Jennifer L. Wright's Blog, page 16

Sinful Top 100

Every so often, when I’m reading my Bible, a line will stop me in my tracks…and not in a good way.

I love the Psalms and spend a lot of time in them; I find them refreshing and challenging at the same time, a helpful tool especially when I can’t find the words to pray. But recently, a single line from Psalm 37 caused me to pause, to question and ultimately, to grieve and repent.

The line comes in the very first verse:

“…do not envy those who do wrong.” (verse 1)

Envy those who do wrong? What are you talking about, David? Of course I don’t envy those who do wrong. I’m a CHRISTIAN. I love God. I love His Word. I love talking about Him, writing about Him, doing works that further His kingdom. Why would I ever envy anyone who does wrong or “be agitated by one who prospers in his way” (verse 7)?

And then my eyes fluttered over to my bookshelf.

I am a writer of Christian fiction. While I love Christian fiction, it’s not all I read. I read across almost all genres (within limits, of course), and there are many secular books I truly enjoy–enjoy enough to give them a coveted spot on my book shelf (if you know me, you know I’m picky about books I actually keep). And as my eyes roved over my shelves, this verse kept returning to me and I realized…

I was guilty of envying those who do wrong, of being agitated by those who prosper in their way.

Pick up any newspaper, google any bestseller chart, and you’ll find pretty much nothing but secular fiction on the list of the “top” novels. While not all secular novels are bad, quite a few of those in top lists contain subject matter, language, and/or themes in direct opposition to God’s Truth. Unfortunately, most of the time, it’s these books–the ones that fit into our current culture’s narrative–that are the ones that get the most publicity, the biggest deals, and the most money. They are the ones that prosper. They are the ones that succeed.

And, as an author, I envy them.

For me, writing has never been about the money, but I’d be lying if I told you money isn’t a part of it. Of course I want to make some money to help support my family, to take care of my kids and give them a comfortable life. But being a writer is also about finding an audience–and you absolutely want to find the biggest audience you can find for your book. Writing is deeply personally and intensely draining; I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t fully believe the story I was putting forth had value and needed to be told. I want people to read my book, and not just because of the money it could bring in.

But, let’s face it: we live in a post-Christian United States. According to a Pew Research study, less than 40% of the U.S. population identifies as Christian; even fewer than that are active church goers and consumers of Christian media. As a Christian writer, my slice of the pie of potential readers is substantially lower than others. Although some Christian authors successfully navigate and appeal to audiences across both faith and secular markets, their stories are the exception rather than the rule. I’ve had to accept that I will more than likely never reach the readership level of, say, Stephen King or Dan Brown.

And, although I’m ashamed to admit it, there are times I envy them. I’m jealous of their success and popularity, the hype and publicity they achieve with each new book. Sometimes, I feel as if it would be better to cave in to societal pressure and write a secular book, one I know would appeal to a wider audience, simply for the prosperity it could bring.

There’s just one problem: I’m not secular. My faith is a huge part of my life; separating it from my job–one as intimate as writing–would be almost impossible for me. On top of that, I know writing Christian fiction is a gift from God; He has given me this opportunity to partner with Him in a unique way to further His kingdom, proclaim the gospel, and reach people for Jesus. Whenever that sinful, jealous nature begins to rear its head, I find comfort (once again) in His never-changing Word:

“The little that the righteous person has is better than the abundance of many wicked people…the Lord watches over the blameless all their days, and their inheritance will last forever. They will not be disgraced in times of adversity; they will be satisfied in days of hunger. But the wicked will perish; the Lord’s enemies, like the glory of the pastures, will fade away–they will fade away like smoke.” (verses 16-20)

What about you? Are there areas where you “envy those who do wrong” because of the prosperity they seem to achieve by bowing to the world’s whims? I’m guessing we all have those weak spots within our sinful hearts. In these moments of temptation, I have to return to Scripture time and time again to remind myself of the true nature of wealth–the salvation and joy found in the arms of Jesus.

I love each and every single one of my readers; I am honored to share God’s love with them. Writing Christian fiction is a joy and a distinctive ministry to which God has entrusted me. I am truly blessed. But, more than that, how fortunate I am to be a part of His kingdom, both on earth and–one day–in heaven.

