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Want to Tend to Your Pastor’s Heart? Show up.

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Sunday nights are rough on pastors, and Mondays are even worse. Not only does a pastor feel exhausted, but he questions himself. He wonders how Sunday really went. He wonders if his sermon spoke. He sometimes dwells on things that were or weren’t said, and he can very easily wake up Monday morning feeling utterly discouraged, even if everyone else feels that Sunday’s worship and activities were fabulous. Few people understand how quickly a pastor can begin to feel downhearted, even when things are going well at church.

I know almost all church members care for and want to encourage their pastor. But I don’t know how many realize that the number one way to tend to their pastor’s heart is just getting up on Sunday mornings and going to church. In truth, this is the most basic and easy thing that we are called to do as Christians, and when we don’t do it, what is a pastor supposed to think about the spiritual condition of his congregation? I guarantee that he will leave the church building feeling discouraged and troubled when he sees empty seats where his sheep should be. Your pastor doesn’t just care about the number of people who are in the building. He cares if you are in your place. He thinks about your spiritual life, about your worldview, about the ways that you spiritually steward your family. When you fail to prioritize church attendance, your pastor has good reason to be concerned that you are struggling spiritually. Nothing encourages him more on a Sunday morning than seeing that you are being obedient to the Lord’s command to remember the Sabbath and keep it holy. When you are faithful in this, you not only please God, you enhearten and strengthen your pastor.

Dear Lonely High School Student: Your People are Out There

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I remember walking into my economics class my senior year in high school, wondering how in world it was possible that I had no one to sit with. I had, after all, grown up in this small town and had known most of these kids since kindergarten, yet not a soul in the room was watching the door expectantly, waiting for me.

I made it through a year of senior dinners and parties, field trips and lasts that I celebrated with no one. By the time graduation rolled around, I was so happy to be released from an embarrassingly solitary year of being thrown together at every turn with people who had each other but didn’t seem to want me.

I don’t blame my classmates. Chances are it was my own Pharisaical attitudes that had landed me in this lonely spot. I was extremely zealous for the Lord and was terribly serious about not stepping one toe out of line. I was known as a goody two-shoes, and I wore that label like a badge of righteousness. I was proud and probably much too arrogant. I doubt I was all that fun to be around. But by God’s grace, despite my pride and my overblown ideas of how much God “needed” me, I left high school with my devotion to the Lord in tact, and with a sense that my life was finally beginning.

A few months later my parents dropped me off at the small Baptist college where I would grow and thrive and have fun, where I would make the most precious friends, and where I would meet the only love of my life. It turned out that there were lots and lots of people like me. There were kids out there who cared about the things of God, whose lives were built on the foundation of His mercy and goodness. I had spent my final year of high school grieving the fact that I was misunderstood and isolated. Then God poured out His blessings in ways that I couldn’t even have imagined, in the form of Christian kids who were serious about their faith, who had far outgrown me in righteousness and sincerity and biblical knowledge.

And now here I am, twenty years later, and my first-born is a few weeks into her high school career. She, too, is learning about the sometimes cost of following Jesus. About the lack of people who understand you. She finished an assignment for her English class last week, a video project where she was asked to choose a poem to read and then discuss in relation to her own life and experience. She chose “The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost.

In it, Frost famously describes two paths that he came across in the woods one day, confessing that he chose to take the one that has been less traveled by, “and that has made all the difference.” For Adelade, the correlation seems obvious. She is on the narrow path, the path that leads to life. It, too, is the road less traveled. In the video she sits in front of a white wall in her grey over-sized New York sweatshirt, and says of this way of life, “Sometimes it means you don’t have many friends because you don’t want to do things that dishonor God.” This, coming from a girl who walked into her high school on the first day of school knowing that no one would be looking for her. It’s a hard place to be. Yet, she goes on to talk about the peace and joy that comes from following Christ.

I keep telling her that her people are out there. And they are. They may even be in the halls of her high school right now, people that the Lord is moving and changing and molding even as He continues to move and change and mold Adelade and me. I know He is working because He always is.

So, you, lonely high school student, follow Jesus and keep living according to His word. Be radical if you need to. But don’t ever think that you are alone, because your people are most definitely out there.

