corinthians: 12:7-9, ESV)

Trials reveal. They expose our vulnerabilities, our weaknesses, our fears, our besetting sins, our unbelief—facets of our condition that should always drive us to Jesus but often don’t because of the false pretenses associated with times of tranquility. Hard times shatter those pretenses and expose the fallacy of self-sufficiency. They remind us of our absolute and unequivocal need for our Savior regardless of season. They point us to His all-encompassing grace and the all-satisfying peace that is available for those who will embrace such grace. 

Succinctly put, trials sanctify us in ways that prosperity simply cannot.

I know few people who, like Paul, rejoice amid pain. (An essay for a different day, but feeling sorrow and gladness simultaneously strikes me as a contradiction. The fact that it’s actually a paradox instead remains a mystery to me, one with which I continue to grapple). I do know, however, many people who without necessarily a happy heart remain steadfast. Rather than run from their tribulations (literally or figuratively), they lean into Jesus. Despite the confusion and pain, they don’t put the Lord on trial and question His providential goodness. No, these souls move towards Him, recognizing He is in the middle of and has good purpose for all of it. The Savior’s grace is indeed sufficient for them.  

I want to be like that. I want to move towards Jesus when in pain. I want to see my circumstances not as a sign of the Lord’s detached absence but His loving presence. I want to look beyond the tears and see that He is both sovereign and good. I want to claim in my sorrow that His grace is sufficient. This is the epitome of winning for the believer. May King Jesus do this essential work in your heart and mine.