So, instead of selfish envy of secular success, let us “trust in the Lord and do what is good; dwell in the land and live securely. Take delight in the Lord…commit your way to the Lord; trust in him, and he will act, making your righteousness shine like the dawn, your justice like the noonday.” (verse 3-6)

Because nothing–not even a spot atop the bestseller list–could be better than that.

The Beginning of a Dream

It’s #historyfriday–throwback edition!

Today, in honor of the upcoming MLK holiday, I’m re-posting an article I wrote about the beginning of Martin Luther King Jr’s dream. You can read it here

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” –MLK

Is It 2023 Yet?

I don’t mean to sound like a Debbie Downer here, but the start of a new year always depresses me.

There’s always so much build-up, so much hype and hope, like everything is going to be magically different the moment the clock strikes midnight on December 31. Okay, and maybe it is for a few days. Maybe you’ve made goals and commitments, and you stick to them for a week or two.

But, at least for me, it doesn’t take long before I start to realize that everything is still exactly the same as it was last year. Even if I’m making strides toward an admirable resolution, it often doesn’t change the bigger picture. The world is still a big, sinful mess. My world is still a big, sinful mess.

Maybe it is for you, too. When the calendar turned over to the year 2022, you found yourself still divorced. Still sick. Still struggling with addiction, loneliness, depression, or anxiety. Maybe a loved one has walked away from the faith. Maybe you have.

The dawning of a brand new year hasn’t changed the fact that you’re still waiting on God to do something. New year, same old blah.

I know I sound terribly pessimistic. But I think it’s hard not to be, especially after this past year. I remember having so much hope as we closed the book on 2020. Surely, we were DONE with the dumpster fire that was those 12 months. 2021 would be better.

Except, it wasn’t. Not by a long shot. If anything, we’re in a bigger pit now than we were then.

As Christians, we know our hope lies beyond this world. We know all things will eventually be restored and made right. But, here on this earth, as the pandemic rages on, divisions grow wider, our culture becomes more depraved, and the number of believers seem to dwindle, it can be easy to grow pessimistic. Yes, heaven is going to be great…but what about right now?

David had an answer to our negativity. In Psalm 33, he wrote:

“I am certain that I will see the Lord’s goodness in the land of the living.” —verse 13

The ‘land of the living.’ David used this phrase in direct contrast to ‘the land of the dead’ or ‘Sheol,’ where the dead go, according to Jewish thought, to await judgment. In our modern Christian terms, he wasn’t talking about seeing God’s goodness in heaven.

He was talking about seeing it here. Now. In this day, in this age, on this earth.

David may not have been living in the time of COVID or hostile politics or riots over racism, but I can guarantee he was surrounded by overt sinfulness and rejection of the Lord, much as we are. He witnessed pagan barbarity, extreme violence, and abject poverty. He had every reason to despair about the world around him. And yet he declared that he was “certain that I will see the Lord’s goodness in the land of the living.”

David wasn’t pessimistic. Nor was he only hopeful about the future, when he would be with God in heaven. No, he was hopeful about what God was going to do here. Now.

Oh, that we could have the same hope! It’s so easy to look at the world around us and give up, thinking our only light is the one waiting for us when we enter God’s kingdom. But His goodness is available to us now, here on this earth, if only we have the faith and heart to look for it. Not everything will be fixed, not every problem solved. You may end 2022 still in the same circumstances as you began them. But my prayer for you–and for myself–is that we vow this year to live with the certainty that we will see the goodness of God in the land of the living. That each day we will go forth in bold faith, sure that we will witness some aspect of our Heavenly Father working.

How do we do that? David had an answer for that too:

“Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart be courageous. Wait for the Lord.” –verse 14

I love the phrasing of this verse. “…let your heart be courageous.” To me, it implies a certain amount of release. Let go of control, of anxiety and fear. Release it. Instead, let your heart go to where it knows it belongs…to the hands of the Father, where it can become courageous and strong.

I’m choosing these two verses as my verse of 2022. I hope you’ll do the same. Let us not grow weary or discouraged by the circumstances around us, whether they be personal or the world at large. Instead, let’s relinquish control to God, allow Him to hold our hearts and give us the strength we need to wait on Him; secure in His hands, we will be armed with the faith to see His goodness here in the land of the living.

