Held in the Hands of Time

As the Day Ends

“Suffering is a compulsory part of human existence. The difference for believers is that suffering need never be in vain.”

As we close this day, those words settle gently over the soul. Ecclesiastes speaks with refreshing honesty about life under the sun. “Who can straighten what He has made crooked?” (Eccles. 7:13). That question does not accuse God; it acknowledges His sovereignty. The Hebrew writer reminds us that when times are good, we are to rejoice, and when times are difficult, we are to consider that God has made the one as well as the other (Eccles. 7:14). Nothing enters our lives by accident. Nothing slips past His awareness.

Ecclesiastes 3 expands this vision: “To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.” The rhythm of birth and death, planting and uprooting, weeping and laughing—these are not random fluctuations. They are part of the divine ordering of time. The Hebrew word ‘et means an appointed time, a fitting moment. God is not surprised by our suffering. He is not hurried by our sorrow. He is the Creator and Sustainer of time itself.

For the believer, this changes the meaning of suffering. It may still ache. It may still confuse. But it is never empty. Romans 8:28 assures us that God works all things together for good to those who love Him. That does not mean all things are good; it means none of them are wasted. Even the “crooked” places become instruments of shaping. When we consider the cross, we see the ultimate example. What appeared to be tragic defeat became eternal redemption. If the darkest hour in history could become salvation, then your hardest season tonight is not beyond purpose.

Perhaps today carried both laughter and tears. Perhaps you planted something new or uprooted something painful. As you prepare for rest, remember this: nothing was untimely. Your joys were known before they came. Your struggles were measured before they arrived. God stands outside time, yet He walks with you through it. And suffering, though compulsory in this world, becomes transformative in His hands.

Triune Prayer

Father, You are the Sovereign over every hour that has unfolded today. You have seen the moments I understood and the moments I did not. When I ask, “Who can straighten what You have made crooked?” remind me that Your wisdom exceeds mine. Thank You that nothing in my life is random. Even the hardships are not outside Your loving oversight. As I lie down tonight, I entrust to You the unresolved questions and the lingering burdens. Teach me to rest in Your timing and to trust Your purposes.

Jesus, Lamb of God, You entered time and tasted suffering fully. You wept. You were misunderstood. You bore the cross. Because You suffered, my suffering is not isolated. You have redeemed pain by passing through it. Thank You that the darkest day—Calvary—became the doorway to life. When I feel weary or confused, draw my eyes to Your obedience and endurance. Shape my heart through whatever I am facing so that my trials deepen my faith rather than diminish it.

Holy Spirit, Comforter, settle my thoughts tonight. Interpret my emotions when I cannot. Bring to mind the truth of Scripture when my heart is unsettled. Help me see that even seasons of weeping belong within God’s design. Guard my mind from fear about tomorrow. As I sleep, renew my strength. As I wake, align my heart with truth. Guide me gently into deeper trust.

Thought for the Evening

Before you sleep, release today into God’s hands. Nothing was wasted. Trust that even what felt “crooked” is being woven into a larger design.

For further reflection on Ecclesiastes and suffering, consider this helpful overview from The Gospel Coalition: https://www.thegospelcoalition.org/article/meaning-ecclesiastes/

FEEL FREE TO COMMENT, SUBSCRIBE, AND REPOST, SO OTHERS MAY KNOW

When Love Sounds Like Loss

On Second Thought

The moment recorded in Matthew 16:21–28 is one of those unsettling intersections where devotion collides with misunderstanding. Jesus, having drawn His disciples into deeper clarity about who He is, begins to speak plainly about what lies ahead—Jerusalem, suffering, rejection, death. For Peter, those words feel unbearable. They do not fit the picture of love, victory, or divine favor that he has been carrying. His response is immediate and deeply human: “Far be it from You, Lord; this shall not happen to You!” In that sentence, Peter reveals how easily sincere love can resist the very purposes of God when those purposes involve pain.