On See You at the Pole day this past week, youth ministry expert Dr. Richard Ross posted this idea on Facebook:

“One student praying—may feel weak. But swept up in a worldwide student prayer movement—strong.
One student living in sexual holiness alone—weak. Part of a worldwide movement—strong.
But students cannot be drawn into movements their leaders don’t mention.”

High schooler, consider this your notification: there are students all over this world who are fully dedicated to loving Jesus through obedience. You aren’t alone, even though you may feel like it. Your people are out there, and when you find them, get ready for some of the greatest blessings that God gives. High school is so much shorter than it feels. Just keep your eyes on Jesus and be patient, always remembering that the road less traveled leads to true fulfillment.

The Best Advice for a Pastor’s Wife

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A couple of weeks ago I started feeling a little bit discouraged. A combination of factors related to our church were piling on in an unusually burdensome way, and I just felt like there was a huge weight on my shoulders. My husband Chad is pastor, a calling in both of our lives that we are passionately committed to. We are sounding boards and burden-bearers for many in our community, and Chad says that he has learned to embrace the melancholy that sometimes comes with being a spiritual shepherd, a counselor and secret-keeper. At times it is a weary load that a pastor, and often his wife, carries. It can be difficult to deal with people in all of their human glory, their faults and failures and their ever-pressing expectations.

A few days ago we drove out of town to attend a funeral, and afterward we stood and talked with the hospice chaplain. He, too, has pastored churches, and as we talked he turned to focus on me. He told me that during his years of shepherding a church someone offered his wife a wonderful piece of advice.

Now, I often read or hear advice for pastors’ wives. Generally it is something with a bit of a worldly spin on it, something like,  Tell that church that they hired your husband, not you or Your one job is to love your husband and take care of him–the church shouldn’t expect more from you than that. I braced myself for yet another mediocre idea of what a pastor’s wife is meant to be. But he surprised me.

He said, “Just love the people.”

At those words I felt the weight in my spirit shift. The burden didn’t disappear–the heaviness that comes with being intimately intertwined in the lives of others. The sense of melancholy that Chad talks about was still present. But in that moment I remembered that I am not a pack mule struggling to shoulder everyone’s problems. This calling is so much more than that. It’s an opportunity to love sacrificially (though imperfectly) and, even more amazingly, to receive sacrificial love in return from the (imperfect) people who make up our church family.  I was reminded that I am a follower of Christ first and a pastor’s wife second. Jesus told us all to love the Lord and love our neighbors, and I certainly shouldn’t expect to do anything less than that as I minister alongside my husband.

Sometimes loving others looks like absorbing wounds inflicted by the very people you are called to love. Sometimes it looks like mourning in unison. Sometimes it looks like laughing, eating good church food, watching our kids play together, marveling at the many ways God is working in the lives all around us.

I stood and nodded at the chaplain and wondered if my heaviness of heart feels extra burdensome because I have tried to complicate this calling with too much problem-solving, too much time spent trying to figure things out that have no real solutions. I think I forgot that loving people, although not always easy, is fairly simple.

This heavy load that Chad and I sometimes bear is not ours alone. Ultimately, it belongs to Christ, and He is more than strong enough to carry it. So when I feel myself starting to stoop under the weight of it all, I pray that I will remember the advice that gave me pause on an especially wearisome day, that I will lay these burdens at the foot of the cross and open my arms wide to those whom God has given us.

The Blessing of Heaven as a Near Reality

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Their ages: 94 and 84. They have been friends, Sunday school members, and sisters in the faith for years. And now they were saying goodbye.

I stood aside with my children close and watched as these two dear women embraced. It was a happy day–a going away lunch as one sweet widow packed up her long life to move in with her daughter in another state. Yet, as they bent their white-topped heads together in a final hug, I could feel an urgency here that isn’t necessarily present when younger friends part ways. At their ages, these women seemed to have a sense that they may never see each other again on this side of eternity.

Through tears, the younger of the two smiled: “We’ll meet again in Heaven.” They squeezed each others’ hands knowingly.

Once a week I visit this precious Heaven-dreamer. Eternity feels so near to her that she can spend most of our time together describing to me in detail what it may be like. She devotes hours of her day to dwelling on her eternal future, almost as if she can reach out and touch it.