May your 2022 be blessed, friends.

Christmas Break!

Hi, all! Both #wellnesswednesday and #historyfriday are on hiatus so I can enjoy the Advent season and coming New Year with my family. I wish you all a blessed Christmas, filled with the wonder and hope of God’s greatest gift.

Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year!

Swimming With Sharks

Today’s #historyfriday is a little off the cuff.

Usually I research and try to write about little known events in history that occurred on the specific day in question. Or I’ll take a larger event and write about some little known tidbit behind it. But, as I was researching for December 10, I kept coming across this bizarre, seemingly out-of-place news article about an overboard woman swimming with sharks.

Credit The Hutchinson News; Hutchinson, Kansas, 10 Dec. 1937

Here’s the news article from the Madera Tribune:

“CABIN MATE’S MISSING

Big Freighter Starts Search

SWIMMING NEAR SHIP

NEW YORK, Dec. 9. A woman passenger came running up to the bridge, crying: “I can’t find by cabin mate. I think she jumped overboard.”

The second mate in command pulled the engine room telegraph around to “Stop” and sent the watch for the captain. The freighter Lillian Luckenbach with six passengers was off Cuba, bound for New York from Los Angeles. It was 1 a. m. Her engines stopped and she rode stationary in a glass-like sea.

Worst Feared

Captain Gilbert C. Down came up from his quarters under the bridge, looked at Mrs. G. B. Brundett, the informer, and realized his worst fears.

“It’s Miss Offutt?”

“Yes. I can’t find her.”

“Turn back on the course,” Captain Bown ordered. “Man the search light. Stand by at the gig. All hands on deck.”

Miss Eleanor Offutt had worried Bown from the moment she boarded the ship at Los Angeles, appearing overwrought, depressed, highly nervous.

In Shark Area

As the ship turned about, almost all the crew went over the ship from forecastle to poop. There was no trace of Miss Offutt. Mrs. Brundett had seen her packing her bags, writing letters.

“There’s lots of sharks in these waters,” said the first mate.

“Yes, I know, but we’ll look anyway.”

The Luchenbach moved slowly back over her course, it searchlight dancing over the sea.

As dawn broke, Bown had his ship turned about again to go back over the same course.

Found Swimming

Soon afterward, there was a cry from the forward lookout. From the bridge, through the murky dawn, directly in front of the ship, officers saw a woman swimming. The engines were stopped, a boat was put aver the side, and as the rowers pulled up alongside the swimmer, she did not so much as look around, but swam doggedly on. It was Miss Offutt. She had been swimming for over six hours and she was only semi-conscious.

Refuses to Talk

Taken back aboard the Luchenbach she was put in sick bay and Captain Bown supervised her care. She had fever, she was delirious, but soon got better. Every day Captain Bown went to sick bay and asked her to explain herself. She would say nothing. Four letters had been left sealed in her room, one addressed to the captain. But, since she had been rescued, he returned them to her unopened.

This happened Sunday morning last night the Luchenbach made New York and Miss Offutt was taken to a hospital, still refusing to discuss her experience or to say whether she had jumped or had fallen overboard.”

That’s it. That’s all I could find. The story of Miss Eleanor Offutt ends with that article, and we are left with nothing but burning questions.

THIS is why I find history so fascinating, folks. There are a million stories out there just waiting to be discovered.

Now can anyone tell me what happened with Miss Offutt?!

The Risks of Prayer

Recently, over coffee with a friend, I learned of another friend who had suffered a heartbreaking personal tragedy. Not only was she suffering physically, but emotionally and spiritually, her grief was intense. I felt a stab of lament for her and assured my friend that yes, I would pray for our mutual friend.

It was such an easy thing to say. I wasn’t close to this woman; “friend” was actually quite a generous term–we were more like “acquaintances.” Lifting up a prayer for her was an almost automatic response. She had a need, and I knew God was big enough to fill it. It was the least I could do.

What I was not prepared for, however, was how God was going to use that prayer.

