I found Him faithful.

There is something Holy about finding Jesus in the midst of suffering.

I do not mean that suffering itself is sacred, or that pain somehow becomes good because something beautiful can come from it. Scripture is clear about the character of God. “God is light, and in him is no darkness at all” (1 John 1:5). James tells us, “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights” (James 1:17). Jesus Himself said, “The thief cometh not, but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy: I am come that they might have life” (John 10:10).

Jesus is the clearest revelation of the Father. He said, “He that hath seen me hath seen the Father” (John 14:9). When people came to Him sick, He healed them. When they were oppressed, He set them free. When they were hungry, He fed them. When grief and death confronted Him, He responded with compassion, power, and life.

And still, we live in a world that groans. Paul writes that “the whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain together until now” (Romans 8:22). We encounter loss, disappointment, weakness, confusion, and things we never would have chosen for ourselves.

Yet somewhere in the middle of those places, Jesus meets us.

And when He does, the place can become Holy ground.

Holy ground

When Moses stood before the burning bush, the dirt beneath his feet had not changed. The presence of God had filled an ordinary place, and God said, “Put off thy shoes from off thy feet, for the place whereon thou standest is holy ground” (Exodus 3:5).

I think there are places in our lives that become like that.

A hospital room can become Holy ground. A dark room late at night can become Holy ground. A season you would never choose to relive can become a place you remember with tenderness because Jesus met you there.

There are things we can know about Him through Scripture, through teaching, through worship, and through the lives of others. We can know that He is faithful and believe it sincerely.

Then there are moments when what we know about Him becomes something we have experienced for ourselves.

I have heard of thee by the hearing of the ear: but now mine eye seeth thee.

Job said that (Job 42:5). There is a knowing that comes by hearing, and there is another kind of knowing that comes through encounter.

A knowing that comes by encounter

In seasons of suffering, I have discovered a nearness in Jesus that is difficult to put into words. His grace becomes more than an idea. His mercy becomes something you feel holding you when you are exhausted. His presence becomes more real than the uncertainty around you.

And in that place, you begin to experience His Glory.

Paul writes, “But we all, with open face beholding as in a glass the glory of the Lord, are changed into the same image from glory to glory” (2 Corinthians 3:18).

We are changed by beholding Him.

That verse has become more meaningful to me because Glory is not merely a dramatic spiritual experience. Glory is the revealed reality of who Jesus is. It is His beauty becoming known to us. It is His goodness becoming more than something we affirm. It is His character becoming something we have encountered.

There have been times when I could not make sense of what was happening around me, but I could still look at Him.

John writes, “And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not” (John 1:5).

Sometimes the surrounding circumstances remain difficult while His presence becomes increasingly clear. Peace comes when there is no natural reason for peace. Strength comes when your own strength feels gone. The heart begins to settle even though the questions have not all been answered.

Paul called it a peace “which passeth all understanding” (Philippians 4:7).

I think that kind of peace is one of the ways we experience the Glory of Jesus. We discover that who He is can become more real to us than what is happening around us.

Trust rooted in knowing Him

There is also a kind of trust that forms in those seasons. It is different from having confidence because you can see exactly how everything will work out. It is a trust rooted in knowing Him.

Paul said, “For I know whom I have believed, and am persuaded that he is able to keep that which I have committed unto him” (2 Timothy 1:12).

I love that Paul says, I know whom I have believed.

There comes a point where faith becomes deeply personal. You may still have questions. You may still be waiting on an answer. You may still be asking God to heal, restore, provide, or intervene. But underneath all of that, something begins to settle in you.

I know Him. I know His heart. I know His character. And I have found Him faithful.

Grace in time of need

Paul prayed for something painful to leave him, and the Lord answered, “My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9).

There are seasons when grace stops feeling like a theological word and starts feeling like the thing carrying you. Grace becomes the ability to wake up and keep going. It becomes strength for a conversation you do not want to have, peace for a night when your mind will not stop, and enough light to take the next step without seeing the whole path.

Hebrews says, “Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need” (Hebrews 4:16).

Grace to help in time of need.

There is something deeply Holy about discovering that His grace is not distant. His mercy is not abstract. He meets us where we actually are.

He is my life

This is also why I have started to feel that saying Jesus is “the center of my life” does not quite go far enough.

I understand what we mean by it. We want our family, our work, our relationships, our calling, and our future to revolve around Him.

But Scripture gives us language that is even deeper.

Paul writes, “Christ is all, and in all” (Colossians 3:11). He says that “by him all things consist” (Colossians 1:17). In Acts we read, “For in him we live, and move, and have our being” (Acts 17:28).

And Paul says plainly, “For to me to live is Christ” (Philippians 1:21).

Jesus is not simply the most important part of my life. He is my life.

That truth can become especially real when other things begin to shake. Plans change. Doors close. Relationships shift. The future feels less certain than it did before.

In those moments, you begin to discover that Jesus was never simply one part of everything you were building. He was underneath it all. He was there before any of it, and He remains when everything else feels unstable.

The shift in prayer

There is a shift that can happen in prayer during suffering too.

At first, your prayers may be almost entirely about the situation. Jesus, heal this. Restore this. Provide. Intervene. Change what is happening.

