You'll Get Through This Part 4

And wouldn't you think he can do the same with yours? Tally up the pain of your past. Betrayals plus anger plus tragedies. Poorly parented? Wrongly accused? Inappropriately touched? Oh, how onerous life can be.

Yet consider this question: Is the G.o.d of Joseph still in control? Yes! Can he do for you what he did for Joseph? Yes! Might the evil intended to harm you actually help you become the person G.o.d intends you to be? Yes! Someday-perhaps in this life, certainly in the next-you will tally up the crud of your life and write this sum: all good.

Lieutenant Sam Brown did. Two years out of West Point, he was on his first tour of duty in Afghanistan when an improvised explosive device turned his Humvee into a Molotov c.o.c.ktail. He doesn't remember how he got out of the truck. He does remember rolling in the sand, slapping dirt on his burning face, running in circles, and finally dropping to his knees. He lifted flaming arms to the air and cried, "Jesus, save me!"

In Sam's case the words were more than a desperate scream. He is a devoted believer in Jesus Christ. Sam was calling on his Savior to take him home. He a.s.sumed he would die.

But death did not come. His gunner did. With bullets flying around them, he helped Sam reach cover. Crouching behind a wall, Sam realized that bits of his clothing were fusing to his skin. He ordered the private to rip his gloves off the burning flesh. The soldier hesitated, then pulled. With the gloves came pieces of his hands. Brown winced at what was the first of thousands of moments of pain.

When vehicles from another platoon reached them, they loaded the wounded soldier into a truck. Before Sam pa.s.sed out, he caught a glimpse of his singed face in the mirror. He didn't recognize himself.

That was September 2008. By the time I met him three years later, he had undergone dozens of painful surgeries. Dead skin had been excised and healthy skin harvested and grafted. The pain chart didn't have a number high enough to register the agony he felt.

Yet in the midst of the horror, beauty walked in. Diet.i.tian Amy La.r.s.en. Since Sam's mouth had been reduced to the size of a coin, Amy monitored his nutrition intake. He remembers the first time he saw her. Dark hair, brown eyes. Nervous. Cute. More important, she didn't flinch at the sight of him.

After several weeks he gathered the courage to ask her out. They went to a rodeo. The following weekend they went to a friend's wedding. During the three-hour drive Amy told Sam how she had noticed him months earlier when he was in ICU, covered with bandages, sedated with morphine, and attached to a breathing machine. When he regained consciousness, she stepped into his room to meet him. But there was a circle of family and doctors, so she turned and left.

The two continued to see each other. Early in their relationship Sam brought up the name Jesus Christ. Amy was not a believer. Sam's story stirred her heart for G.o.d. Sam talked to her about G.o.d's mercy and led her to Christ. Soon thereafter they were married. And as I write these words, they are the parents of a seven-month-old boy. Sam directs a program to aid wounded soldiers.1 Far be it from me to minimize the horror of a man on fire in the Afghan desert. And who can imagine the torture of repeated surgeries and rehab? The emotional stress has taken its toll on their marriage at times. Yet Sam and Amy have come to believe this: G.o.d's math works differently than ours. War + near death + agonizing rehab = wonderful family and hope for a bright future. In G.o.d's hand intended evil is eventual good.

With G.o.d's help you can bounce back. Who knows? Your rebound may happen today. On the morning of his promotion, Joseph had no reason to think the day would be different from the seven hundred prior ones. I doubt that he prayed, G.o.d, please promote me to prime minister of Egypt before sunset. But G.o.d exceeded Joseph's fondest prayer. Joseph began the day in prison and ended it in a palace. As he dozed off to sleep, he is reported to have smiled to himself and whispered, "Just as Max said, I have more bounce back than Bozo."

CHAPTER 8.

Is G.o.d

Good When

Life Isn't?

I remember the day as a sunny, summer Brazilian one. Denalyn and I were spending the afternoon with our friends Paul and Debbie. Their house was a welcome respite. We lived close to downtown Rio de Janeiro in a high-rise apartment. Paul and Debbie lived an hour away from the city center in a nice house where the air was cooler, the streets were cleaner, and life was calmer. Besides, they had a swimming pool.