The next morning, as I finished up my devotional and Bible study, I settled in to pray. I lifted up this woman, asking for God to meet her in her grief, provide for her needs, and strengthen her faith through this difficult time. I was just getting ready to move on to the next item on my prayer list, when I got the strangest–and strongest–nudging on my heart:

“Call her.”

I paused. Call her? Call her? Surely, God, I’m hearing You wrong. First of all, I hate calling people. Hardcore introvert here! Secondly, I barely even know her. She is hurting. She is mourning. I am the last person she probably wants to talk to right now.

And yet the nudging on my heart continued. After I’d finished praying. After I’d closed my Bible. After I’d gone about my business, taken my kids to school, started the laundry, sat down to work on my word count…

Call her.

Call her.

Call her.

I’d love to be able to tell you I obeyed with a joyful heart. But, the truth is, I grumbled as I dialed her number. The entire situation felt awkward and uncomfortable. What could *I* possibly do to help her during this time? Her personal situation was so far out of my hands; it felt presumptuous to even think my words would do anything to ease her pain. I just knew she would be nothing but annoyed by my intrusion.

But, when she answered her phone, it was not irritation I heard in her voice. It was gratitude. When I asked her how she was doing, she began to cry. She just wanted to talk about it, she said, but she didn’t know how. So I let her talk.

I wasn’t family. I wasn’t even her best friend. But, in that moment, I was what she needed most–an ear to listen, a heart with which to commiserate, a filter through which to process her pain. Before making the phone call, I didn’t know what I could possibly do to help.

But God did. And that phone call wasn’t just about strengthening her faith–it was about refining my own.

Through that phone call, my involvement in the situation went from a momentary “Oh, that’s too bad” pinprick of sorrow, followed by a minute or two of prayer, to full-blown investment. Hearing her cries, I could feel her anguish through the telephone–and it became my anguish too. My heart went from hurting for her to actually breaking. I was troubled, upset, and mournful not for anything that happened to me–but because of the affliction and torment suffocating this soul on the other end of the telephone.

After praying with her and volunteering to bring her a meal the next day, I got off the phone, feeling utterly defeated. This was not an act of obedience I was glad I had done. It certainly didn’t make me feel better or righteous in any way. Emotionally, I would have been better off ignoring that nudging. If I had, I wouldn’t be battling the overwhelming grief I was feeling in that moment.

No, the obedience wasn’t fun. But it was necessary.

In the book Praying: Does It Make Any Difference?, Philip Yancey writes that “praying can be a risky enterprise.” Sometimes, the simple act of praying for others can convict us to do something for them we wouldn’t normally do. In other words, he says, sometimes we ask God for things we should be doing ourselves.

That was certainly the case with this woman. In my prayers, I had asked God to meet her needs and strengthen her faith; in His response, He charged me with being His voice for her ears. No, I couldn’t meet her every need. I couldn’t heal her. I couldn’t lessen her loss.

But I could listen. I could offer my presence–His presence–for a moment to allow her to talk and grieve and process.

Doing so, however, required action on my part. It required a willingness to get involved in a way that sacrificed more than a two or three minute prayer. Yes, prayer is absolutely important and it does make a difference, but truly praying for someone means being willing to bring action into our words when God calls for it. Sometimes that’s messy and it’s almost always uncomfortable; we may be forced to do things or say things way outside our zone. Worse yet, it may cause us to empathize with another person’s pain in such a way that it causes us immense pain. It’s so much easier to close that door, hold the world’s problems at distance, and offer up a few words for God to do something instead.

But we are called to be “Christ’s ambassadors” (2 Corinthians 5:20). Our faith is more than mere words, even words as powerful and sincere as prayer. Our true faith lies in the ever-present tension between prayer and action, between knowing the difference between when it’s God’s turn to move and when it’s our own. Because prayer is never a one-sided thing; it is a chat between a Father and His children. It is not just a series of questions directed at an All-Mighty God, but a receiving and reaction to the response given by a God who desires a relationship with us and charges us with furthering His kingdom here on earth.

Prayer is risky.

Obedient prayer, though, is also the richest of all rewards.

Thanksgiving Break

#wellnesswednesday is on Thanksgiving Break this week. As always, dear readers, I am most grateful for YOU, for making it possible to live my dream of weaving stories that honor and glorify God. Thank you for your support, encouragement, and readership over this past year. Looking forward to many more stories to come!

