On Suffering and the Love of God

 

All of my readers know what it is to suffer. We all pass through difficult seasons—physical, emotional, or spiritual, and sometimes all three at once. When I compare my own recent trial to the tragic losses others have faced, I hardly dare to call it a trial at all. Still, something has taken place in this season that feels worth sharing.

In March 2025, I was hospitalized with severe rhabdomyolysis (rhabdo)—a condition in which muscle tissue rapidly breaks down, releasing harmful proteins into the bloodstream. My creatine kinase (CK) levels, which indicate muscle damage, were quite high—over 60,000, far beyond the normal range. In the months since, I’ve had two more episodes and a series of related symptoms that have led to repeated hospital visits. I’ve been told that it isn’t a matter of if but when another episode will occur.

For reasons not yet understood, my muscles no longer recover properly after exertion. I can’t spend much time on my feet, must limit any kind of exertion, and rely on others for lifting and other tasks. Along with pain and weakness, I’ve also experienced occasional heart rhythm issues, and at times I have systemic crashes—episodes where even slight activity leaves me feeling sick and drained for days. I had hoped I might be able to adjust to a routine using a wheelchair, but even extended periods sitting upright have proven unsustainable. For now, I spend a significant portion of each day lying flat.

Doctors are still investigating possible underlying causes, but so far none appear to be treatable. At the moment, it remains something of a mystery. If you had told me years ago that I would face this, I would have said it sounded terribly depressing. I would have dreaded it.

But here’s the irony: until my hospitalization in March, I had been struggling with depression for years—and since then it has significantly lifted. In fact, these past several months have been among the happiest I can remember—spiritually and emotionally, despite ongoing physical limitations. I’ve still had bouts of anxiety and discouragement, but overall it has been a season marked more by joy than anything else.

I would like to share a little of what has happened, in the hope that it may offer some encouragement to others.

During my first hospital stay God drew near. My room became a place of prayer, worship, and quiet rest in God.  I still remember it fondly. This wasn’t due to any piety of my own—it was wholly His doing. It was His love and grace meeting me when I needed it.

I am quite limited in what I can safely do; and yet something wonderful and unexpected has happened. Though the depression has eased, it has been replaced by a surprising joy that coexists with ongoing weakness. I have found myself overawed by the sense of God’s love. I remember reading about Moody’s encounter with God, when he was so filled with the sense of His love that he had to ask the Lord to stay His hand—he felt as if he would burst. I haven’t experienced anything quite like that, yet I can say that I have tasted love that surpasses knowledge.* In a new and precious way, His love has been shed abroad in my heart, and for some time now the love of God has been my daily meditation.

Sometimes, when I have read biographies or autobiographies, I have felt guilt or even shame that my experience—in some ways—differs so much from theirs. I do not want to add to the burden of any reader who feels sunk in the mire of some bitter trial. It may very well be that this is not your experience at the moment; yours may feel something like the very opposite. I know from personal experience that sometimes it feels like there is no way out and no light at the end of the tunnel. And yet I also know that He does not allow us to be tempted beyond what we can bear, and that His good, wise, and sovereign purposes will be accomplished. As Spurgeon put it, “I cannot always trace His hand, but I can always trust His heart.” Still, I wanted to write for the following reasons:

First, I want to testify to His goodness and grace. The Bible says that God is a prayer-hearing God (Psalm 65:2), and that He is found by all who seek Him (Jeremiah 29:13). But sometimes God comes when we aren’t asking, and is found by those who did not seek Him (Isaiah 65:1). In fact, this is the very message of the gospel: that when we did not want God, He wanted us; that when we did not love Him, He loved us with an everlasting love (Jeremiah 31:3); that when we were not seeking, He came as the Good Shepherd to seek and to save that which was lost (Luke 19:10; John 10:11).

I do not know why God allowed that long season of depression—perhaps to humble me (2 Corinthians 12:7). Nor do I know why He suddenly chose to take it away. I do not understand why, in some trials, the Lord seems to turn His face away (Psalm 13:1), and in others He seems to cause His face to shine (Numbers 6:25). But I do know this: God is sovereign, He always gets His way, and He always gets His man (Isaiah 46:10; Daniel 4:35)—and when I consider who He is, I find that wonderfully encouraging.

The Bible says He is love (1 John 4:8), and that His love—from which nothing can separate us—is as high as the heavens (Romans 8:38–39; Psalm 103:11). My heart soars when I think that it is specifically His will—God’s will—that cannot be thwarted (Job 42:2), that His purposes must come to pass (Proverbs 19:21), and that His people will be made willing in the day of His power (Psalm 110:3).

I also know that God is gracious, not dealing with us as our sins deserve (Psalm 103:10). He delights to show mercy (Micah 7:18), and all His ways are good (Deuteronomy 32:4). I greatly understate it when I say that God’s kindness to me these past months has been undeserved. Yet it has been a vivid reminder that He is a gracious God—and, as so many others have testified, He generously gives us the grace we need when we need it (2 Corinthians 12:9; Hebrews 4:16).

