“Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, 3 for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness.”
James 1:2-3, ESV
“There is no circumstance, no trouble, no testing, that can ever touch me until, first of all, it has gone past God and past Christ, right through to me. If it has come that far, it has come with a great purpose.”
“All joy,” (verse 2) is a fantastic thought. It stresses a joy that becomes militant, something powerful and significant. “All joy,” surpasses “some joy” or even “occasional joy.” Instead it’s a joy that remains joy even when tired and weak. It will only shine brighter in the darkness.
Jewels, diamonds, and pearls are typically displayed on a black background.
This reveals their brilliance and value. In the same way darkness should only encourage us to be deliberately brighter than our surroundings. We must understand that we shine only because He makes us shine. There is a divine incandescence that awaits every believer who feels the need or desire for more of God.
God’s special nearness is available to each believer, especially those in the heat of the furnace. He is close to those who want Him, and there is nothing will stand in His way. The Lord cherishes and treasures the seeking heart. There is nothing that can detour the believer’s yearning after their Father. Your faith must be purified, and this is never optional.
Name your trial, then turn it to God in prayer.
Leave it alone and refuse to carry it no further. It’s now the Lord’s concern. Simply watch for the deliverance to come. When God sees your heart, He will lavish Himself out on you. He delights to see your faith becoming solid and real.
Trust Him.
“God, who foresaw your tribulation, has specially armed you to go through it, not without pain but without stain.”
This poem was written for someone I love who struggles with bipolar disorder. Though I have suffered through depression, anxiety, and panic attacks, I can never truly understand her pain. I want to help but I am at a loss as to what to do.
I wanted to share this here so those who suffer from mental illness might know how your suffering breaks the hearts of those who love you but don’t know what to do.
A Broken Heart of Love
This searing pain in my heart I wish it would go away I pray for it to leave me But it is love I would be hollow without it
I watch you drowning in a sea of turmoil and fear I reach out my hand, the one connected to my broken heart “It’s okay, the sailing’s fine,” you say
I walk away, thinking perhaps my eyes deceive me and you are not drowning, or else why would you say otherwise? I know you would not lie
But still this pain deep down inside my aching heart reminds me that you are not fine, the sea is not calm
The storm rages but I cannot rescue you You cannot see my hand reaching through the darkness beckoning you to dry land
Does being in prison change a person? How would it affect you? I imagine the Apostle Paul’s frustration. He loved to disciple and establish churches. To be confined like this would be quite difficult. What a spiritual trial it would’ve been. Me, personally, I would have definite issues. I made a list. I probably would be:
Angry? Depressed?
Frustrated? Anxious?
Full of self-pity?
Isolated, lonely?
Frightened?
During his imprisonment, I’m sure that the Apostle Paul had to work through all of these things–I’m certain that Satan tempted him repeatedly. I think the man Paul had dealt with the enemy through all of this (and more besides). Most feel that he would be imprisoned in Rome for at least two years. That’s a long time.
It’s generally agreed that he wrote the four epistles in 60-62 AD. These letters are regarded as written from his prison cell in Rome: Ephesians, Philippians, Colossians, and Philemon. Each of these four is different. (But admittedly, Philemon is the most unalike.)
And yet the scent of the prison can be found in these writings.
Despite the possible response of an incarcerated man, Paul’s writings from the Mamertine Prison are incredibly encouraging–he shows none of the issues of a man locked in a cell–but yet there are hard things he must deal with. Take a second to look at some direct references to his imprisonment.
“I appeal to you, instead, on the basis of love. I, Paul, as an elderly man and now also as a prisoner of Christ Jesus,” (Philemon 9.)
I am going to Jerusalem, constrained by the Spirit, not knowing what will happen to me there, except that the Holy Spirit testifies to me in every city that imprisonment and afflictions await me. But I do not account my life of any value nor as precious to myself, if only I may finish my course and the ministry I received from the Lord Jesus, to testify to the gospel of the grace of God (Acts 20:22-24).
“For this reason I, Paul, a prisoner of Christ Jesus on behalf of you Gentiles,” (Ephesians 3:10).
“I, Paul, write this greeting with my own hand. Remember my chains. Grace be with you.” (Col. 4:18).
“I want you to know, brothers, that what has happened to me has really served to advance the gospel, so that it has become known throughout the whole imperial guard and to all the rest that my imprisonment is for Christ.” (Philippians 1:12-14).
“The following night the Lord stood by him and said, “Take courage, for as you have testified to the facts about me in Jerusalem, so you must testify also in Rome.” (Acts 23:11).
It’s clear to me that Paul used this time to witness through his writings. He never grew bitter, only better. One could suggest that it’s we have been blessed by these epistles. His time in prison was the time he needed to bless us today. Where would we be without these books?
A papyrus fragment from Paul’s epistle to the Ephesians.
How many times was Paul imprisoned? Was he jailed once, twice, or several times? I’ve read different commentaries and they can’t decide. It’s a challenge to put together a solid timeline. There seems to be more evidence for two different confinements. Check out this site if you want to dig deeper.
But no matter what. These writings are God’s gift to us today.
From a dark prison, Paul writes these absolutely incredible letters. I believe Satan wanted to destroy Paul. I also think that this was a tremendous trial for him. He was a spiritual dynamo, wanting to establish and strengthen churches and then being chained to a wall must’ve been a challenge for him. There was so much for him to do.
But we desperately needed these letters!