And don’t worry–#wellnesswednesday will be back next week with an all-new post.

Happy Thanksgiving, and God bless!

A ‘Few Appropriate Remarks’

“Four score and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal…”

It’s been over twenty years, and I can still remember these words. And I’m sure I’m not the only one. Millions of school children recite these lines in classrooms all across the country each year, making Lincoln’s ‘Gettysburg Address’ one of the most famous and recognizable of all historical speeches.

And while I can still quote it (or at least part of it), and I’m sure you can too, perhaps what’s less well-known is the story behind the speech.

What we now know as ‘The Gettysburg Address’ was delivered on November 19, 1863, four and a half months after the infamous Battle of Gettysburg. This particular clash happened near the town of Gettysburg in southern Pennsylvania in early July of that same year and resulted in the largest number of casualties in the entire Civil War, with approximately 50,000 soldiers perishing in the three-day battle. However, it also marked the turning point of the conflict, as the Union scored a decisive victory over the Confederacy and halted General Robert E. Lee’s invasion of the North. In November, President Abraham Lincoln traveled to Gettysburg to dedicate a cemetery to the fallen Union soldiers. It was during this ceremony that his most famous speech was given.

Only, Lincoln wasn’t the keynote speaker. He wasn’t the headliner. His presence was a mere formality, a request by David Wills, of the committee for the November 19 Consecration of the National Cemetery at Gettysburg, that “as Chief Executive of the nation, [ you ] formally set apart these grounds to their sacred use by a few appropriate remarks.”

A ‘few appropriate remarks.’ After the music, the prayer, the oration, and more music, the President was to simply come on stage, give a ‘few appropriate remarks,’ then move aside for the closing music and prayer. Two minutes, and his job was done. He was “the closer,” to put it in modern-day terms.

And it was good thing. During the train ride from Washington D.C. to Gettysburg on November 18, Lincoln remarked that he felt dizzy and weak; those traveling with him noted his “ghastly color.” Nevertheless, after resting at David Wills’ house, he arose the next morning and, even though still feeling ill, proceeded to the ceremony.

The headliner of the day was Edward Everett, an American politician, pastor, educator, diplomat, and popular orator. In fact, he was possibly the best-known public speaker at the time, and he had been asked to deliver the main speech for precisely that reason: Everett was sure to draw a crowd in a way that shy, quiet, and at times awkward Lincoln certainly would not.

And come they did. Over 15,000 people arrived to listen to Everett’s speech and see the dedication of this newly consecrated ground. After music from the Birgfeld’s Band, a prayer from Reverend T. H. Stockton, and more music from the Marine Band, Everett came to the stage and delivered a 13,607-word, 2-hour long speech from memory in which he detailed the Battle of Gettysburg, comparing it to famous battles of antiquity, and likened the creation of the United States to the rise of the great Greek republic. He stressed how, in many of the great conflicts of the past, opposing sides were able to come together in spirit of reconciliation, and expressed faith the United States would soon be able to do the same.

It was a powerful speech. A beautiful speech, full of allegory, lessons from the past, and hope for the future.

Afterwards, Everett took his seat, and the Baltimore Glee Club took the stage to sing the hymn, “Consecration Chat.” Finally, a pale-faced Lincoln came to the podium.

A ‘few appropriate remarks’ was all he was instructed to give. And that’s exactly what he delivered:

“Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth upon this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate—we can not consecrate—we can not hallow—this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion—that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.“

Abraham Lincoln

10 sentences. 272 words. Despite being interrupted five times for applause, the entire speech lasted only 2-3 minutes.

Lincoln never uttered an explicit word about the Union, the Confederacy, or even Gettysburg itself. And yet these are the words–rather than Everett’s 2-hour long oratory–that resonated with people both then and now. They are the words remembered, recited, and revered. Their power comes not only from their brevity, but from their challenge to people–and this country–to rise to a higher standard. Although the Civil War was fought for a variety of reasons, including tariffs, taxes, and states’ rights, the issue of slavery has come to dominate how history remembers the conflict–thanks in a large part to Lincoln’s speech, which brought the notion of civil rights to the forefront, forcing people to wrestle with the ideals upon which our nation was founded and the practices which are in direct contradiction to them. He was pushing for reunification but a reunification built upon the principles of truth and equality.