For her, Heaven is a near reality. It is close, and she is looking forward to experiencing it at last. She lives a full life and serves the Lord in all kinds of ways. But one blessing of old age is her growing connection to the future that she knows is coming. It is the essence of hope, this sure belief in a painless world of sweet reunions and Christ in His full glory. It is what can bring a genuine smile to an aged face. And it is a motivator to run this race well, even through the pains of all kinds, and finish strong. Perhaps there is no greater hope in the Christian faith than the hope of one who recognizes that she is running her final miles toward glory.

The two friends stepped back with smiles and began to gather up their belongings. It was time to go home. I glanced at Chad across the room and saw that his eyes, too, were filled with tears. Goodbyes that are backed by the promise of Heaven are beautiful. Our eyes met for a second and through our tears we smiled a little ruefully. Goodbyes are inevitable. One day even we will part ways, one remaining to finish the race while the other moves into a glorious forever.

The lunch was over. The goodbyes were done. We washed dishes and wiped tables and gathered up our children like one grabs for seashells in the surf.  Heaven usually seems like a distant future, but in this moment, standing in the church fellowship hall on an August Sunday, somehow it seemed a little closer. A little clearer. The hope of it. The confidence in whatever God has in store. Maybe this is the beginning of living with true joy, remembering that Heaven is a nearer reality than we think.

The Time to Pray is Before the Shooting Starts

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I’ve noticed a disturbing trend among Christians. We are not a praying people.

Oh, we love the idea of prayer. We love sharing memes about it and ranting on social media about prayer in schools. We love organizing prayer vigils after some awful tragedy has struck. We follow the same predictable patterns of making prayer low priority until we have absolutely no other recourse but to turn to the God of the Universe.

As His children, we must start examining what it is that keeps us from prayer. Is it that we really don’t believe that God is in control? Or do we just not care what He does until He does something that negatively affects us? Do we really think that the best time to pray is after the mass shooting?

At most prayer meetings, only a fraction of the church takes time to attend. It isn’t a time issue. Parents and grandparents alike can make it to every little league game, anytime, anywhere, with three or four kids in tow. In most cases it isn’t a matter of limited mobility or poor health. The majority of us are perfectly able to meet together to pray. We just don’t want to.

Imagine how our communities and churches and schools might change if we approached the throne of God with an expectation that He will hear our prayers. With an excitement about what He will do with the pleas of His people.  Consider how things might be different if we had eyes to see how He uses our prayers to accomplish His will, if we had the faith to believe that prayer really matters.

Imagine if we weren’t afraid to humble ourselves before our God, before our family and friends and fellow believers, if we marked prayer meetings on our calendars in ink, making it clear to our children that we make prayer with fellow believers a priority in our homes. Instead, most of us hear the words “prayer meeting” and tune out. Not for us. Not important. Not worth our time.

We spend so much time worrying about the world our kids and grandkids are growing up in, so many hours scheming and planning ways to shelter them, and so little time talking to the One who can actually change things. If you want to know the truth, it isn’t the youth of today or the evil governments or the wicked schemes of man that make me fear for the future. It’s the empty prayer meetings.

“The Cinderella of the Church today is the prayer meeting. This handmaid of the Lord is unloved and unwooed because she is not dripping with pearls of intellectualism, nor glamorous with the silks of philosophy, neither is she enchanting with the tiara of psychology. She wears the homespuns of sincerity and humility and so is not afraid to kneel.” – Leonard Ravenhill

I Deserve This: One of My Heart’s Favorite Lies

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The world has watched it over and over again. US Women’s Soccer Co-Captain Megan Rapinoe stands with one leg propped on a railing, balancing the World Cup trophy on her bent knee. She holds a bottle of champagne and thrusts her chin in the air, loudly declaring behind pink sunglasses: “I deserve this.” When her teammate asks Megan what she deserves, the answer is simple: “Everything.”

Glamour claims that this moment is a “mood.” Others have called it an inspiration and a battle cry for women everywhere. I suppose for once in my life I would have to agree with Glamour. I do see Megan’s declaration as a mood. It’s a mood that I recognize because I have so often lived in it–that space inside my own mind and heart where I tell myself that I deserve more. I deserve better. I am owed. I am underappreciated.

This snippet of video has caused all kinds of controversy online. Despite the claims that this is a bright moment for women, many recognize the problem with a team co-captain hoarding glory after a victory. As human beings, we like to see the moments when a sports hero gives all the credit to her teammates. We love watching a star quarterback insist that his team made it all possible. When someone is greedy for glory, even a very talented someone, it makes it difficult for us to admire them. There is something inside of human beings that recognizes that humility is a superior quality.

