It's always the hard stuff that helps us know God better—
or, at least, it's the hard stuff that affords us the opportunity.
I don’t know that I always take it.
For every malady that I’ve reported in this book,
some I learned from at the time,
but others are only affecting me now as I write about them.
I should have given Jackson wisdom.
I should have said “yes.”
The conversation should have gone like this:
Mark: And when you get all better, you won’t have a
hard time breathing anymore. You won’t have
to make those sounds with your throat that you
don’t like. And the doctor says you’ll be able
to grow taller! And run faster!
Jackson: And-and will I be able to hear God better?
Mark: If you look for Him in the pain, my son.
My precious son.
Life is going to throw you curve balls.
It’s your choice to either swing hard
or blame the pitcher.
I’ve blamed the pitcher, the doctor, the preacher,
the client, the backstabbing friend—
too many times.
Swing for the fence, my boy!
Bust the seams off that ball!
Don’t bleed on accident.
Give it freely.
And I’ll be there to shed the tears with you.
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