Despite being given in an age before recording devices, many newspapers were able to print Lincoln’s speech in its entirety, due to its short yet powerful nature. Everett’s speech, on the other hand, was only excerpted and has been largely confined to the history books.

After giving his speech, Lincoln boarded the 6:30 PM train headed for Washington, D.C. By this time, he was feverish and weak, complaining of a massive headache. He was bedridden for three weeks when he arrived home; in addition to these symptoms, he also broke out in a severe rash. It was later discovered he was suffering from smallpox, albeit a milder and more survivable form than that which afflicted so many at the time.

Thankfully Lincoln soon recovered. By that time, his remarks at Gettysburg had spread like wildfire across the bruised and bloodied continent, spreading hope to a war-weary nation. This short, poignant speech, delivered at the tail end of a ceremony in a weakened, feverish state, remains one of the most quoted, remembered, and respected addresses in American history.

Valuable Pain

My ten year-old recently became a metal-mouth.

That’s right. He’s officially joined ranks with the thousands of other adolescents across the years to embark on a journey of the orthodontic variety.

I knew early on they were a distinct possibility. After all, I had braces as kid. My husband had braces. My sister, almost all of my nephews and nieces, a handful of our neighbor kids, and even some of my adult friends all have or have had braces. It’s not an uncommon thing. And yet, I wasn’t prepared for how young orthodontic treatments starts nowadays.

That’s why, when my son started complaining of pain in his jaw, my mind immediately went to “Oh no. He has a cavity.” We went to the dentist for an exam and assessment, only to be told his teeth were perfectly healthy–no sign of decay. Afterwards, the dentist called in the office orthodontist for a consult. He determined the mouth pain my son was feeling was due to a disorientation of his teeth. He would need braces, yes, but before we could even begin to think about braces, we needed to focus on correcting his cross-bite. A cross-bite, in case you’ve never heard of it, is basically when the top jaw doesn’t align properly with the bottom jaw when it’s closed. The braces wouldn’t be fully functional unless the jaw was correctly positioned first. So, to fix it, the orthodontist would install a small metal appliance across the roof my son’s mouth, in which was a small hole. Every day, we’d take a “key,” insert it into the hole, and rotate the mechanism downward one click.

Doesn’t sound too awful, right?

Well, according to my son, it was the worst thing that had ever happened to him. For one week beforehand, he had to wear spacers, which are small rubber bands in between his back teeth, to ensure enough space between each tooth to install the appliance. The pain was so intense, he could only eat soup and ice cream for the entire week.

Once the spacers had done their job, the orthodontist then installed the appliance. And if the spacers were the worst thing in the world, then the cross-bite appliance was officially the end of the world. Every morning before school, either my husband or I had to use the key to adjust the mechanism, causing him to wince and moan and complain about how we were the worst parents in the world for torturing him in this manner.

Then, after two months of the appliance, it was removed and the braces were put on.

I don’t think I have to tell you how he responded to these.

Thankfully, we’re nearing the end of this painful orthodontic journey. The braces should be removed soon, and I can already see a huge difference in the aesthetic appeal of my son’s smile. Though he will never, ever admit it to me, I can tell he feels more comfortable too with properly aligned teeth.

All the pain will have been worth it in the end. There was purpose behind it.

I joke about the moaning and complaining my son did, but I’m just as guilty; I don’t like pain. I don’t like discomfort. I don’t like hardship. Whether it be physical, mental, emotional, or spiritual, I wouldn’t say I’m the best person to be around when my “comfort bubble” gets squished. And, oh, you better run for the hills if it ends up getting popped.

But Francois Fenelon, the famous 17th century French Roman Catholic bishop, once wrote: “Do not waste the suffering. Let suffering accomplish what God wants it to in your life.”

