No, in all these things (tribulation, distress, famine, nakedness, danger & sword) we are more than conquerors through Him that loved us.  Romans 8:37

What does it mean to be a conqueror as it relates to suffering? If I do the right things, pray the right prayers, or gather enough verses to recite by faith, can I make suffering disappear? Is there a hidden formula that eradicates tribulation, danger, and distress?

Only time with God (and the Holy Spirit tutoring that comes with age) has taught me otherwise. God does not always enable me to conquer suffering by removing it. He enables me to conquer the temptations that come with it, things like despair, hopelessness, terror, unbelief, and the suspicion that God has forsaken me. You could expand the list, I’m sure. There are many dark theological points that pain tries to preach.

The weapon that God makes available to me to ensure that I will come out of suffering with my faith in tact is the Word of God. It’s the rudder that steadies my mind when my heart is riding the waves. Good theology is not a luxury for calm days. It is survival for the storm. Concrete beliefs about God’s character, sovereignty, nearness, and love become anchors when my emotions are tossed around like twigs in a tornado.

Pain is persuasive. The accuser is cruel. And when I am weakened by suffering, their voices can feel too strong for me. But God is my strong tower. His truth speaks louder than my fear. His promises hold me steady when my feelings make me tremble. When I cling to what He has spoken, I realize that I’ve been safe in His arms all along. I can conquer every mental and emotional frailty.

This is how I conquer—not by escaping every flame, but by refusing to let the fire consume my faith.

Lord, You stood with the three men in the furnace, and not even the smell of smoke clung to them. Stand with me in every fire I must endure. Amen

Who is to condemn?  Christ Jesus is the one who died – more than that, who was raised – who is at the right hand of God, who indeed in interceding for us.  Romans 8:34

This scripture is for every child of God who has ever wondered, “Am I really His?” Perhaps that’s you. Old sins still make you doubt. The accuser uses it as material for his case. Jesus feels distant. You remember seasons of closeness, but now heaven feels like it’s shut up tight. Let’s talk about this.

If you have fled to the cross, confessed your sin, and given your life to Jesus Christ, you are God’s child. No sin can condemn you now. No desert disproves your spiritual adoption. And Paul makes this case ~ Jesus rose from the grave, proving that He is the Christ and that His atonement was accepted.

He is now sitting at the right hand of God. That seated position is not a small detail. The priests in the Old Testament never finished their work.  Day after day, and year after year, they performed the same sacrifices because the Lamb of God had not yet come.  There were no chairs in the Jewish temple. There was no sitting. Jesus’ seated position in heaven proves that sin was finally paid for.

Remember, Jesus sat down. He’s resting. That means that I can rest. I am hidden safely in Christ, forever.

Lord Jesus, You are resting, so teach my frightened heart to rest.   Amen

He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will be not also with him graciously give us all things?  Romans 8:32

God’s generosity has no hidden boundaries where love stops and withholding begins. Yet, I can still believe that He is stingy.  When I really need something and God fails to provide it, I can question His goodness.  Complicating this is the fact that I often ask for what is not good for me.  I don’t know that when I ask for it, but God does.  In my 70+ years of living life with Jesus, there are longings I have expressed over the years.  But God sees what I cannot see. He knows the hidden consequences and the spiritual dangers. There is mercy concealed inside the denial.

All of us carry unanswered prayers. God’s goodness might be on trial, albeit quietly. There are requests we barely know how to name anymore because the disappointment has lived so long. There are dreams we have wrapped in silence because hope is too painful to keep resurrecting.

As one who has known dark nights of the soul, let me put my arms around you and assure you that God is passionate about you. He is not unmoved by your tears. He desires to bless you. And even now, though you may not yet see it, He is being gracious.

