It was dark and dreary when my alarm violated a vivid dream state at 6 am on this Saturday morning. But once I was up and on my way, it was well worth the aggravation and discomfort. I drove through a temporary rainfall to get to my destination at Centennial Village, where a dozen churches are collaborating to build three Habitat homes for three deserving families. The family for whom my church toils is a Katrina-displaced mom, grandmother and son. The mom cried as she tried to thank everyone for making it possible for someone from the tiny island of Grenada, by way of New Orleans, to be receiving a new home after all the suffering. And I'm reminded that God doesn't call us to a life free of pain. How in the world would we ever learn to lean on Him if it were easy? And He does love it when we give it up, realizing our own weakness that bows to His strength. I am finally getting to the place where I can join Paul in appreciating the hard times. Heartache and affliction help strip away all the superficial ways I try to justify and compromise what matters to God. They draw me to the heart of a Savior who took all the filth the world could throw at him, horror far worse than I could ever begin to fathom, and bore excruciating pain for every sin I would ever commit. A million tongues could never sing enough praises to honor that sacrifice. At the Habitat site today, as a pastor prayed that every hammered nail would be a prayer, the sun broke through. That perfect gesture on God's part was certainly not lost on me.