Waste suffering? How can we waste suffering? To waste something assumes it has value. And we don’t usually think of pain or suffering as valuable. In fact, most of us spend our lives trying to avoid it at all costs. But, as Christians, we should look at our circumstances–both the good and the bad–through the lens of our Creator. If we remind ourselves of the simple truth of who we are (God’s beloved children), as well as who He is (the good and perfect sustainer of the universe), we can be reassured that our suffering, no matter how unpleasant, is never without purpose.

In other words, God is good + God loves me + God is in control = there is a reason for any and all circumstance He has allowed into my life.

When I look back at my son’s orthodontic treatment, I can see the role of pain in several ways. First of all, the pain he experienced before we began was the first signifier of a problem. We would have never sought an orthodontic consult if he hadn’t first begun to feel the pangs of discomfort in his jaw.

Pain can often times tell us when something is wrong. Physical pain can be the driving force to send us a doctor. Emotional or spiritual pain can cue us into unrecognized sin, unhealthy thought patterns, or other heart issues. Pain is often the catalyst we need to give us that gentle nudge (or, as often in my case, a not-so-gentle shove) toward resolution or repentance.

Once he started his treatment, the pain my son felt in his mouth was a different kind. It was the pain of bones and muscles and tendons slowly shifting into proper alignment. For years, my son’s teeth and jaw had been developing in a way that wasn’t correctly positioned. Remedying those issues was a process, with each step carrying with it its own unique type of discomfort. And yet each phase of malaise served a purpose, whether it be the spacers creating room for the appliance or the appliance itself setting the stage for the braces. Each ache made the next course of action possible until the ultimate goal (a healthy, well-aligned mouth) had been achieved.

Our pain can often work in the same way. Perhaps you’re experiencing the pain of having to forgive someone who doesn’t deserve it. Or maybe you are that person, and you’re having to seek reconciliation with someone after hurting them. Perhaps your pain is from a sin making you separated from God. Maybe it’s the burden of years of unresolved bitterness or anger. Or it could be fresh–the pain of recent loss, the grief of a new wound.

These don’t sound like valuable experiences. They seem, on the surface, to be circumstances we’d like to avoid or, if we do find ourselves in them, to escape. But, as believers in Christ, we can know that, no matter how awful or gut-wrenching our situation may be, the pain we feel has a purpose for us. These “fiery furnace moments,” as I think of them, are often a scary, sometimes horrific step toward a greater good, much like the flames in the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in Daniel 3. The terror these men must have felt at being thrown into a literal furnace at the hands of King Nebuchadnezzar, facing almost certain death, ultimately led to the glorification of God by those who earlier had mocked Him.

Their pain had a purpose. And so does ours. Sometimes we are fortunate enough to see the end result of that suffering (as with my son and his now-healthy mouth or when the three Hebrews walked out of the fire unscathed and saw the people of Babylon fall to their feet in reverence to the Lord). Often times, however, we don’t see it. What good can come out of the loss of a child, spouse, or other loved one? Out of a divorce or other broken relationship? Some pain is too great or too unexplainable to truly see the purpose behind it.

In these moments, we can’t often change our circumstances, but we can change our perspective. If we cling to our faith and truly believe God is at work in our suffering even when we are too blinded by pain to see it, it gives us the strength to continue on.

“The intrusions that God sends you will no doubt upset your plans and oppose all that you want,” Fenelon wrote. “But they will chase you toward God.”

Because the God of the universe has a purpose for your pain. He has a purpose for you.

And He had a purpose for my son’s braces. Even if he didn’t like it.

The Anti-Monopolist’s Monopoly

On this day in 1935, millions of people across America began buying up Park Place, collecting Community Chests, and not collecting $200 as they were sent directly to jail.

In other words, on this day in 1935, Parker Brothers introduced the game known as “Monopoly.” Rich Uncle Pennybags–for real, that’s the monocled mascot’s name–has been presiding over the maddeningly complex and time-consuming real estate-themed board game that has been frustrating people across the world for nearly a hundred years. It is synonymous with wealth, capitalism, and America.

But did you know it actually started out as a treatise against those things?

For years, the myth has persisted that a Philadelphian by the name of Charles Darrow came up with the game. He held the copyright, after all, and sold the game to the Parker Brothers in 1933, where it became an instant success–and made Darrow an instant millionaire. He was the one interviewed by journalist after journalist, each one marveling about how Darrow could have made such an amazingly intricate and complicated game out of thin air (a compliment Darrow himself not-so-humbly accepted).