The reason behind this, of course, is a spiritual one. When we see humility in someone, we are recognizing, even if we don’t realize it, a Christlikeness. We are seeing the image of God reflected clearly in another, and it is beautiful. Even those who have never heard the name of Jesus are innately drawn to a humble hero, as literature through the ages clearly illustrates. Everyone loves an unassuming champion, and we generally despise a gloating victor.

Even though the Glamour editors will tell you that anyone who isn’t keen on Megan Rapinoe’s swagger is anti-woman, the truth is that most people can’t help being repulsed by such overt self-promotion and boasting coming from any man, woman, or child. This feeling, like all desires for nobler and higher ways, is one way the breath of God imbibes us all–when our created hearts see reflections of our Creator in others, and we are drawn to the qualities of Christ. Even the godless can’t resist the urge to cheer on the humble winner and scorn the proud bragger.

For those of us who are in Christ, let Megan’s “I deserve this” moment be a cautionary tale. As much as we are drawn to humility in others, we are prone to prideful self-promotion ourselves. We can be disgusted by another’s pride while overlooking our own, and we so quickly forget that every single good gift comes from the Lord. We love taking credit. We love being singled out for praise and glory. Pretending that we see something in Megan Rapinoe that we don’t daily battle within ourselves is as false as false can be. In reality we are all glory hogs, and we all need a Savior. He bore the awful weight of what we truly deserve, and when our lying hearts start to tell us all of the things we are owed, let us remember the cross. Jesus received a punishment He didn’t deserve to bring us a mercy we could never earn. We deserve nothing. He gives us everything.

You won’t read that in Glamour magazine. You won’t see it in any viral videos. It is more than a “mood” or a moment. It is Life. I’m grateful that God gives us what we don’t deserve to rescue us from what we do.

The Lord is Building This House

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Today a friend of ours was on my mind. I don’t always do a good job of praying for those who come to my mind, even though I know I should. But, today I prayed for him. I know that he is facing a tough time at work, and I know he has a challenging job where people (even his friends) are sometimes unhappy with the decisions he has to make. I sent him a text, just a quick word of support to let him know that Chad and I appreciate and pray for him. I suppose I was expecting that he needed the encouragement.

What I didn’t expect is that I would be encouraged, too. Our friend replied right away, telling me that he had gotten up early to walk through the neighborhood before work, and that he had prayed for us as he walked past our house. And, just like that, in two text messages, the Lord let both our friend’s family and mine know that He is moving. That He is empowering and encouraging our church through our prayers for one another.  He showed us that He is working here, through friendship and accountability, through an obligation to each other as brothers and sisters in Christ.

I believe that this is some of the most beautiful work of the church. It’s the little ways that we gird each other up that make all the difference as we walk this narrow path together. When we pray for each other, when we take just a few seconds to reach out, even if we are just saying, “Hey, I see what you’re doing, and I appreciate it,” we are building a stronger body, one that is a true family, a team, and a source of endless encouragement.

I wonder how often God has brought someone to my mind, only to watch me push the thought away because I was too distracted by my phone or a child or my own problems?  The Bible tells us to encourage each other and build each other up, but I fear that we get so wrapped up in ourselves that we sometimes miss opportunities to do so. I know that I do.

Today I’m thankful for the reminder. As churches, we should pray for each other and when we do, we should let each other know. I can’t think of a better way to remind each other that God is at work in our hearts, in our minds, in our relationships. I’m grateful for the encouragement sent my way today by a friend who humbled himself before the Lord on my account. This is one way God builds a church that thrives.

Why We Go to Church on Vacation

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Today I found myself sitting down to make a list of all of the things that I’ll need to pack for our family of five for our upcoming vacation. We try to escape for a few days every summer, a chance for my pastor husband to get away, at least physically, from the demands of being everyone’s go-to guy when things get tough. I don’t think that it’s really possible for either of us to leave our dear church behind in our heads or hearts (nor do we want to), but it’s so nice and necessary to spend some time focusing on our little family having fun together.

Some years our vacation plans cause us to miss a Sunday at our church, and on those years we all get excited about choosing a church to visit while we’re away. Now, you may wonder why in the world a pastor’s family would look forward to going to church on vacation. Isn’t going to any church sort of like going to work? And the simple answer to that question is no. Church is not work. It’s our family, our support system, our place of worship, and our lifeline to the truth of God’s word. The church is not just a place we go–it’s who we are.