Our two-year-old daughter, Jenna, loved to play with their kids. And that is exactly what she was doing when she fell. We didn't intend to leave the children unattended. We had stepped into the house for just a moment to fill our plates. We were chatting and chewing when Paul and Debbie's four-year-old walked into the room and casually told her mom, "Jenna fell in the pool." We exploded out the door. Jenna was flopping in the water, wearing neither floaties nor a life jacket. Paul reached her first. He jumped in and lifted her up to Denalyn. Jenna coughed and cried for a minute, and just like that she was fine. Tragedy averted. Daughter safe.

Imagine our grat.i.tude. We immediately circled up the kids, offered a prayer, and sang a song of thanks. For the remainder of the day, our feet didn't touch the ground, and Jenna didn't leave our arms. Even driving home, I was thanking G.o.d. In the rearview mirror I could see Jenna sound asleep in her car seat, and I offered yet another prayer: G.o.d, you are so good. Then a question surfaced in my thoughts. From G.o.d? Or from the part of me that struggles to make sense out of G.o.d? I can't say. But what the voice asked, I still remember: If Jenna hadn't survived, would G.o.d still be good?

I had spent the better part of the afternoon broadcasting G.o.d's goodness. Yet had we lost Jenna, would I have reached a different verdict? Is G.o.d good only when the outcome is?

When the cancer is in remission, we say "G.o.d is good." When the pay raise comes, we announce "G.o.d is good." When the university admits us or the final score favors our team, "G.o.d is good." Would we and do we say the same under different circ.u.mstances? In the cemetery as well as the nursery? In the unemployment line as well as the grocery line? In days of recession as much as in days of provision? Is G.o.d always good?

For my friends Brian and Christyn Taylor, the question is more than academic. During this last year their seven-year-old daughter was hospitalized for more than six months with six surgeries for a disease of the pancreas, Brian's job was discontinued, several family members died and another was diagnosed with brain cancer, and Christyn was pregnant with child number four. Life was tough. She blogged: Multiple hospital stays with my daughter were exhausting, but I held faith. Losing Brian's family members one by one until there was only one left, who was then diagnosed with stage 4 brain cancer, was incomprehensible, but I still held faith. Being hospitalized seven-and-a-half weeks with a placental abruption was terrifying, but I held faith. I held to the faith that G.o.d works for my good, and though I did not necessarily understand the trials, I trusted G.o.d's bigger, unseen plan.

G.o.d and I had a deal-I would endure the trials that came my way as long as he acknowledged my stopping point. He knew where my line had been drawn, and I knew in my heart he would never cross it.

He did. I delivered a stillborn baby girl. With my daughter Rebecca still at home on a feeding tube and her future health completely unknown, it was a foregone conclusion that this baby we so wanted and loved would be saved. She wasn't. My line in the sand was crossed. My one-way deal with G.o.d was shattered.

Everything changed in that moment. Fear set in, and my faith began to crumble. My "safety zone" with G.o.d was no longer safe. If this could happen in the midst of our greatest struggles, then anything was fair game. For the first time in my life, anxiety began to overwhelm me.1 We can relate. Most, if not all of us, have a contractual agreement with G.o.d. The fact that he hasn't signed it doesn't keep us from believing it.

I pledge to be a good, decent person, and in return G.o.d will . . .

save my child.

heal my wife.

protect my job.

(fill in the blank) .

Only fair, right? Yet when G.o.d fails to meet our bottom-line expectations, we are left spinning in a tornado of questions. Is he good at all? Is G.o.d angry at me? Stumped? Overworked? Is his power limited? His authority restricted? Did the devil outwit him? When life isn't good, what are we to think about G.o.d? Where is he in all this?

Joseph's words for Pharaoh offer some help here. We don't typically think of Joseph as a theologian. Not like Job, the sufferer, or Paul, the apostle. For one thing we don't have many of Joseph's words. Yet the few we have reveal a man who wrestled with the nature of G.o.d.