The only problem? He didn’t invent it.

The game of “Monopoly” was originally called “The Landlord’s Game” and was created, not in Philadelphia, but in Washington, D.C. by a woman named Elizabeth “Lizzie” Magie. An unmarried court stenographer, Lizzie had adopted the attitude of her Scottish immigrant parents: hard work and self-sufficiency was the key to success. So, despite her gender (which, at the time, meant fewer opportunities and a lower social status), Lizzie managed to save up enough money to buy her own home and several acres of property in Prince George’s county just outside Washington, D.C.

Another unusual aspect of Lizzie’s character was her highly politicized nature. In a time where women still didn’t even have the right to vote, Lizzie hosted political discussions and meetings in her home, where she espoused her progressive views, including railing against the income inequalities and vast corporate monopolies plaguing the country at the turn of the century. She believed steadfastly in the single-tax theory of Henry George, which held that, while people should own the money from whatever they owned or produced themselves, the economic rent derived from land, including from all natural resources, should belong equally to all members of society; in this way, the burden of tax would fall primarily on wealthy landowners while both social justice for the poor and ecological balance for the earth could be achieved.

But, as a relatively unknown woman with even less known political pull, her audience was minimal. So she decided to turn to the growing board game market as a way to further her ideals.

For weeks on end, Lizzie stayed up long into the night, drawing and redrawing the game that would become “The Landlord’s Game.” Much like the modern day “Monopoly” version, Lizzie’s version had play money and property that could be bought or sold. But, in addition to Jail, it also had a Poor House and Public Park, as well as an image of a globe and the words, “Labor upon Mother Earth Produces Wages.”

Lizzie drew nine rectangular spaces along the edges of the board between each set of corners. In the centre of each nine-space grouping was a railroad, with spaces for rent or sale on either side. Absolute Necessity rectangles offered goods like bread and shelter, and Franchise spaces offered services such as water and light. As gamers made their way around the board, they performed labour and earned wages. Every time players passed the Mother Earth space, they were “supposed to have performed so much labor upon Mother Earth” that they received $100 in wages. Players who ran out of money were sent to the Poor House, and those who trespassed on land were sent to Jail.

Interestingly, however, the rules for the original game had a distinct anti-monopoly bent: when wealth was created, all were rewarded, instead of just the wealth’s creator. It wasn’t until later that Lizzie created the rules we use today: a more monopolist set, inspiring fierce competition and a stamping out of competing investors (players). The goal was to show the tension and disparity between the two economic theories. However, as interest in the game grew, it is was the second set of rules, rather than more left-wing, progressive-advocating original, that became more popular, much to Lizzie’s chagrin.

After filing a patent in 1903, Lizzie developed several versions over the next few years, eventually partnering with the Economic Game Company to produce the game, which grew in popularity over the next three decades. One of the fans of the game was a man by the name of Charles Todd who in 1932, along with his wife Olive, invited his friends Mr. and Mrs. Darrow over for an evening of dinner and board games–including a rousing rendition of “The Landlord’s Game.”

Darrow–at the time unemployed and hard-up for cash–became so enamored with the game that he asked Todd for a written set of the rules. When it became clear that a written set didn’t exist–the game, rather, was like an epic story of the past, being passed around to friends and explained by word of mouth–Darrow decided to copy the oral regulations down on paper, create a version of the game himself (which he renamed as “Monopoly”), and sell it to the Parker Brothers–a deal which made Darrow millions and continues to add royalties to his estate even after his death.

Lizzie got paid for her work too. But only because the Parker Brothers, after “Monopoly’s” initial success, began buying up the rights to other related games in an effort to squash the competition and preserve its territory (oh, the irony!) For the patent to the Landlord’s Game and two other game ideas, Lizzie reportedly received $500 — and no royalties. She has never been formally recognized–by Darrow, Parker Brothers, or Parker Brothers’ parent company Hasbro–for her invention.

Magie died in 1948, her creation not only lost to the name of other, but the spirit and political advocacy behind it forgotten as well.

Think about that the next time you pass “GO.”