I remember when Chad and I were newlyweds. The first Sunday of our new life together rolled around, and he cheerfully hopped out of bed and informed me that we were going to church. I had a more lenient view of church attendance–I thought that it was no big deal to skip a Sunday here and there, especially in your first week of marriage. But, Chad set a precedent that morning that we have stuck to through the past twenty years. There is really and truly no place we would rather be than in God’s house on Sunday mornings, partly because God has used that faithfulness in worship to bless us in so many ways through the years that I couldn’t even begin to write them all down.

There are a few other reasons that we wouldn’t dare miss the opportunity to worship with our fellow believers on a vacation Sunday.

1. It’s encouraging.

It’s an encouragement to visit churches in other parts of the country while we travel. It gives us an opportunity to witness what God is doing in other places, and it reminds us that He is working in so many ways that we don’t see. Walking into a building and knowing that we have a deep connection with a bunch of strangers just because we all love the Lord is really uplifting and reminds us of the sweet fellowship of Heaven.

2. It sends a message to our children.

Something seems very wrong about being blessed beyond belief by a fun vacation and then flouting a chance to worship the One who provided it. When we make church attendance a priority all the time (even on vacation), we show our kids that worship is not all about a place or certain friends or familiarity, but it is about Jesus. It helps us to focus and to remind our kids that this is a way of life, not just a ritual or routine. Even when it might not be familiar or completely convenient, we are still going to find a church and honor our Savior on Sundays.

3. It’s fun.

We have a great time entering a church as guests and experiencing the way that another church does things. It sparks lively conversations afterward about what they are doing and how they’re doing it. Often it inspires us to come back home to our own church and institute some great idea that we got from a church on vacation. It’s fascinating to see how other awesome churches operate, and we always enjoy trying something different that’s out of our normal routine.

4. Where else would we be?

For our kids, it’s a no-brainer. If it’s Sunday, we’re at church, even when we’re away from home. They would be shocked and dismayed if a Sunday came and went and we spent it sleeping in or even lying on the beach, not because they are trying to be rule-following do-gooders, but because they have learned to love worship, and their very best memories of life have happened right inside church buildings. They have discovered, like we have, that inside the church we find hope, truth, and love. So, where else would we be on a Sunday?

God provides so many sweet opportunities to worship during our short time on earth, and His people have been such a source of joy and friendship and encouragement through the years. I’m grateful for that late May day back in 1999 when my brand new husband declared that on Sundays, we worship. It has made all the difference. When we vacation, we don’t want to take a break from being who we are. We’re grateful to be God’s children, and we enjoy being with our brothers and sisters worshiping Him, no matter where we may roam. I thank God for the privilege. May we never take it for granted.

When Others Fall

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Too often as Christians we have a tendency to feel a strange sense of pride when we hear that a fellow Christian has fallen into sin. We share prayer requests for Christians who are caught up in disobedience, and we shake our heads with concern, inwardly judging that we are doing better than that fallen one, that we may not be perfect, but at least we aren’t where he is. We grow pride-puffed with even the slightest indication that we are more righteous than another. But, there could be no feeling in the world more in tune with the devil himself than pride, especially in the face of another’s sin problem.

Instead of feeling proud of ourselves when we hear about a sin issue in another, we should be filled with fear and conviction, knowing that in our next breath it could just as easily be us. Our immediate reaction should be humility and trembling, remembering that we, too, are vulnerable to any manner of temptation. In fact, the second we decide we have become elevated beyond any sin, we have invited pride into our hearts, making our own goodness an idol to be toppled.

Sin should always a be a source of grief, whether we are observing it in ourselves or in someone else. Pride has no place here. We are but sinners saved by the grace of a holy, majestic God, and when we begin to feel proud of ourselves, when we begin to take credit and pat ourselves on the back, looking down on those sinners who aren’t as far along on the path to perfection as we are, we had better brace ourselves for a fall of epic proportions. Realistically, when we allow pride to grow in our hearts, when we ooze outwardly with compassion for a sinner but smile inwardly with self-regard, we have already fallen into a pit of sin.

