Lord, it hurts, but You are still good.

“How was the race?” Is a question I have been dreading for the past few weeks. As we enter our last month and this life that was hastily constructed fades into golden-brown memory, I have been dreading that question of uncertain meaning. When it is asked of me, I don’t know what I will say. Because what can you say when it was the best experience you never want to repeat? What can you say when you are scared to recommend it because of the pain it put you through? And what can you say when the greatest things that came out of these past months were so saturated in sorrow that you had to ring them out like bucket laundry in order to see the good? Yes, God is good, but that doesn’t mean life is. 

For me, the race has consisted of God slowly stripping away the most important things in my life. Some of these things I refuse to share over the internet even in the name of vulnerability. The point is, that living hurts. Feelings are formulated then dismantled, relationships fade from neglect, trust is misused and then never used again, and we are given gifts only to have them taken away. And what are we to do? Cry silver tears around dark corners, telling God that it hurts to live, always accepting and never complaining because that is all we can do? 

We know that God is good. We have been lost in His garden of goodness before, giddy with the adoration of Him, calmed by His presence. His blessings have risen before us like spring flowers, carrying the fragrance to our senses and softening the ground beneath our feet. We have been there before, that garden of the Lord, where we abide in Him and He abides in us and fruit abounds in grateful harvest. But we have also been in the valley of dry bones. We have placed our tents on cracked, gritty ground, and have sought desperately for fruit from dead trees. Yet He continues to ask us to abide, He asks us to remain in the garden that no longer looks like a garden as it is ravaged by winter. The sweat that falls from our frustrated brows is caught in jars, the tears that leak from our reddened eyes are held in His hands. Those beautiful hands with which He formed the world, those wonderful hands that were pierced cruelly with iron and wood, those holy hands are the same ones that hold me now. With them He prunes my brittle branches, with them He will collect the fruit when it appears in season. But for now, He will hold my own small hands enclosing them in His comfort. 

And the incredible thing is that He does not despise our complaints. He does not diminish our suffering, although He knows how insignificant our little hurts are compared to the big picture. Man of Sorrows, Who is familiar with our suffering and comforts us in our weakness. This is Who I abide in as pain obstructs my vision, plastering itself over my eyes like wet newspaper on a windshield. God, you are still good. God, you are still my LORD, the song of my soul and the liturgy of my heart. If I am called to praise, I will do so, though it might be reduced to a nervous whisper. If I am called to serve, I will do so, though it might diminish to an unproductive crawl. For it is not the volume of the praise or the effect of the service, it is that I give it out of my poverty as I would in my affluence. My call to worship You has not changed, even if my circumstances have, because You have not changed and never will. I will continue to build this altar, I will continue to bring these offerings, for though my faith falters, You never do. Thou changest not, thy compassions they fail not, as thou hast been, thou forever will be. 

Lord, it hurts, but you are still good. That is all we have to say. And He will respond, “Abide.” He will tell us to remain, because in this walk through His garden, we will be stepping on gravelly ground, and exacting fruit from spiny, leafless trees, but we will also be held in His soft hand. Don’t leave the garden, remain here, though it hurts. God is good, therefore everything that He does must be good. So even though life hurts, even though our situation may not be good, the one who orchestrates all things is determined to bring things about for our ultimate good. For He knows that the best thing in life is Himself, and Himself He will freely give to those who ask. Sweet embrace of the Savior, as my tired feet run towards Him, unobstructed by sin and shame, grazing over the new growth of the garden. The tomb is empty, the stone rolled away, what once was darkness has been overwhelmed by a conflagration of light and love. 

“So, How was the race?” I will be asked. Please ask this question when you see me. I will tell you what happened to me, I will tell you how hard it was. But from my lips will be words overflowing with the praises of my God. I have learned to abide, because there was nothing else I could do. I have learned to say, “Lord, it hurts, but You are still good.”