It was a typical morning—well, typical for the last few months, at least. The boys were being the boys. I was making breakfast in the kitchen and impatiently waiting for my husband, Daniel, to come downstairs to see how today was going to play out.

That may sound rude, but what you need to know is that Daniel has a herniated disc in his back. I thought I had experienced heartache in my life, but nothing compares to watching your sixfoot-two, extremely strong husband collapse and pass out from the pain. It took us about six months to find something that brought relief.

Back to that “typical” morning. I was flooded with thoughts of how much we had lost in this season: time, family vacations, ministry, peace. I missed having our fun-loving, energetic, active Daniel. The thought of the family and parents we “used to be” was overwhelming. Satan was winning the battle in my mind.

So, I did the only thing I know to do when there is a battle happening in my heart, soul and mind: listen to worship music. Loudly.

As the words of the song washed over me—“I cast my mind to Calvary where Jesus bled and died for me”—I found myself kneeling on the kitchen floor, completely undone. All the fear and sadness and anger, all the uncertainty and unknowns, started flowing out of my eyeballs. I felt such a sense of guilt over how much my boys have been affected by this season of pain and suffering. They’re too young. They’re too impressionable. It had all become too much.

Then, before I knew it, I had three little boys climbing on top of me, hugging me, telling me it was all going to be OK, and singing along to O Praise the Name.

And it all hit me. Hard.

Our goal through this tough season was to suffer well. To pray for healing but to endure “whatever may come” with pure joy, knowing that trials are God’s way of perfecting our faith. We want to be people who have a holy resilience, who can thrive in any situation, who suffer with joy, who endure for the whole race (see 2 Timothy 4:7), who are not moved by the winds of popular opinion. And we want the same for our kids.

We need to model suffering well, to allow our children to experience trials, under our wings, so they can grow in faith and stand firm in God. But our kids will never build that type of character if we shield them from the trials of life.

In that moment on the kitchen floor, with worship music blaring and tears flowing, I realized that this season of suffering, when they have had to sacrifice for someone else, will serve them better than any experience, vacation or RV trip. That kitchen-floor moment, when we sang “praise the name of the Lord our God” in the midst of pain and unanswered prayers, will be etched in their memories and, I hope, will be how they respond when they grow and experience trials.

In our culture, we will do anything in our power to avoid pain or suffering for ourselves and our kids. We look for the quick fix and the cure-all pill; talk ourselves into the easy choice; remove ourselves completely from “the world”; and avoid any kind of hard kingdom work because we do not want to suffer. 

But here’s the thing—in this life we will have trials. And if we don’t stay in those moments, those tensions, those seasons, then we are missing the transformative work of the Holy Spirit. I don’t want to miss that work. I want to be transformed. I don’t want my kids to miss that work. I want them to be transformed.

WE NEED TO MODEL SUFFERING WELL, TO ALLOW OUR CHILDREN TO EXPERIENCE TRIALS, UNDER OUR WINGS, SO THEY CAN GROW IN FAITH AND STAND FIRM IN GOD.

There will be seasons of suffering, when we cry and beg, and trust God in the middle of it. And we need to model that to our little ones, knowing that nothing is guaranteed on this side of the kingdom, so we must learn to live on the kitchen floor well.

CAPTAIN BHREAGH ROWE is the community ministries officer, St. Albert Church and Community Centre, Alta.

Photo: Viacheslav Yakobchuk/stock.Adobe.com

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