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Here we are, Christians, practicing our faith, loving God and trying to love our fellow mankind; yet, we watch panic-stricken as God seems to propel us from one terrfying experience to another, from one disastrous relationship to another, and from one crushing trauma to another in an endless stream of pain. How is it possible, in the face of such devastation, to move on, to get on with life (as they say) or to learn to live with it (as they say)? I earnestly believe that here is the place where our choice of attitude is absolutely crucial to our well-being, to our ability to persevere in life, and to God's restoration of our broken souls. I could choose to resent deeply what I perceive to be God's involvement in my life or his silence. I could choose to blame Satan for the whole problem or I
could emphatically denounce and blame other people for all the agony I'm going through. However, I believe that if I do choose one of the above, I will be giving myself a lifetime guarantee of the infectious disease of bitterness which would surround my attitude with the lingering stench of revenge. Now I have to ask myself, down the road ten or fifty years from now, is that the picture I want to see of myself? Is that what I really want to be when I grow up, a bitter old woman? Will that bitterness and anger over my hurts ever help me to accomplish my mission, the one I've been called to do, so that I can one day hear the Lord's words, "Well done thou good and faithful servant"? I think not. I could also choose to deny that I'm hurting. I could train my mind to dwell only on the positive experiences. I could bring down a curtain around the negative things so that mentally I'd be able to ignore the storm of suffering which swirls
around my soul. I could choose to brag about "never having a bad day," "never becoming angry over anything," or "never having anything happen that makes me cry or double up in pain." However, this is nothing but denial in one of its worst forms. Whenever we push away or store our anger and our hurts down inside us, we wear down our emotions and our energy for living. The writer, John Powell, observed that when he repressed his emotions, his stomach kept score. Funny thing—but true! So if I go the denial route, I may be mapping out a treacherous future physically, mentally, emotionally, or all three. This, too, then is an unhealthy choice. Or I could choose the attitude for my life that my heart for months now, no, maybe for the last couple of years, has been trying to tell me. I am convinced that I must choose with no obvious
or seeable evidence to believe by pure faith that I can trust God to bring me from survival to recovery. I must choose to believe the Lord can untangle the bands of steel which tightly constrict my mind and emotions because I am so wounded and broken of spirit and bring me through to wholeness and wellness. In the early sixties, when I was about to begin my first daily fifteen-minute radio broadcast in California, my mother gave me a rather large, heavy box, which turned into a wonderful treasure trove, full of stories, poems, and newspaper articles. I've dug into her amazing collection many times over the years and have found it to hold one great illustration after another. From that box came the teacup story. Although it's a bit of fantasy, because teacups don't really talk—not even hand-painted, English bone china
cups—still, it's a charming story. It is a bit of prose which gently pushed me in the right direction, toward moving and doing something about accepting my hurts and choosing healing attitudes about the mysterious problems of suffering pain. This is a story of an American couple who went to England ... celebrating their 25th wedding anniversary. Both the man and his wife were fanciers of antiques … pottery… and china, so they decided to find something as a memento for their anniversary.
When they came to Sussex… they passed a little china shop. They instantaneously stopped… backed up… and went in.
Their eyes singled out a lovely English, hand-painted teacup.
"May I see that?" the man asked.
"I've never seen a teacup like it."
"It's beautiful," said the woman. Then the teacup spoke up, "Wait a minute!" "You don't understand… I haven't always been a teacup and I certainly wasn't beautiful!"
"There was a time when I was red… and a time when I was clay.
My master took me and rolled me… and patted me over… and over… and over.
I yelled out: 'Let me alone!'
But he only smiled and said: 'Not yet.' "Then I was placed on a spinning wheel…," the tea cup said.
"Suddenly I was spun around… and around… and around.
'Stop it … I'm getting dizzy!' I screamed
The master only nodded and said: 'Not yet!' "Then he put me in an oven … I've never felt such heat.
I wondered why he wanted to burn me … and I yelled… and I knocked at the door. I could see him through the opening… and I could read his lips as he shook his head: 'Not yet!'
"Finally the door did open… whew!
He put me up on the shelf… and I began to cool.
'There… that's better,' I said.
"Then suddenly he brushed me… and painted me all over.
The fumes were horrible…and I thought I would gag.
'Stop it… stop it!' I cried.
"He only nodded: 'Not yet.' "Then suddenly he put me back into an oven…not the first one…but one twice as hot.
I knew I would suffocate.
I begged… I pleaded… I screamed… I cried. "All the time I could see him through the opening… nodding his head and saying: 'Not yet.' Then I knew there was no hope…and I would never make it.
I was ready to give up. But the door opened… and he took me out… and he placed me on a shelf. One hour later… he handed me a mirror and said: 'Look at yourself.' "And I did… and I said:
'That's not me… it couldn't be me!
I'm not beautiful.'
'I want you to remember,' my master said,
'I know it hurt to be rolled and patted… but if I had left you… you would have dried up.
I know it made you dizzy to spin you around on the wheel… but if I had stopped… you would have crumbled.