To the king he announced: But afterward there will be seven years of famine so great that all the prosperity will be forgotten and wiped out. Famine will destroy the land. This famine will be so terrible that even the memory of the good years will be erased. As for having the dream twice, it means that the matter has been decreed by G.o.d and that he will make these events happen soon. (Gen. 41:3032 NLT) Joseph saw both seasons, the one of plenty and the one of paucity, beneath the umbrella of G.o.d's jurisdiction. Both were "decreed by G.o.d."

How could this be? Was the calamity G.o.d's idea?

Of course not. G.o.d never creates or parlays evil. "G.o.d can never do wrong! It is impossible for the Almighty to do evil" (Job 34:10 NCV; see also James 1:17). He is the essence of good. How can he who is good invent anything bad?

And he is sovereign. Scripture repeatedly attributes utter and absolute control to his hand. "The Most High G.o.d rules the kingdom of mankind and sets over it whom he will" (Dan. 5:21 ESV). G.o.d is good. G.o.d is sovereign. Then how are we to factor in the presence of calamities in G.o.d's world?

Here is how the Bible does it: G.o.d permits it. When the demons begged Jesus to send them into a herd of pigs, he "gave them permission" (Mark 5:1213). Regarding the rebellious, G.o.d said, "I let them become defiled . . . that I might fill them with horror so they would know that I am the LORD" (Ezek. 20:26 NIV). The Old Law speaks of the consequence of accidentally killing a person: "If [the man] does not do it intentionally, but G.o.d lets it happen, he is to flee to a place I will designate" (Ex. 21:13 NIV).

G.o.d at times permits tragedies. He permits the ground to grow dry and stalks to grow bare. He allows Satan to unleash mayhem. But he doesn't allow Satan to triumph. Isn't this the promise of Romans 8:28: "And we know that in all things G.o.d works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose" (NIV)? G.o.d promises to render beauty out of "all things," not "each thing." The isolated events may be evil, but the ultimate culmination is good.

We see small examples of this in our own lives. When you sip on a cup of coffee and say, "This is good," what are you saying? The plastic bag that contains the beans is good? The beans themselves are good? Hot water is good? A coffee filter is good? No, none of these. Good happens when the ingredients work together: the bag opened, the beans ground into powder, the water heated to the right temperature. It is the collective cooperation of the elements that creates good.

Nothing in the Bible would cause us to call a famine good or a heart attack good or a terrorist attack good. These are terrible calamities, born out of a fallen earth. Yet every message in the Bible, especially the story of Joseph, compels us to believe that G.o.d will mix them with other ingredients and bring good out of them.

But we must let G.o.d define good. Our definition includes health, comfort, and recognition. His definition? In the case of his Son, Jesus Christ, the good life consisted of struggles, storms, and death. But G.o.d worked it all together for the greatest of good: his glory and our salvation.

Joni Eareckson Tada has spent most of her life attempting to reconcile the presence of suffering with the nature of G.o.d. She was just a teenager when a diving accident left her paralyzed from the neck down. After more than forty years in a wheelchair, Joni has reached this conclusion: [Initially] I figured that if Satan and G.o.d were involved in my accident at all, then it must be that the devil had twisted G.o.d's arm for permission . . .

I reasoned that once G.o.d granted permission to Satan, he then nervously had to run behind him with a repair kit, patching up what Satan had ruined, mumbling to himself, "Oh great, now how am I going to work this for good?" . . .

But the truth is that G.o.d is infinitely more powerful than Satan . . .

While the devil's motive in my disability was to shipwreck my faith by throwing a wheelchair in my way, I'm convinced that G.o.d's motive was to thwart the devil and use the wheelchair to change me and make me more like Christ through it all . . .

[He can] bring ultimate good out of the devil's wickedness.2 This was the message of Jesus. When his followers spotted a blind man on the side of the road, they asked Jesus for an explanation. Was G.o.d angry? Who was to blame? Who sinned? Jesus' answer provided a higher option: the man was blind so "the works of G.o.d should be revealed in him" (John 9:3). G.o.d turned blindness, a bad thing, into a billboard for Jesus' power to heal. Satan acted, G.o.d counteracted, and good won. It's a divine jujitsu of sorts. G.o.d redirects the energy of evil against its source. "[G.o.d] uses evil to bring evil to nought."3 He is the master chess player, always checkmating the devil's moves.

