I’m pretty sure that God cares more about our holiness than our happiness. He certainly cares about both, but there has to be a lean towards the former. Don’t you think?
And, given that ranking, I’m fairly convinced that a lot of my discomfort in life is actually my kind, gracious, loving, steel-toe-boot-wearing, heavenly Father giving me the righteous kick in the pants that I need to pay attention to what He’s teaching me.
Lately, though, it seems He’s turned up the juice and wave after wave of holy stomps are landing while I’m down on the floor in fetal position.
“For the Lord disciplines the one he loves, and chastises every son whom he receives.”
Hebrews 12:6
I don’t think He’s being mean. In fact, on the heels of round 7 or 8, I finally stopped trying to solve my own problems and started turning to Him for help.
Guess what happened…He helped!
I’m bruised a bit and still quite sore in most places, but that overwhelming weight of trying to solve the massive pile of unsolvable problems I’d managed to collect has lifted and I feel like I can breathe again.
Discipline applied wisely and delivered in love is a gift. Just another lesson for this dad to learn.