Perhaps, out of our confusion and challenges, God’s purpose goes far beyond what we think. Sometimes we have no idea what our “imprisonment” is going to do. That encourages me. He turns our hard times into spiritual gold!
Through these letters, we’ve been given so much. These epistles are written from Rome’s dungeon, and yet they continue to shake the world!
It’s easy to romanticize physical suffering — especially when you’re not the one experiencing it.
Saints like Amy Carmichael, who spent over twenty years bedridden, and Joni Eareckson Tada, a quadriplegic who lives in constant pain, can evoke peaceful images of unbroken communion with God. We may imagine that it’s easier for them to endure pain and weakness than it is for the rest of us.
Yet the reality of physical suffering is that it’s insistent and intrusive. No one gets used to it. Pain demands our attention. Time slows to a crawl, particularly in the middle of the night, when we’re begging God for the relief of sleep. We feel alone and isolated. No one else can enter the prison that our bodies have become.
Pain Accumulates
If that weren’t enough, physical pain rarely exists in isolation — it’s usually accompanied by loss, weakness, and dependence. Often, we require help with basic daily needs, and we worry about the burden we’re putting on others. We second-guess every request, not wanting to bother someone one more time. Will people get tired and think we’re “too much”? Do they resent their lack of freedom?
We longingly remember the carefree days before our physical struggles altered our lives, when we could do what we wanted. Now we measure our energy in teaspoons rather than buckets. We weigh every decision, every action. Saying yes to one activity means saying no to many others. It is hard not to envy those with fit bodies, who seem to have no cares.
Pain, loneliness, and longing can give way to depression and despair. We cry out to the Lord for relief, but relief doesn’t come. The cancer spreads. Sleep eludes us. The pain intensifies. The medicine stops working. The side effects multiply. Our caregivers grow weary. Our friends stop checking in. Our resources run dry.
Doubt Advances
The vibrant faith we once had begins to fade — which is exactly what Satan wants to happen as we suffer. He wants us to doubt and fall away from God, convinced that he is indifferent to our cries. Satan knows that we’re susceptible to discouragement when we’re physically depleted, so that’s when he attacks. As physical needs scream for attention, Satan whispers to us, “Does God even hear you, let alone really care for you? If he does, why isn’t he delivering you?”
“If God’s greatest blessing is himself, then perhaps sustenance is a more precious gift than deliverance.”
Insidious doubts slip in, making us question beliefs we once held rock-solid: Are we deeply loved by an all-powerful Father? As soon as we recognize the mental shift, we need to stop and cry out to God, asking him to meet us in our sorrow, to deliver us from our pain, and to show us evidence of his goodness and love. Are we fixating on all that we’ve lost, on how God hasn’t delivered us, on how hopeless we feel? Or do we recognize that God is with us, working for our good, and caring for us each moment?
What we think about in the moments of our deepest pain is critical. Our mindset will determine how we approach the questions that bombard us. Here are three common questions I’ve asked:
How can God be “for me” if I’m still suffering?
How can God use my weakness for good?
What good can come in moments of overwhelming pain?
How can God be ‘for me’ if I’m still suffering?
Sometimes God miraculously delivers us when we plead for relief, like at the parting of the Red Sea. Other times he sustains us, as he did with manna in the wilderness. The Red Sea deliverance freed the Israelites, but their need for manna kept them dependent on God. In gathering manna, they had a harder time forgetting their reliance on God. And if God’s greatest blessing is himself, then perhaps sustenance is a more precious gift than deliverance, since it can keep us in constant communion with him.
Take the apostle Paul. He begged God for deliverance from his thorn in the flesh, but instead he received grace — grace to bear the thorn, grace to be content with weakness, grace that would carry him through other trials as well (2 Corinthians 12:7–10).
When we realize that we can depend on God in our weakness, we learn to trust him in everything. Anyone can thank God for quick deliverance from physical suffering, but we often forget him until the next crisis. Yet when he sustains us in our pain, we’re confident that he is with us always.
How can God use my physical weakness for good?
We may think our physical weakness is keeping us from maximum fruitfulness, but that’s impossible. Our weaknesses are a part of God’s plan for our lives; they are intertwined with our calling. Paul thought his thorn was hampering his ministry, but God knew that it was the key to his strength: it forced Paul to be wholly dependent on God. When we are depleted and exhausted, lacking any resources of our own — it is then that we fully rely on God.
And in that reliance, we discover the power of God flowing through us — the same power that raised Jesus from the dead (Ephesians 1:19–20). This power keeps us enduring when we want to give up; it showcases God’s glory and brings lasting change. Because Paul relied on God’s provision, he accomplished more for the kingdom with his thorn than he could have without it. His greatest strength lay in his submission to Christ.
Even Jesus’s greatest strength appeared in his greatest physical weakness.
Throughout his ministry, Jesus impacted others by his actions. He calmed the storm with a word. He fed five thousand with a few loaves and fish. He cast out demons, healed the sick, and raised the dead. He turned the world upside down.
But at the end of his ministry, from the Last Supper on, Jesus allowed others to act upon him: he was led away, he was whipped and mocked, he was beaten and crucified. When he submitted to his captors, the crowds saw weakness rather than what was really there: Jesus’s strength and power.
Just before these horrific events, Jesus begged God to take the cup of suffering from him. But it was through Christ’s submission to the will of the Father — to torture and humiliation, to physical abuse and carrying his own cross — that God brought about the most astonishing display of his power and grace.
Broken Believers 