Introduction

I lay on my living room floor, struggling to breathe, as groans and sobs shook my body. The weight of grief and brokenness consumed the very air in my lungs. I was just a few days away from speaking at a Women’s Conference on the topic of suffering, and my own suffering barely allotted me the strength to stand up. The rest of the family was a sleep; the living room was in total darkness except for the blinking VCR light, and the occasional headlights flickering on the wall as cars passed by. I might as well have been on the island of Patmos. I felt trapped and isolated as an outcast on a deserted island- and God was asking me to give a lecture on navigating the open seas. As I lay face down in my carpet I whispered the only three words I could articulate, “God, I can’t.”
What couldn’t I do? I couldn’t speak on suffering. I couldn’t mentally, physically, or even spiritually handle any more suffering in my own life. I had not eaten in three days, since the last wave of suffering had swept through my life. I had barely managed to cope with the everyday responsibilities of caring for my family, and I was now being asked to armor up, head out, and build up my sisters in the Body of Christ. I hadn’t changed out of my pajamas in three days, let alone suit up for battle.
How could I offer any hope to any woman suffering that her trial would soon be over, when my own trials seem to go on too long? How could I bring the keys to release women from their prisons of oppression when I was still imprisoned myself? How could I answer the questions for others when I was still looking for the answers myself? As I cried out to God, in the most basic of words, voicing my need with the vocabulary of a child and not an eloquent speaker, I felt God enter my living room and my vessel of clay. In the briefest and gentlest of words, He spoke to my heart.
The heart of the matter was enveloped in one sentence. One truth I needed to learn. One truth I needed to share. One truth that was at the center of all I studied, experienced, and learned about suffering.
God can be trusted.
Dear brother or sister in Christ, I spoke on suffering that next weekend. It was the one of the most powerful experiences of my life. God entered that Sanctuary, and through His Word, He poured His soothing Balm of Gilead over each hurting heart, including mine. He took the notes I gathered through seasons of suffering, words from His heart to mine, and used them to penetrate through the clouds of doubt and discouragement surrounding the hurting souls in each pew.
I want to share that moment with you. I want, with the Holy Spirit guiding every pen stroke of my hand, to meet with you in whatever state of suffering you are in. I want the Holy Spirit to flow off the pages of this book into your very life, covering you, and enveloping you with the very Presence of God, allowing you to hear, not my words but His, as He whispers in your ear,
“Trust me, child.”
May this book be the wind that gives you the push to fly higher, closer to God. May this book be the gentle breeze that gives you relief from the fire you are in. May this book be the harmony to the song God wants to hear you sing in your prison. Above all, may this book bear the very heartbeat of God, to remind the hurting- He lives, He cares, and He can be trusted.

Used by grace,
Jennifer