Sometimes, the work required in our lives after a sudden change is simply to clean up and take inventory. To begin the treatment, to bury the dead, to board up the windows, to bandage the wounds. The work that comes next is usually the harder work: to allow the change to transform us in love.
The last place many of us look for change is the kind that affects entire communities or cities or nations, large-scale change to correct societal or generational failures. It’s the kind of change that takes the most work because it doesn’t just change me on the inside or outside. It does both and for all of us.
Could there be more to Jesus’ words about childlike faith than just an openness to mystery and astonishment?
I prayed and prayed for God to do something miraculous that summer, for Him to change the lives of the people we met, to bring a revival to the small beach town where we served. Instead, our rag-tag little group barely survived til August.
The Wonder of the Past: How Remembering God’s Mercies Helps Us Face the Present and Future with Faith
In moments like these, we need hope that brighter days are coming, but the only sure way to convince ourselves of that is by looking backward.
It’s not just in pandemics where both/and make more sense than either/or. It’s in all of life. God’s kingdom is filled with the mysterious, confusing, and glorious paradoxes of hope in the midst of suffering, love shown boldly to enemies, and life out of a dead man’s tomb.