In the Hands of a Fiercely Tender God – 4 Days of Hope and Encouragement for the Sufferer

Scriptures: Daniel 3:24-25, Isaiah 43:2

Look 

The day we received my first cancer diagnosis, my husband and I sat down with our (then) six-year-old son to tell him the news. Jeremy shed some tears and hugged me tightly. I locked eyes with him and said, “This is hard, isn’t it, bud? It’s not good news. But God is with us, and He turns everything for our good. Everything. So, we don’t need to fear. And God is going to use this in your life in amazing ways.” 

Jeremy paused, then asked if we could read the story of “the Fiery Furnace.” My husband opened the Bible to Daniel 3. He read of King Nebuchadnezzar’s intimidating gold statue, threatening edict, and furious rage at Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego when they refused to bow down. You know how the story goes: after the men had been bound and thrown into the Fiery inferno— 

King Nebuchadnezzar jumped up in alarm. He said to his advisers, “Didn’t we throw three men, bound, into the fire?” “Yes, of course, Your Majesty,” they replied to the king. He exclaimed, “Look! I see four untied men walking around in the fire unharmed; the fourth looks like a son of the gods.”

My husband finished the story and closed the Bible, and after a pause, Jeremy said, “There are four of us in this family.” In his suffering, a six-year-old looked and saw that God was with us in our own fiery furnace. He was given eyes to see Jesus standing with us in the flames. 

But we’re not always so quick to see God with us there, are we? Our eyes are more easily fixed on the pain, the loss, the unfairness. We see the impossible circumstances before us, and we despair, worry, fear, or fume. God, why have You allowed this furnace to be heated seven times hotter than usual?! Why so much pain? Why the sting of death? 

In your present suffering, what are you most tempted to fixate on? Is it the apparent unfairness of your situation? (Why am I afflicted while my friends are so blessed?) Is it the unrelenting physical pain? The grief that your loved ones must suffer with you? The fact that there is no end in sight? One of the things I love about Christ is that He doesn’t ask us to pretend we’re not in the furnace. Instead, He joins us there. He knows it’s blazing hot and oppressive and terrifying, and He wants to be with us in it. 

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you, and the rivers will not overwhelm you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be scorched, and the flame will not burn you. (Isa. 43:2) 

It may be difficult to look past the flood and the flame today to see Jesus clearly. He understands. He’s tender to our weakness and weariness. He meets us where we are and won’t leave us alone in our pain. Look! Here is Jesus, walking with us in our fire—and His presence will change everything.

Scriptures: Lamentations 3:2, Lamentations 3:5, Lamentations 3:11, Lamentations 3:21-25, Lamentations 3:31-33

I remember the spring of 2009—that corner booth in the little café where I met with God before the sun came up every morning. I sat with my coffee, Bible, journal, and C. S. Lewis’s The Problem of Pain. I experienced the nearness and tenderness of God in a way I’ve never quite been able to put into words. It was a season of suffering back then too, but those were sacred, otherworldly moments that gave meaning to my pain. 

And I remember the summer I was thirty-three and still single. I left behind extremely stressful circumstances to spend three weeks visiting my best friends from coast to coast. We sat in the sun, sipped coffee, took walks, talked late, and laughed hard. I experienced the kindness and joy of Jesus in a way that has marked me ever since. 

God often tells us in Scripture to remember who He is and what He has done for us. But suffering can make us forgetful. Our minds are overwhelmed with our present pain or the complexities of surviving another day. We become a child fixated on his scraped and bleeding knee—in the middle of Disneyland. Caught up in his pain, he loses sight of the magic and marvels all around him. 

In the book of Lamentations, the prophet Jeremiah describes the suffering that would cause most of us to forget the goodness of God—especially because Jeremiah attributes his swearing to God. He says things like, 

“He has driven me away and forced me to walk in darkness instead of light.” (Lam. 3:2) 

“He has laid siege against me, encircling me with bitterness and hardship.” v. 5 

“He forced me off my way and tore me to pieces.” v. 11 

Yikes. Is it okay to say things like this? To tell people that God has forced us to walk dark and difficult paths? That He is the One who has weighed us down? 

