When Sam, my now husband, and I started dating, everything was new and exciting. We were fun and playful; we were tender and excited to see if this was a forever kind of love. Already, I knew he treated me the way I wanted to be treated, but still everything was fresh. Nothing had been tested by adversity or arguments or inconvenience.

But within the first few weeks of dating, someone close to us tried to quite literally destroy my character in public and in ministry. Over the next few weeks and months, many questioned both him and me, and some even urged Sam to end the relationship. In a lot of ways, that season felt a lot like a Job moment; maybe not to the degree in which Job suffered since I still had my health, my home, and my family, but it was the kind of thing that felt like it hung over my head and caused grief that had to be dealt and re-dealt with. I lost friends from that moment in time, and a few trust issues developed. 

Many good men and women have gone to prison for the sake of the Gospel. They’ve been captured and persecuted for spreading it, honoring it, and defending it. Some wrote from those prisons like Paul or John Bunyan. Some strengthened the faith of those around them, the way we saw Lady Jane Grey do last week while she awaited her execution from isolated detention.

But imagine– instead of a jail cell with a cot, a chamber pot, and a desk with some paper– you were chained to a bench. And your hands constantly hovered before a massive oar on board a galley ship. Imagine instead of being a prisoner, you were a slave, forced to row military ships when the wind was not in favor of the sails. This is how John Knox lived for nineteen months in the late 1540s, after he was captured by the French when they took back Scotland’s St. Andrews Castle. The fortress that had become a safe haven for Protestants during the tumultuous period where Scotland hung in the balance between the Reformation that King Henry VIII had inadvertently given rise to, and the Roman Catholic church that constantly sought to regain a foothold there.

up in sacrifice.” Elisabeth Elliot makes this statement in her book, Suffering is Never for Nothing. How simple, and yet how difficult to truly come to grips with.

God is love, love is sacrifice, and those sacrifices in the name of love cause us to suffer. Love and suffering are inextricably bound together. You can’t have one without the other, and our best illustration of it is the cross. Jesus went through just about the most suffering a person possibly can go through on the cross. He was humiliated, beaten, bloody, and broken. He died very publically for all to see. He was spat on, betrayed, and completely crushed.

This Christmas, I was gifted a book that lists out 150 popular hymns, their sheet music, and a bio of where the hymn was inspired. I picked it up over the past few days and I’ve been leafing through it; finding the hymns I have sung all my life and reading the backstory on where they come from. I have to admit, there are so many hymns that I don’t know, and yet the words to them are sincerely profound and beautiful. This past weekend, I found myself singing “It is Well with My Soul” over and over again as I did housework, so I decided to look it up in the book and find out the inspiration from the song.

Over the past two weeks, we’ve been driving the point home that your personal trials are about so much more than just you. They are about maturing and equipping you to reach someone who will need the truth tempered in you through these spiritual growing pains. They are about showing the real substance of your faith so that someone can be encouraged by the genuine worship and nature of your love for the Lord. But this week, as we come to a close, I want to zero in on you. How does suffering improve your relationship with Jesus?