If Not For The Suffering

We often wonder why God allows suffering–

In the world, 

and in our own stories. 

Yet the pages of scripture

are filled with lives God used 

that were marked with hardship–

strong stories lined with shadows. 

If not for the suffering, 

would they be stories worth telling? 

What would Abraham's story be 

if he had never been asked to leave his homeland? 

If he never took God's promise into his own hands? 

If he had never laid his son upon the altar of sacrifice?

What about Jacob— 

if there were no conflict with his brother, 

no fourteen years of waiting for his bride, 

if he had never wrestled through the night with an angel?

And Joseph... 

if he had never been thrown into that pit— 

never separated from his family, 

never sold, 

never forgotten?

What would Moses' story be 

without forty years of wilderness wandering?

What of the Israelites— 

if there had been no years of bondage, 

no plagues to withstand, 

no Red Sea to be parted?

What about Hannah, 

if she had never known the sorrow of a barren womb, 

if her tears had no reason to fall?

What about David, 

if there had been no Goliath to challenge, 

no caves of emotional darkness,  

no fear, regret, or sorrow to write into Psalms? 

And Esther— 

what if she had chosen the crown, 

had wanted to be queen? 

What if her people had never needed deliverance?

Would there even be a book of Job 

if he had never lost everything?

What would Ruth's story sound like 

if she had never known grief,

if she’d never known displacement, 

had never needed to glean in the fields of Boaz?

And Mary... 

Mother of Jesus— 

what if she had already wed Joseph before the angel came with that holy word?What If there were no reason for her to utter,

"Let it be to me according to your word,"

in full acceptance of the hardship that would accompany the glory? 

How would Peter's story change 

if he had never denied his Lord? 

Not once.

Not twice. 

But three times?

What about Paul— 

if he had never known the confines of prison walls, 

was never chained to Roman guards, 

never had need to pen hope from a dark cell?

And what of our beloved Jesus? 

Is there even a Savior without the pain and suffering of the cross?

What of the resurrection— 

the joy of Easter morning— 

would it shine as bright if there had never been

the suffering of Friday, 

the silence of Saturday?

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And what about us?

What would our stories be

if our roads were always smooth,

if every door we stood before opened easily,

if no prayers prayed ever lingered unanswered?

What kind of faith would grow

without the ache of waiting,

a midnight wrestle,

or a wilderness walk?

Would we hold as tightly to hope

if we'd never felt the pain of loss?

Would we still know the depth of God’s mercy

if we never experienced a fall

and needed God’s hand to lift us up?

Would we know the light of His goodness

if we never had to walk through darkness?

Maybe—

just maybe—

it's the breaking that brings forth the beautiful.

It’s the ashes that birth the art.

It’s the tears that water seeds of trust.

Maybe the story only becomes sacred

when we surrender our suffering.

Because we, too, are called to leave what's comfortable.

We, too, will limp away blessed after wrestling with God.

We, too, will rise from our pits with purpose.

And, we, too, will learn to lead by walking in the wilderness.

Our stories—

the ones touched by sorrow, struggle, and  strife—

they are the very places where God writes His glory.

So when we ask, 

"Why this pain?" 

"Why this season?" 

"Why this chapter in my story?"

Maybe heaven whispers back:

"Because this is where redemption is found."