When I was a 10-year-old girl, I longed for a dramatic trial to occur in my life. Nothing too painful of course (like most people I’m rather adverse to pain) but something just painful enough to turn me into a saint.
One of my favorite things to read at that time were missionary biographies. It didn’t take me long to realize that the people who accomplished the best things and seemed to be the godliest examples had also experienced hardships. Each person that I admired had gone through something terrible (the death of a friend, a tropical disease, a difficult childhood, sleeping on dirt floors) and in my mind, those hardships had miraculously turned them into a hero.
I truly wanted to be good like the people I read about in books, but as a little girl, the path to becoming good was often confusing to me. I believed that if I experienced something terrible I would emerge from that experience as a shining example of Christianity. So I started dreaming about the day when I too would be given a cross to bear, which would turn me into a beautiful human being.
The trial I had been hoping for came at age 15, when I was diagnosed with a chronic disorder.
I soon learned trials did not work the way I had imagined.
Looking back to those first few weeks after I was diagnosed, I have to admit, I didn’t always respond well. Peevishly expecting people to do things my way, arguing with my mom about taking medications, and binge eating chocolate ice cream were not helpful ways to cope. But I excused my behavior with the thought that anyone in my situation would struggle initially. I just needed to wait for this trial to start refining me. I told myself that once this trial had finished refining me, things would be easier to bear.
A month later, I was still eating far too much chocolate, sleeping in late, and trying to skip medications without my mom noticing, I wasn’t any closer to becoming similar to the wonderful people I read about in books. If anything, I was more selfish than ever. I had been given a trial, but it wasn’t working out the way I expected. I wasn’t becoming holy. Things weren’t becoming easier to handle. Something in the equation was missing.
“It isn’t fair, and it’s never going to get better. I don’t want to be stuck with this forever!” As soon as the words left my mouth, I hid my face behind my hands, acutely aware of the fact that I sounded nothing like the heroes I looked up to. I had always pictured them smiling serenely as someone shot arrows at them or bravely nursing people back to health with their hair freshly combed and braided. And there was probably epic music playing somewhere in the background. I had never pictured my heroes the way I found myself now, curled up on the front porch, hair sticking to my tear-stained face, begging my mom to tell me things would get better. God’s heroes never did that.
My mother gently patted my head. “Everyone has difficult things in their life they have to deal with. I agree that this one . . .” her voice started to trail off and she ended with a sigh, glancing through my fingers, I saw tears starting to glisten in her eyes as well, and I suddenly realized I had never thought about how difficult it must be to rush me to appointments, spend evenings waiting in the ER, or deal with doctor bills. I reached out my hand to touch her shoulder, and she swallowed hard before she continued, “I agree this one is rough. I’ve been crying too. But you can’t control what God gives you. You can only control how you respond to the trials He asks you to go through. You can use them to grow or use them to become bitter. I want to see you react well.”
I remained silent, and mom left me alone on the porch with my thoughts. I thought about the saints I had read about, and the recent doctors' visits, and the likelihood of my symptoms getting worse. I thought about why God chose to give this trial to me, and why He wasn’t answering my prayers. Gradually, the sun dipped below the horizon and stars began to peek out one by one. The stillness around me started to calm me within and finally, I took a long, shaky breath. “Are you out there God?” My small whisper seemed to shatter the darkness. “These days You seem really far away. But, I want to be like You. I want this trial to perfect me. So, if I can’t get rid of it, teach me how to respond well.”
Being willing to respond the right way was the beginning. God has been guiding me on a long journey ever since. And during this journey, I’ve learned being refined into the likeness of Christ never happens passively. God is eager to teach me humility, but that requires me to come face to face with my own limitations. He is ready to teach me compassion but chooses to do so on lonely nights full of pain. God longs to teach me about the sweetness of grace and my desperate need of His mercy, and I best experience that grace and mercy on days when I need to ask forgiveness for taking out my frustration on those I love. He shows me the power of gratitude by giving me a simple night full of beauty after a long day in the urgent care. He shows me the need for faithfulness when I don’t receive an immediate answer to my prayer. God is so good that He isn’t content to leave me with a faith based in recitation and knowledge - He wants me to understand and experience for myself what it means to have patience in the midst of pain and peace in the face of the unknown. So, He gave me a trial that I might experience His goodness.
As a 10-year-old girl, I believed there was some kind of power within trials to make me good. But I’ve learned over the years that if I am waiting for trials or temptations to independently mold me into who I want to be, I am waiting in vain. Paul tells us in Romans “suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.” James affirms this when he challenges us: “Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” It’s a process that takes a lot of time and sometimes a lot of failures. It is when we surrender our success and our failures to God in an earnest plea that He uses our trials to mold us into the likeness of Christ and beautiful things start to happen. Saints and heroes are never passively formed.
~ By Lily Reeves. Lily has a passion to combine her love for Scripture, writing, adoption, missions work, and loving people with special needs. She hopes to encourage others through sharing the stories of God's grace in her life. Lily named her blog Kintsugi where she writes about watching God's grace shine through our weakness. In fact, Lilly states: I think Kintsugi (art) is a good way to illustrate life. God is the Master Artist, painstakingly breaking and then putting us back together to fashion His Church into His masterpiece. You and I are broken for a purpose. It isn’t a mistake. It isn’t something God wished He could control or something He didn’t see coming. He allows us to be broken, and He is putting us back together. His goodness shines through our weakness just like the gold on a kintsugi plate. You can find more of her writing or connect with her on her website: https://gentlereflections.wixsite.com/kintsugi