Our choice comes down to this: trust G.o.d or turn away. He will cross the line. He will shatter our expectations. And we will be left to make a decision.

Christyn Taylor made hers. Remember the young mother I told you about? She concluded her blog with these words: I have spent weeks trying to figure out why a G.o.d I so love could let this happen to my family at such a time. The only conclusion I came to was this: I have to give up my line in the sand. I have to offer my entire life, every minute portion of it, to G.o.d's control regardless of the outcome.

My family is in G.o.d's hands. No lines have been drawn, no deals made. I have given our lives to the Lord. Peace has entered where panic once resided, and calmness settled where anxiety once ruled.4 At some point we all stand at this intersection. Is G.o.d good when the outcome is not? During the famine as well as the feast? The definitive answer comes in the person of Jesus Christ. He is the only picture of G.o.d ever taken. Do you want to know heaven's clearest answer to the question of suffering? Look at Jesus.

He pressed his fingers into the sore of the leper. He felt the tears of the sinful woman who wept. He inclined his ear to the cry of the hungry. He wept at the death of a friend. He stopped his work to tend to the needs of a grieving mother. He doesn't recoil, run, or retreat at the sight of pain. Just the opposite. He didn't walk the earth in an insulated bubble or preach from an isolated, germfree, pain-free island. He took his own medicine. He played by his own rules. Trivial irritations of family life? Jesus felt them. Cruel accusations of jealous men? Jesus knew their sting. A seemingly senseless death? Just look at the cross. He exacts nothing from us that he did not experience himself.

Why? Because he is good.

G.o.d owes us no more explanation than this. Besides, if he gave one, what makes us think we would understand it? Might the problem be less G.o.d's plan and more our limited perspective? Suppose the wife of George Frideric Handel came upon a page of her husband's famous oratorio Messiah. The entire work was more than two hundred pages long. Imagine that she discovered one page on the kitchen table. On it her husband had written only one measure in a minor key, one that didn't work on its own. Suppose she, armed with this fragment of dissonance, marched into his studio and said, "This music makes no sense. You are a lousy composer." What would he think?

Perhaps something similar to what G.o.d thinks when we do the same. We point to our minor key-our sick child, crutches, or famine-and say, "This makes no sense!" Yet out of all his creation, how much have we seen? And of all his work how much do we understand? Only a sliver. A doorway peephole. Is it possible that some explanation for suffering exists of which we know nothing at all? What if G.o.d's answer to the question of suffering requires more megabytes than our puny minds have been given?

And is it possible that the wonder of heaven will make the most difficult life a good bargain? This was Paul's opinion. "Our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all" (2 Cor. 4:17 NIV).

Suppose I invited you to experience the day of your dreams. Twenty-four hours on an island paradise with your favorite people, food, and activities. The only stipulation: one millisecond of discomfort. For reasons I choose not to explain, you will need to begin the day with the millisecond of distress.

Would you accept my offer? I think you would. A split second is nothing compared to twenty-four hours. On G.o.d's clock you're in the middle of your millisecond. Compared to eternity, what is seventy, eighty, ninety years? Just a vapor. Just a finger snap compared to heaven.

Your pain won't last forever, but you will. "Whatever we may have to go through now is less than nothing compared with the magnificent future G.o.d has in store for us" (Rom. 8:18 PHILLIPS).

What is coming will make sense of what is happening now. Let G.o.d finish his work. Let the composer complete his symphony. The forecast is simple. Good days. Bad days. But G.o.d is in all days. He is the Lord of the famine and the feast, and he uses both to accomplish his will.

CHAPTER 9.