I love how raw and real Scripture is, don’t you? Haven’t we all felt the truth of Jeremiah’s words on our darkest days? It’s safe to be unedited with God. He can take the full weight of our emotions and questions—and then give us eyes to see things from His perspective. I’m so grateful that Jeremiah was gut honest about his actions, but I’m even more grateful that he didn’t stop there. Look at what he reminds himself of in the middle of his anguish: 

Yet I call this to mind, And therefore I have hope: 

Because of the LORD’s faithful love we do not perish, for his mercies never end. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness! I say, “The LORD is my portion, therefore I will put my hope in him.” The LORD is good to those who wait for him, to the person who seeks him. . . . For the Lord will not reject us forever. Even if he causes suffering, he will show compassion according to the abundance of his faithful love. For he does not enjoy bringing affliction or suffering on mankind. Lam. 3:21–25, 31–33 

Jeremiah did something astonishingly simple yet powerfully effectual in the midst of his suffering: he remembered. He reminded himself of who God is. Essentially, he said, “Self, God isn’t happy about my suffering. Nope, that’s not His way, that’s not His heart. Remember—He is the God of love, mercy, faithfulness, goodness, and compassion! This is not for nothing. Hope again!” 

We don’t need to pretend our actions aren’t real and miserable. We just need to put them in the right place— within the “sea of God’s mercies.” We look (and keep looking) at who He reveals Himself to be in Scripture and the wonderful things He has done for His people, for us. 

When have you experienced God’s love, kindness, or compassion? Replay that memory in detail today. He came to you in such a beautiful way then; He will come to you again. Sit in that sweet remembrance and let it pour your pailful of pain into His ocean of mercies—mercies that are vast and new every morning.

Scriptures: Isaiah 63:9, Lamentations 2:19, Psalms 62:8, 2 Chronicles 1:3, Isaiah 66:13, 2 Corinthians 1:3

Cry 

Before my son spoke his first word, he had physically suffered more than most adults have in their lifetime. Every month he was afflicted with high fevers that left him limp in my arms for long days and nights. His mouth broke out in sores, his joints hurt, and he suffered from chronic skin rashes and intestinal pain. He was intolerant of multiple foods, and what was a “simple cold” for most children meant weeks and months of health complications for Jeremy. I will never forget the night he stopped breathing, and my husband and I rushed him to the emergency room just a mile up the road from us. My precious child, my only son, suffered in ways that wrecked this mama’s heart. 

On my son’s healthier days, I challenged him to develop new skills, stretched him beyond his comfort zone, and was delighted to see him do things independently. But on his days of pain and illness, I scooped him into my arms and looked and listened attentively to his every cry and discomfort. Even as a weary, sleepless, often overwhelmed, and anxious mama, I wanted to meet his every need, comfort him, and track down the best medical care possible. Before he even learned to tell me what was wrong or ask me for what he needed, Jeremy would cry out in his pain for me, and that alone stirred my heart to love in ways I’d never known before. 

I can only imagine how much more our Perfect Parent— who is never tired or anxious and always knows what is wrong with us and what to do about it—longs to care for us when we cry to Him. Imagine how His heart feels when we weep and wail in pain. For years I have loved Isaiah 63:9 for the glimpse it gives us into God’s heart: 

“In all their suffering, he suffered , and the angel of his presence saved them. He redeemed them because of his love and compassion; he lifted them up and carried them all the days of the past.” 

The God who suffers in you and with you wants you to cry to Him, wants you to “pour out your heart like water before the Lord’s presence” (Lam. 2:19; see also Ps. 62:8). Like a small child in pain, you may not have words for your suffering. Maybe sometimes all you can do is writhe and flail, weep and wail. Other times, you can use the words of the psalmists to express your longings. Whether we have words or just groans, we can cry to God, knowing He understands our suffering and will carry us through it with His love and compassion. 

