There is something in us that has the sense that “that’s not right” when we face unexpected pain and tragedy. In that novel, one of the characters asks, “The question is not, why does he not give us only good gifts, but why does he give us any good gifts at all?” It is a question we do not like to ask, especially in the midst of suffering. The ideas of pain and suffering and God’s role in them come up in Awakening the Sentientsas well. Because giving up is only trading a small problem for a larger one. She says one of my favorite lines from the book, “Never give up. This is one of the reasons I chose to title one of the chapters from my book, Into the Vast, “Weaving”. In it, one of the characters explains how she dealt with the death of her husband. It can be so hard to wrap your mind around the realities of providence and omnipotence, but somehow seeing God as the skillful artist and our lives as his tapestry helps to make sense of the insensible. I’ve always loved the metaphor of God as a weaver. He weaveth steadilyĪnd yet, in the midst of it all came this poem, speaking of God and the way he weaves our lives as a tapestry. It’s hard watching those you love go through terrible pain and feeling like there is nothing you can do to stop it. It can threaten to take your hopes and dreams with it, even when it’s not you who is suffering from it. Some days sickness is more than just rain on your parade, it’s like a raging torrent, washing all your confetti and flower petals down the drain. ![]() I don’t know if you’ve ever dealt with serious illness, but it can really take you off your game. You see, towards the end of last year some members of my family were dealing with some very serious illnesses and some of those health issues are ongoing and look to be a part of our lives indefinitely. ![]() ![]() And as I think about it again now, surely that providential arrangement of events was an even greater wonder than the poem and the radio and all that jazz which allowed the message to reach me. And I was left reflecting on them long after the last syllable was spoken and the car had pulled back into the driveway. For the poem itself was also exactly what I needed to hear at that moment. And yet we take such marvels for granted because they are common place.īut the wonder does not stop there. Have you ever thought about how amazing that is? The wonder that such a thing exists and is actually real? It seems to defy explanation that we should live in such an intelligible universe. But what a blessing that I can be moving around town and hear words of wisdom, written by another person, and recited by yet another person which have somehow traveled through the airwaves, are received by an apparatus in my car, and then arrive at my ear in such a way that I can understand the words, thoughts, and truths being expressed. Recently I was driving around, running errands, when I heard a poem being recited on the radio.
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