This may be the best answer to the question of suffering that I have ever seen. Of course, it would be from C. S. Lewis, one of the greatest minds and best writers of the twentieth century:

“The problem of reconciling human suffering with the existence of a God who loves, is only insoluble so long as we attach a trivial meaning to the word ‘love’, and look on things as if man were the centre of them. Man is not the centre. God does not exist for the sake of man. Man does not exist for his own sake. ‘Thou hast created all things, and for thy pleasure they are and were created’ [Revelation 4:11]. We were made not primarily that we may love God (though we were made for that too) but that God may love us, that we may become objects in which the Divine love may rest ‘well pleased’. To ask that God’s love should be content with us as we are is to ask that God should cease to be God: because He is what He is, His love must, in the nature of things, be impeded and repelled, by certain stains in our present character, and because He already loves us He must labour to make us lovable. We cannot even wish, in our better moments, that He could reconcile Himself to our present impurities—no more than the beggar maid could wish that King Cophetua should be content with her rags and dirt, or a dog, once having learned to love man, could wish that man were such as to tolerate in his house the snapping, verminous, polluting creature of the wild pack. What we would here and now call our ‘happiness’ is not the end God chiefly has in view: but when we are such as He can love without impediment, we shall in fact be happy” (C. S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain).

I always tell people that I have a sad anniversary, then I have a happy one.

Today’s the sad anniversary. It was 7 years ago today that I said my final goodbyes to my cat Lucy. It was a rough week leading up to that point, watching her get so sick and decline before my very eyes. I was one weepy wreck that week.

But then 9 days later, I’ll have a happy anniversary to celebrate where I went to the animal shelter and got chosen by a small kitten to be her forever human. And when I say she picked me instead of the other way around, I mean it.

This side of heaven is full of both joy and sorrow. Often, they coexist. Very rarely will you have moments of complete joy untinged by sadness. Even in the midst of grief, there can still be small windows where joy that breaks in.

And one thing I’ve learned in my life is that it’s okay to grieve a pet. They take up a part of your heart, and when they cross the rainbow bridge, they take that part of your heart with them. I don’t feel one bit sorry or embarrassed for crying over my cat who passed away.

One day, it won’t be sorroy and joy co-mingled. One day, there will be only joy. One day soon, I hope.

I have a confession. I did something that I’m not all that proud of. It wasn’t anything spectacularly dumb or bad, but it was a reminder that all my synapses don’t all fire at the same time sometimes.

I made my usual Wednesday afternoon trek over to the North Wind Manor to hang out with the other Rabbit Room enthusiasts. And for the uninformed, it’s a place where you can go to drink coffee, eat snacks, read books, have conversations, or just sit and think. It’s just like Elrond’s last homely house in Rivendell. Except I’m pretty sure napping is frowned upon.

So I got there and realized that I was the only one in the parking lot. I thought that was a bit odd, but still nothing too out of the ordinary or unusual. So I waited a bit.

Then I noticed that it seemed a bit dark inside the Manor, so I went and peeked through the window. No one inside, no lights on.

Then I remembered. Oh yeah, it’s Juneteenth. They’re closed.

Thankfully, my brain lapse only cost me 20 minutes of driving time and maybe 30 minutes of my day. Plus, I got a primo parking spot for the 5 minutes I was there.

So you see, kids, getting older and less mentally acute is what you get to look forward to when you’re my age. I think at this point, the transition to senility is going to be a fairly smooth one for me. Not a lot of adjustments, plus I already have practice at being feeble-minded.

But at least I’m still alive.

I found out today that Joe Elmore passed away. He was the host of a program called Tennessee Crossroads, a show that covered interesting tourist attractions and restaurants across Tennessee. But to me, he was more than just a host. He was like that friendly uncle who everyone was always glad to see on Thanksgiving and Christmas.

He brought a homespun warmth to the segments that made me want to go to different parts of the state and try out new places to eat or visit a landmark I’d never heard of before. I can’t imagine getting to travel around and see a variety of places (and get paid to do it).

I’m sure the program will carry on, but it won’t be the same. To me, he was Tennessee Crossroads. Someone else will probably step in and do just fine, but it will be like going to your favorite restaurant and ordering your favorite dish only to find out they tweaked it a little and it’s not quite the same.

At least we have all the classic episodes.

Thanks, Joe, for all the great programs and all the great memories.

As the classic worship song goes, “I am who You say I am.”

That’s the only opinion that matters. Not the world’s, not my family’s (although they pretty much like me pretty much all the time), not my friend’s, not even mine. Only God.

The One who knows the most about me and who has the most right to criticize or condemn me is the One who calls me beloved and chosen and forgiven.

The more I remember that, the better off I am.

“Our prayers for guidance (or for anything else) really begin here: I trust him. This requires abandonment. We are no longer saying, ‘If I trust him, he’ll give me such and such,’ but ‘I trust him. Let him give me or withhold from me what he chooses” (Elisabeth Elliot, God’s Guidance: A Slow & Certain Light).

That’s where surrender leads us. We come to the point where it’s not “I’ll follow You if” or “Your will be done unless” or “I give You my life as long as You.” Surrender means no ifs or buts. There can be no strings attached to the genuine petition of “Thy will be done.”

At the heart of it is this: do I trust that God is truly good. Do I believe that God’s glory is my greatest good or is there something else that God might be withholding from me that’s better? Is God enough? Can I still worship in the face of silence?

One of my favorite songs from recent years is by MercyMe. It says that I will follow no matter what:

“I know You’re able and I know You can
Save through the fire with Your mighty hand
But even if You don’t
My hope is You alone
I know the sorrow, and I know the hurt
Would all go away if You’d just say the word
But even if You don’t
My hope is You alone” (Bart Millard / Ben Glover / Crystal Lewis / David Garcia / Tim Timmons)