The beauty of spending so many years crying out to God is that I can look back to see He has always answered me—so I can trust He will answer me again. He will love me through this. He will comfort me. Again and again, I have experienced the truth of Isaiah 66:13: “As a mother comforts her son, so I [God] will comfort you.” 

As my son used to cry out for me in his misery—and I would drop everything to comfort and care for him—so I cry out to the God of all comfort (2 Cor. 1:3). And from the depths of your own suffering, you can cry out to Him too and experience His perfect comfort once again. Oh, how He loves you.

Scripture: Psalms 100:4

Thank 

I owned only one coat until a year ago—and it had spent almost its entire existence in the back corner of my closet. Southern California winters require little more than a sweater, so we wore coats and scarves just for fun. 

When our family transplanted to a colder climate, we were suddenly shopping for base layers, mid-layers, thick socks, and real coats (because ten-degree weather laughs at SoCal attire). I’m absolutely in love with this cold and snowy winter, but my wardrobe could not look more different than it did a year ago. 

It makes me think of how my life’s climate has often changed in an instant. Crises have blown in like an Arctic wind, and I’ve needed a different wardrobe to weather the elements. The way I dress today is vastly different than the way I dressed thirty years ago. By far, one of the best articles of clothing I own for seasons of suffering is gratitude. 

However, gratitude is not always easy to put on. Suffering affords me endless opportunities to gripe, to despair, to harden my heart. Some days are so dark and the pain so acute that I wonder, How could there possibly be something good to be thankful for today? 

I’ve spent the last five years in oncology offices, hospital beds, and waiting rooms, surrounded by cancer patients thirty and forty years my senior. I’ve watched my already thin body drop weight till my bones peeked through my skin. I’ve been poked, prodded, pumped, scanned, and cut till I almost didn’t recognize myself. I’ve lost my headful of hair—twice. At times, it’s been physically excruciating to dress, turn over in bed, and walk across a room. Medical bills have exceeded our budget. The list could go on. Cancer has stripped me (and my husband and son) of everything that is normal, stable, and “good.” 

Another reality is at work here, far more real than what my five senses can apprehend. One of the surest ways to experience that unseen reality is to thank God, to nurture a heart of gratitude toward Him. This isn’t “positive thinking.” This isn’t being optimistic or a glass-half-full kind of girl. This is an act of faith. 

When we’re overwhelmed by affliction, the simplest gratitude may be all we can muster—and it is enough. A small but beautiful moment of belief gently turns our hearts and heads toward our Savior. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve come to a desperately dark moment, completely at the end of myself, and I’ve sensed the Spirit’s gentle nudge, “Thank Me.” In response, I’ve forced myself to thank Him for something seemingly insignificant—“Thank You for this cup of coffee.” Then I added something like, “Thank You for the sunshine streaming through my window.” Then, with a little more resolve, “thank You for being with me.” Maybe that’s all the capacity I have for gratitude at that moment, but more often than not, that simple act of thanksgiving inspires me to thank Him for even more of His gifts and His goodness. 

Although my circumstances haven’t changed, my perspective has. God knew what He was doing when He commanded us again and again in Scripture to thank Him. thanksgiving is the way we enter into and experience His presence (see Ps. 100:4). To say, “thank You, God” is to perceive Him with us in our suffering. 

I long to put on gratitude and sing like a bird in the dead of winter, don’t you? Your winter may be strikingly different than mine. Perhaps you’ve discovered your spouse is having an affair, your child has a drug addiction, or your commitment to honor God as a single person in a couple’s world is harder than anyone can imagine. But like me, you’ve tasted enough of the goodness of God to want more—even though it requires much surfing. To help us sing through our winters, no matter how small or meager, our thanksgiving will enlarge our hearts to trust Him more and perceive the reality of God’s fiercely tender presence again.