While I cannot know your particular trial or suffering—physical or otherwise—He knows (Psalm 139:1–3), and all your tears are kept in His bottle (Psalm 56:8). He remembers your walls (Isaiah 49:16), and though a father and mother may forsake you, and a nursing mother might forget her child, He will never forsake you or forget you (Isaiah 49:15; Psalm 27:10). He promises to be with you in the fire (Isaiah 43:2), and though it may feel as if His face is turned away, He loves you now just as dearly as when He went to the cross for you (Romans 5:8). He has not changed—and though you may, and though circumstances may, He will not (Malachi 3:6; Hebrews 13:8). When faced with temptation, He will provide a way of escape (1 Corinthians 10:13). Should you find yourself sinking or near despair, He will take you by the hand (Matthew 14:31) and perhaps even gather you in His arms, carrying you close to His heart (Isaiah 40:11). Whatever you may feel, He has not changed. He will not repay you according to what you have done, but will give you instead the grace and help you need (Psalm 103:10; Hebrews 4:16).

With all my heart, I believe that in my life—as in yours—God is working for good (Romans 8:28). His way is best. I can submit to Him not only because He is my Lord and King, but because He is my Father, who has lovingly pledged Himself to work on my behalf for my eternal good (Philippians 1:6; Hebrews 12:10).

Second, I want to remind readers that God is able to turn a dungeon into a palace. I knew this before, but I suppose it was head knowledge rather than heart knowledge (Romans 8:38–39). I say that because I always pitied those who could not do what I could do. I hated the thought of being laid up in a hospital or being unable to go to the gym or even for a walk. I am not suggesting that we shouldn’t feel compassion for those who suffer (Galatians 6:2), but I am suggesting that my own thinking reflected a misunderstanding.

God is perfectly able to give us what the world cannot give. His peace passes understanding (Philippians 4:7). His joy is unspeakable and full of glory (1 Peter 1:8). When Richard Wurmbrand came out of prison, he said it was like coming down from the mountaintop, because there, in that place of human misery, God had met him and turned a place of darkness and sorrow into a heaven on earth.

I do not want to exaggerate my own experience. I have not suffered as others have, nor have I known the heaven that Wurmbrand did. Still, I have been reminded that fleeting things like health and strength—like other temporal things—cannot bring anywhere near the joy, wonder, and bliss that God can (1 Timothy 6:17–19; Psalm 16:11). Of course, there is a sense in which we already know this, and so we say with Paul, “to die is gain” (Philippians 1:21). We are those who love His appearing (2 Timothy 4:8). We look forward to heaven (Colossians 3:1–4).

And yet we walk by faith (2 Corinthians 5:7), so we do struggle with the fear of death, the pain of loss, and the real hardship that suffering can bring (Romans 5:3–5). My point here is simply to remind you of what is possible with God—more than all we can ask or imagine (Ephesians 3:20).

Third, I want to remind you of the love of God. I have been so delighted by meditations on the love of God and want to commend the same to you. Isn’t it wonderful that God is love? The Bible says His love surpasses knowledge! There are breadths and lengths and heights and depths that we will not have fully searched out after even millions of years in heaven. Yet I suspect that as we spend eternity exploring the riches of Christ and the love of God, we will find our joy—which is already unspeakable—ever expanding and increasing. Our capacity to enjoy Him will continue to grow.

C. S. Lewis once imagined heaven as a place that became larger and more wonderful the further you went in. I believe he was on to something. We will have many delightful surprises in heaven, but I suspect the greatest will be our realization of how greatly we underestimated God. We will not wonder then how to spend endless years—for we shall dwell with Him "where there is no need of the sun, neither of the moon... for the glory of God did lighten it, and the Lamb is the light thereof (Revelation 21:23)."  

If you are in the midst of a trial—discouraged, anxious, depressed, or even feeling near despair—consider the following:

The Lord is your Shepherd. He is with you now, sympathizing with you in your weakness, interceding for you, and assuring that until you dwell in the house of the Lord, His goodness and mercy will follow you all the days of your life.

He loves you—more than you love yourself, more than you love your own children. You are the apple of His eye. He calls you His beloved, His bride, His child—and He is not ashamed to call you His brother or sister. You are more precious to Him than you can ever comprehend, and He awaits with joy the day when you shall appear with Him in glory, the reward of His travail and love.

God has a design even in this—and its end is your eternal good.

Though you may not sense His presence, He is with you. Though clouds seem to obscure His smile, He is smiling. Though now may seem hard and dark and even hopeless, He has not forgotten you. He binds up the wounded, searches out the lost, pities those who are hurting, and assures us that we cannot finally fail. He who began a good work in you will carry it through to completion. He has already laid up hope for you in heaven. There you are known—and there you will one day be richly welcomed.  

"When I bow down before You, I am richer than all kings. When I stand in Your presence I am free. When I sit at Your table I am right where I belong. In the doorway of my Father's house I’m home." - Shane and Shane

---

* I expect many of my readers have tasted the same. I am not suggesting that my experience is unique in the grand scheme of Christian life—simply that it has been special, unexpected, and unique to me.