I believe we should pray those prayers. Jesus taught us to ask. He taught us to pray that God’s will would be done “in earth, as it is in heaven” (Matthew 6:10), and He said, “Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find” (Matthew 7:7).

But sometimes another desire begins to grow underneath the request.

Jesus, I want You.

That prayer does not replace faith for healing or restoration. It reaches deeper than the outcome.

I want You whether the answer comes today or later. I want You when I understand and when I do not. I want You in abundance and in uncertainty.

David said, “Whom have I in heaven but thee? and there is none upon earth that I desire beside thee” (Psalm 73:25). Then he says, “My flesh and my heart faileth: but God is the strength of my heart, and my portion for ever” (Psalm 73:26).

That word, portion, has become incredibly meaningful to me.

God is not merely the One who gives the portion. He is the portion.

Jesus was never simply the way to receive the life I wanted. He was the treasure all along.

The fellowship of His sufferings

Paul writes in Philippians, “That I may know him, and the power of his resurrection, and the fellowship of his sufferings” (Philippians 3:10).

The heartbeat of that verse is right at the beginning.

That I may know Him.

Paul’s life was consumed with knowing Jesus. He wanted to know Him in resurrection power, in fellowship, in conformity, in every dimension of life.

And there is a fellowship with Jesus in suffering that is hard to explain unless you have experienced it.

Isaiah called Him “a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief” (Isaiah 53:3). Hebrews tells us that our High Priest is touched by the feeling of our infirmities and was “in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin” (Hebrews 4:15).

Jesus knows grief. He knows rejection. He knows anguish. He knows what it is to weep.

“Jesus wept” (John 11:35) may be one of the shortest verses in Scripture, but it reveals something profound about Him. He is not distant from human sorrow.

That changes the way I think about meeting Him in my own pain.

There are places I would never choose to return to. There are seasons I would never want to experience again. But there are things I came to know of Jesus there that I would never willingly surrender.

That is the mystery I keep coming back to.

I would never call what happened good. I would never say God sent it. I would never tell someone they need suffering in order to know Jesus.

But I would never trade what I came to know of Him there.

I came to know a depth of grace I had not experienced before. I discovered mercy that stayed near in weakness. I found peace where I did not expect peace, and I encountered the presence of Jesus in places that felt painfully ordinary.

I experienced His Glory there. Not because the place itself contained Glory, but because Jesus revealed Himself there.

History with Jesus

And once you have encountered Him like that, your worship changes.

You remember. You remember the night you thought you could not keep going and somehow you did. You remember the moment peace arrived before the circumstances changed. You remember prayers that were little more than His name. You remember His presence.

There is history now.

History with Jesus.

David stood before Goliath with the memory of the lion and the bear behind him (1 Samuel 17:34–37). The Psalms repeatedly call the people of God to remember His works. “I will remember the works of the LORD: surely I will remember thy wonders of old” (Psalm 77:11).

Faith remembers because remembrance turns previous encounters into present confidence.

He was faithful there. He is faithful here. And Scripture says, “Jesus Christ the same yesterday, and to day, and for ever” (Hebrews 13:8).

That is the kind of assurance suffering can deepen in us. It is not confidence that nothing difficult will ever happen again. It is confidence that Jesus will remain who He has always been.

Faithful.

And as we behold Him, we are changed “from glory to glory” (2 Corinthians 3:18).

Glory has become less abstract to me. Glory is what happens when the reality of Jesus becomes visible to the heart. It is when His goodness is no longer only something you believe, but something you have tasted. His presence becomes weighty. His beauty becomes more compelling. His faithfulness becomes personal.

Isaiah saw the Lord high and lifted up and heard the seraphim cry, “Holy, holy, holy, is the LORD of hosts: the whole earth is full of his glory” (Isaiah 6:3).

Revelation gives us the same cry around the throne: “Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty” (Revelation 4:8).

The worship of heaven is centered on who He is. Holy.

There is something about suffering that can strip away our tendency to love God primarily for what He does for us and awaken us again to the beauty of who He is.

Jesus is not merely useful. He is beautiful. He is Holy. And when we see Him, we experience Glory.

He is the treasure

Perhaps that is why certain painful places become sacred in our memory. We would never choose the pain again, but we remember who met us there.

The hospital room becomes more than a hospital room. The night of tears becomes more than a painful memory. The season that felt unbearable becomes intertwined with the memory of His presence.

Jesus was there. And somehow, knowing Him there marked you.

The Christian life is not simply about arranging everything around Jesus. It is the continual discovery that there is no life apart from Him.

He is our portion in abundance and our portion in loss. He is our peace when we understand and our peace when we do not. He is the One who remains when everything else feels uncertain.

He is the treasure. He is the reward. He is Life.

Sometimes, in places we never would have chosen, we behold Him with a clarity we did not have before. We experience His Glory. We encounter His Holiness. We discover that His presence is more than something we believe in.

He is Someone we know.

The suffering itself does not become sacred. The place becomes Holy because Jesus is there.

And when I look back on those places, the thing I remember most is not the pain.

I remember Him.

And I can say now with a depth I could not say before: I have found Him faithful.