We must resist the urge to compare our best moments to someone else’s worst. As Christians we have only one touchstone: Jesus Christ. When we keep Him in steady view, we are much less likely to be wooed by our own good deeds, and we are much more likely to have genuine compassion for our fellow sinners.

A Picture of Joy (and Anguish)

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People often don’t believe me when I say that I was in labor for 30 hours with my first child. But, I was there. I fully experienced every single one of the 1,800 or so minutes that finally, finally led up to the birth of our long-awaited precious daughter. I had never birthed a child before, and my first experience looked nothing like the movies. There was no dash to the hospital, no series of comical, zany roadblocks causing us to barely make it there in time. For me, it was a drudgery of many long, fearful hours and one night that I thought would never end, wondering what was normal, what was reasonable, and why my body wouldn’t just do what it was supposed to do.

Nurses called the doctor on call. He wasn’t inclined to come in. He wasn’t inclined to see me induced. He wasn’t inclined to allow me an epidural. He didn’t seem inclined to help me much at all, and I felt alone. Exhausted. I was in pain and I was anxious and I didn’t know what to do or what to expect, because this birth story was turning out nothing like the books said it would.

The sun must have just begun to peek over the west Texas horizon when our baby was finally born. It was just after 6am. I had spent part of New Year’s Eve and all of New Year’s Day laboring to bring this child into our world. It was now the second morning of a new year, and the first moment that I laid eyes on our sweet Adelade.

The Bible talks about childbirth a lot. Various prophecies describe childbirth as anguish, severe mental or physical suffering. I wouldn’t be able to use that word to describe my next two births. They were quick, easy, and my mind was more at ease. But, the hours I spent laboring to safely deliver Adelade into this world were anguished. Mental and physical suffering played major roles in my New Year’s Day back in 2005, and right at about three o’clock in the morning on January 2nd, I wondered how I would ever be able to talk myself into birthing another child when this ordeal was over.

But then she was born, and in a half second, all of the fear and misery and loneliness disappeared. My face, twisted with pain and hard work, suddenly spread into a wide smile as I looked with utter relief into the face of my child. I knew in that moment that I would do it all again, sign me up for another thirty hours, just for one opportunity to gaze at this mysterious little human being.

Jesus talks about this very moment in a mother’s life. Jesus, the maker and ruler of everything, our empathetic God (Hebrews 4:15), sits with His disciples as His own anguish is already beginning, far beyond what we can imagine. And He tells His closest friends that they, too, will experience pain and anguish, but like a mother who sees her child’s face for the first time, they will smile again. Their sorrow will be replaced by instant joy. (John 16:21)

Jesus, as He enters into His darkest hours, as He considers what His loved ones will endure, is thinking about a woman like me. He is thinking about women who, from the beginning of time, have identified with Christ through our anguish, laboring to bring forth a life that He created. He knows that His disciples will soon begin to identify with Him, too, and He brings a picture to their minds. A picture of a woman, groaning and grimacing and writhing and coming as near to death as she probably ever has, only to suddenly be met with the blessing of a lifetime. And this is the image that He plants in this moment, right into the minds and hearts of those He loves, those who will be met in a matter of hours with their worst nightmare. I wonder if any of them looked there again, to that portrait that Jesus had painted: a woman, exhausted, bleeding, trembling with sheer fatigue, her face now plastered with a huge grin as the sweat and tears mingle together on her pink cheeks. She beholds her child. And her anguish dissipates in an instant.

Joy comes in the morning. In my case, six in the morning.

And when Jesus appeared again, did His disciples finally understand what He meant when He sketched a tired mother in their minds? Complete joy filled their hearts, and all the anguish of the previous days was wiped away. Their Savior really is who He said He is. And what else really matters?

Later, when each of His disciples faced new troubles, new anguish, persecution, torture, desertion, or death, I wonder if they remembered these words of Christ. I wonder if they looked with fresh spiritual eyes at every woman holding a new baby, reminded once again that in the end, no matter what befalls us in this uncertain life, there is always a certain hope for the end of all anguish. A new morning is ever on the horizon of the Christian life, a new day where all sorrows are erased forever. When we see that day and the things of earth grow dim, I wonder if we will be surprised by how easy it turns out to be to exchange the anguish for pure joy.

[Mortals] say of some temporal suffering, “No future bliss can make up for it,” not knowing Heaven, once attained, will work backwards and turn even that agony into a glory.
-C.S. Lewis

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