Up to this point, the disciples have followed Jesus with growing confidence. They have seen miracles, heard authoritative teaching, and begun to imagine a kingdom that would arrive with clarity and triumph. Now Jesus introduces a path marked by suffering. The Greek text emphasizes necessity—He must go to Jerusalem. This is not an unfortunate detour; it is the heart of His mission. Peter’s rebuke, though motivated by affection and fear, attempts to sever love from suffering. He cannot yet see that eternal love does not avoid the cross but passes through it for the sake of others.

Jesus’ response is sharp because the stakes are high. He names the temptation behind Peter’s protest, exposing how even well-meaning concern can echo the adversary’s ancient suggestion that there is a way to glory without obedience. What Peter sees as protection, Jesus recognizes as a hindrance. The disciples are being taught that love shaped by God’s purposes will often feel costly before it feels redemptive. The lesson is difficult because it contradicts our instinct to equate God’s love with immediate relief.

This passage invites us to reflect on our own seasons of confusion and pain. When suffering enters our lives, we often echo Peter’s words—sometimes aloud, often silently. We pray for removal, reversal, or explanation. Yet Scripture consistently teaches that God’s love is not diminished by hardship. The Psalms testify that God is near to the brokenhearted, not absent from them. Paul later writes that suffering produces endurance and hope, not because suffering is good in itself, but because God is faithful within it. Love does not always shield us from pain; sometimes it sustains us through it.

Jesus does not abandon His disciples after delivering this hard truth. Immediately following His rebuke, He calls them into a deeper vision of discipleship—one that involves self-denial, trust, and the promise of resurrection life beyond loss. He offers comfort without false reassurance and hope without minimizing reality. The cross is not the end of the story, but it is a necessary chapter. In this way, Jesus models pastoral care that is both honest and hopeful. He acknowledges the darkness while anchoring His followers in the certainty of God’s redemptive plan.

For believers today, this passage gently challenges our assumptions about what faith should feel like. Love may sometimes sound like loss before it reveals itself as life. Obedience may feel like surrender before it becomes freedom. God’s plans often unfold in ways that stretch our understanding, not because He is unkind, but because His purposes reach further than our immediate horizon. The promise remains that His love never stops, never gives up, and never gives in, even when circumstances seem to contradict that truth.

Jesus’ words in this passage are not meant to harden hearts but to prepare them. He knows how painful it is to hear that suffering lies ahead, and He also knows how necessary it is for faith to mature beyond comfort. The same Lord who spoke of the cross also spoke of resurrection. The same Savior who challenged Peter’s thinking later restored him with grace. In every difficult lesson, Christ remains both truthful and tender.

On Second Thought

On second thought, the most unsettling aspect of this passage may not be Peter’s resistance, but how familiar it feels. We often assume that loving God means protecting ourselves—and sometimes even protecting God—from pain, disruption, or loss. Yet Jesus reveals a paradox that reshapes our understanding of love itself: love is not proven by avoidance of suffering, but by faithfulness within it. Peter’s mistake was not his affection for Jesus, but his assumption that love and suffering cannot coexist. In reality, the deepest expressions of divine love often travel through the narrowest roads.

What if the seasons we resist most fiercely are the very places where God is doing His most enduring work? What if the prayers God does not immediately answer are invitations to trust Him more deeply rather than evidence of His absence? On second thought, the cross is not merely something Jesus endured for us; it is also the pattern by which we learn to live with Him. Losing our lives, as Jesus says, is not about self-destruction but about relinquishing our demand for control so that God’s purposes can unfold.

This reframes how we interpret hardship. Instead of asking only, “Why is this happening to me?” we may begin to ask, “How is God shaping my faith through this?” The paradox of the gospel is that surrender leads to life, obedience leads to joy, and suffering—held in God’s hands—leads to hope. On second thought, the difficult lessons of love may be the most trustworthy signs that God is near, working not just for our comfort, but for our transformation.

FEEL FREE TO COMMENT, SUBSCRIBE, AND REPOST, SO OTHERS MAY KNOW