But be careful. The enemy preys on the vulnerable. He waits for the hour when pain has made us tired and disappointment has made us suspicious. Then he whispers that God is mutinous against His own promises. And because our circumstances appear to offer evidence of proof, the lie can feel ironclad. We must be convinced that pain is a dangerous counselor. Decisions made in anguish are often decisions we later grieve. God’s character is not altered by our circumstances and His goodness is not diminished by our accusations.

While we wait, we are encouraged to anchor our souls in the truth that extravagant grace is not absent. It is actually shaping our provision and preparing us for what will spiritually prosper us.

Teach me to trust Your generosity. Keep me verbal and believing in hope. Amen

And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are call according to his purpose.  For those whom he foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son.  Romans 8:28-29

There are unfortunate misrepresentations of this verse. Mostly, it’s used as a glib cliché, handed out like an adult might hand out penny candy to placate a whiny child. This promise is a gem but because of its misuse, I can feel a negative impact as soon as I hear the reference.  I don’t even need to hear it recited to feel the dread.

The ‘good’ Paul describes does not mean that all will be made right and fair in my lifetime.  The ‘good’ is what the next verse addresses, that God will work all things; evil, sickness, and failure to conform me to the image of His Son.  I miss that entirely when I don’t read verse twenty-eight in its total context. .

Often, God advances His children through the path of adversity.  Look at the life of Joseph.  But when I quote this verse to someone who is experiencing hardship, I am really telling them this ~  “If you love God, He will use this ‘crushing thing’ to make you more like Jesus.”  Do I really want to say this to someone who is hurting?  My inference is that they are not like Jesus, so this misery is being used to shape them up. Few friends can quote them to me when I’m down. 

I do want to be like Jesus. More and more, that desire is changing the way I see suffering. I am less inclined to view it as an interruption and more willing to see it as a kind of mercy. It’s something God may use to shape in me the mind and feelings of Christ. Even as I weep, suffering is no longer empty. It becomes a place where something holy is being formed.

Thank You that You do not waste what wounds me. Thank You for drawing something beautiful out of what feels so ugly, if only that my own countenance begins to look more like Yours. Amen.

Save

And he who searches hearts knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit himself intercedes for the saints according to the will of God.  Romans 8:27

There are many moments when I do not know how to pray, because I do not know what God is intending to do in a certain situation. If I sense that I may lose my job, do I pray that it will be spared, or do I loosen my grip and assume God may be using the loss to lead me elsewhere? If a door closes after He seemed to open it, do I ask Him to open it wide again, or do I rest in a wisdom I cannot yet read? If suffering enters my life, do I ask Him to remove it, or do I remember Job and wonder whether this bitter chapter is somehow showcasing His glory in realms I cannot see?

This is often where prayer can begin to stall. I do not know what to ask for because I do not know the will of God. And because I’m in the dark, I am tempted to step back from prayer altogether, as though uncertainty disqualifies me from it. But that has always been a mistake. Uncertainty is not a reason to abandon prayer; it is often the very reason I need to press in harder.

This is the place where I must rest with the Spirit of God and remember that while I may be wordless, He is not. He knows the will of the Father perfectly. He knows what this present sorrow means, where this closed door belongs, how this loss fits into the the bigger picture of my redemptive storyline. He knows how to pray when I cannot find language. There is deep comfort in remembering that even when my own prayers falter, prayer has not ceased. The Spirit of God continues, despite my confusion, with perfect understanding and perfectly formed laments.

And for anyone who fears that lament may be a sign of unbelief, let me assure you that lament is scriptural. The Psalms are filled with it. It is sorrow given over to holy language, grief brought into the presence of God rather than hidden. Tears do not mean distrust. Pain has a voice, and God does not ask us to silence it in order to prove our faith.

There is such a thing as lament in the middle of trust. I can weep and still believe He is wise. I do not have to choose between honesty and surrender. I can bring Him both. And all the while, He is not standing at a distance waiting for me to compose myself. He is in and around me, holding me close.

Give me grace to lament without discarding trust, and to remain quietly held when I do not know what to pray. Amen.