A Splash of

Grat.i.tude With

That Att.i.tude,

Please

Try as I might to seem cultured, my blue collar often peeks through my tux. It certainly did some years back when I was invited to a minister's house for tea. I was brand-new to ministry and to our city. He was a seasoned pastor from New Zealand, educated in England. When he asked me to speak at his church, I was honored. When he requested that I come to his house for tea, I was intrigued.

I had never heard of high tea. High fives and "hi, y'all!" and "hi-yippie-yi-yo-ki-yay," yes. But never high tea. Tea (to West Texas boys) means pitchers, tall gla.s.ses, ice cubes, and Lipton. In the spirit of adventure I gladly accepted the invitation. I even acted enthused at the sight of the tea and cookie tray. But then came the moment of truth. The hostess asked what I would like in my tea. She offered two options: "Lemon? Milk?" I had no clue, but I didn't want to be rude, and I sure didn't want to miss out on anything, so I said, "Both."

The look on her face left no doubt. I'd goofed. "You don't mix lemon and milk in the same cup," she softly explained, "unless you want a cup of curdle."

Some things were not made to coexist. Long-tailed cats and rocking chairs? Bad combination. Bulls in a china closet? Not a good idea. Blessings and bitterness? That mixture doesn't go over well with G.o.d. Combine heavenly kindness with earthly ingrat.i.tude and expect a sour concoction.

Perhaps you've sampled it. Grat.i.tude doesn't come naturally. Self-pity does. Bellyaches do. Grumbles and mumbles-no one has to remind us to offer them. Yet they don't mix well with the kindness we have been given. A spoonful of grat.i.tude is all we need.

Joseph took more than a spoonful. He had cause to be ungrateful. Abandoned. Enslaved. Betrayed. Estranged. Yet try as we might to find tinges of bitterness, we don't succeed. What we do discover, however, are two dramatic gestures of grat.i.tude.

And to Joseph were born two sons before the years of famine came, whom Asenath, the daughter of Poti-Pherah priest of On, bore to him. Joseph called the name of the firstborn Mana.s.seh: "For G.o.d has made me forget all my toil and all my father's house." And the name of the second he called Ephraim: "For G.o.d has caused me to be fruitful in the land of my affliction." (Gen. 41:5052) Child naming is no small responsibility. The name sticks for life. Wherever the child goes, whenever the child is introduced, the parents' decision will be remembered. (Exactly what was Texas Governor Jim Hogg thinking when he named his daughter Ima?) Most parents go to great effort to select the perfect name for their children. Joseph did.

These were the days of abundance. G.o.d had rewarded Joseph with a place in Pharaoh's court and a wife for his own home. The time had come to start a family. The young couple was reclining on the couch when he reached over and patted Asenath's round, pregnant tummy. "I've been thinking about names for our baby."

"Oh, Joey, how sweet. I have as well. In fact, I bought a name-your-baby book at the grocery store."

"You won't need it. I already have the name."

"What is it?"

"G.o.d Made Me Forget."

"If he made you forget, how can you name him?"

"No, that is the name: G.o.d Made Me Forget."

She gave him that look Egyptian wives always gave their Hebrew husbands. "G.o.d Made Me Forget? Every time I call my son, I will say, 'G.o.d Made Me Forget'?" She shook her head and tried it out. "'It's time for dinner, G.o.d Made Me Forget. Come in and wash your hands, G.o.d Made Me Forget.' I don't know, Joseph. I was thinking something more like Tut or Ramses, or have you ever considered the name Max? It is a name reserved for special people."

"No, Asenath, my mind is made up. Each time my son's name is spoken, G.o.d's name will be praised. G.o.d made me forget all the pain and hurt I experienced at the hands of my brothers, and I want everyone to know-I want G.o.d to know-I am grateful."

Apparently Mrs. Joseph warmed to the idea because at the birth of son number two, she and Joseph called him G.o.d Made Me Fruitful. One name honored G.o.d's mercy; the other proclaimed his favor.

Do you think G.o.d noticed Joseph's gesture? A New Testament story provides an answer. Many centuries later "Jesus . . . reached the border between Galilee and Samaria. As he entered a village there, ten lepers stood at a distance, crying out, 'Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!'" (Luke 17:1113 NLT).