Life's Slivers

Have you ever thought or even audibly asked God why He allows you to suffer? In a time of dismay, have you ever asked, “Why are you doing this to me?”

I have.

Why would an all-loving and simultaneously all-powerful god allow any human to suffer heart-wrenching ordeals or misfortune?

After an experience yesterday, I shall never again venture to ask.

Slivers. Irritating. Stubborn. Removal of such is as unpleasant as dumping a clingy girlfriend—it’s rarely a trouble-free task. The worst sliver of my life was removed a couple days ago… from my 19-month old Pooks. With pin in hand and baby on lap, I pinned his left hand while Brooke wrestled his right. The sliver itself removed without too much argument, but the struggle was wildly torturous.

And I can only imagine Torin’s thoughts in his time of dismay:  “Why are you doing this to me?”

There is certainly no probability in Torin fathoming the purpose of the pain. I wonder if he thought it was punishment. And despite his pleading and cries of “ouchy,” (he typically says “ouch,” but as if to add emphasis, he kept saying “ouchy”) the suffering persisted until the sliver was betrayed and betterment achieved. After the raucous had passed, he was in fact a better Torin—whether knowing it or not. And despite the pain his father had apparently caused, my little Pooks turned and embraced me.

I suppose a similar scene may transpire in meeting my Father. In spite of all the incomprehensible slivers experienced during this mortal sojourn, the climatic reckoning could likely be composed of something gloriously simple:  a hug.

We will all one day know the purpose of the pain. Until then, we are left wondering and (hopefully) trusting.