I know it hurt… and it was hot and disagreeable in the oven … but if I hadn't put you there… you could have cracked.
I know the fumes were bad when I brushed you… and painted you all over,
But you see… if I hadn't done that… you would never have hardened and there would have been no color to your life.
And if I hadn't put you back in that second oven… you would not have survived for very long… and the hardness would not have held.
'Now…' said the master, 'You're beautiful, and you're what I had in mind when I first began with you!'" —Author Unknown I believe that when we've been terribly hurt, we think the wounding process has disfigured us. Certainly we do not think of ourselves as beautiful after we have been torn apart! Funny thing though, as this charming story points out, the painful shaping, the rolling, patting, painting, and firing truly make us become what God had in mind all along—beautiful. Of course, it is definitely natural to hurt all over when rolled, patted, spun around, nearly burned to death in fiery ovens, or when breathing toxic fumes.
Boy, does it hurt! No argument there from me! But though it is natural to feel the pain of life, it can become just as natural for us to train ourselves to see that all during our lifetime, what looks like a worst-case scenario plan of God turns out, time and time again, to produce the maximum of significant developments in our life. These horribly painful and shattering events are the very things that add substance to our character, Even when we think we've had enough "substance," our hurts still heighten and deepen our relationships with mankind and with God. These hurts are born out of all those "awfully frightful" plans God has mapped out for us. In short, what I perceive to be God's worst for my life is often really his best. He, the master potter, designs, shapes, and brings us into being, from clay to the exquisite English teacup he saw from the beginning.
Seeing God as sovereign, as our God who has planned out our days for us, or as our master designer and loving, caring heavenly Father, doesn't come with natural ease. Our mind's computer may be programmed so that we can't admit that God is in the business of making something extraordinarily beautiful out of our lives; yet, we cling to the belief that everything that is good, lovely, or wonderful—success, good health, and the relative absence of problems— comes from God, and everything that is bad, malignant, or painful—cancer, bankruptcy, or losses of any kind—comes from Satan.
Where is this concept written? Nothing is ever that black or white. To
praise God only for the good in our lives or to blame Satan for each evil experience is a far cry from any kind of balanced Christianity. This way of thinking can be a real stumbling block in our walk with the Lord and in our choice to accept hurts. I believe in the God who sees the beginning from the end, who sets each of us in the center of life's milieu. This is a life where sometimes our days are peaceful, filled with brilliant sunshine, blue skies, and fleecy white clouds. However, it is a life in which, on other days we will find ourselves in the black center of a storm's darkest holocaust. Still, our God is with us. Still, our God carries out our plan for us. Still, our God leads or propels us (as my friend Clare would say) through all the twisting and turning days of our lives. He, and he alone, knows the intensity and the duration of both the joy of good times and the pain of bad times. I have no idea
why God works in this way. I only know that I can trust his judgment. I can trust in those "plans" he made for me while I was being formed in my mother's womb. If indeed, as Psalm 139 assures us, God has planned out our days, it stands to reason that, besides not being surprised by the pain or the bad things that do happen to us, God does not stand idly by while Satan annihilates us. Another earthly concept about God relative to pain disturbs me. It's probably a holdover from the 1930s sermons on hell, fire, and damnation preached by every fresh-faced Bible college or seminary graduate to the eldest of pastors. This particular God-concept conjures up a picture of the Lord sitting on his throne in heaven, rubbing his hands together, just almost itching for us to sin or to fail, or at least waiting for us to act the fool so he can take us to the proverbial woodshed and beat the living stuffings out of us. Thereby, he
can teach us a lesson we won't forget. No, No, No. God's plan for his children as set out in the Old and New Testaments of his word says exactly the opposite. Over and over again, when you and I are in the midst of a storm of horrible things, we need to remind ourselves that we are children of God and he is not our enemy. He is not willfully, deliberately, almost gleefully out to win the "gotcha" game. He is not plotting our demise or designing cruel and senseless events to crush and flatten us to prove he is God or to prove we can be broken. No. God has our best, not our worst, interests in mind as he keeps us in the mainstream of life. The truth is… life hurts. David wrote these words: Though I am
surrounded by troubles, you will bring me safely through them. You will clench your fist against my angry enemies! Your power will save me. The Lord will work out his plans for my life—for your lovingkindness, Lord, continues forever. Don't abandon me—for you made me.
O Lord, YOU have examined my heart and know everything about me. You know when I sit or stand. When far away you know my every thought. You chart the path ahead of me, and tell me where to stop and rest. Every moment, you know where I am. You know what I am going to say before I even say it. You both precede and follow me, and place your hand of blessing on my head. (Ps. 138:7-8; 139:1-5 LB) Our God and David's God are one in the same. We love and serve the God who gives us his purest, his finest, twenty-four-carat best for our lives. He gave us those experiences, circumstances, and relational encounters before we were ever born. God did not plan and program our lives in order to punish or torture us. No, rather God planned to be available to us so he could lead us
through those dark valleys of pain. He knows the whole of our life and he knows what he's doing… which is turning red clay into a work of art… shimmering with meaning and beauty.
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