Pain can be such a consistent, unwelcome presence in our lives. It seems almost disrespectful — showing up when we’re already juggling many of life’s burdens, compounding years of insecurity and hurt, or ruining an otherwise good season. Pain is inconvenient, hard to understand, and scarcely ever arrives on our preferred timetable (which, I suppose, would be never!).

Yet pain, despite all the ways it vexes and bewilders us, does have purpose. Not because pain in and of itself is good, but because the God who is sovereign over it is good.

This perspective doesn’t come naturally. It’s one we must learn — a process that comes from intentionally seeking to understand not only the role pain plays in our lives, but how God uses it for His purposes and our good. I myself have recently felt convicted over how I view my own pain. That conviction took root in Philippians 4:8-9: “Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think of these things. … [P]ractice these things, and the God of peace will be with you.”

How difficult it is to think on what is true when sitting in a pit of despair and lies. How strenuous to consider what is honorable when the world around us is laced with corruption and pride. It feels nearly impossible to dwell on what is just, pure, lovely, or commendable when we ourselves are suffering greatly — battling depression, illness, financial strain, fear, uncertainty, loneliness, addiction, loss, and more. When the weight of the world presses on our shoulders, we want to collapse. When floods of trials surround us, we want to let the current carry us away. When the fires of adversity swell, we want to succumb to the fumes. Not simply because we want to give up, but because we are exhausted, desperate, or hopeless.

So what do we do in these moments — which sometimes stretch into days, weeks, and years? How can we establish a way of living that enables us to think on lovely things even while actively suffering? The first step may vary from person to person, but you can never go wrong by dedicating yourself to knowing your God better.

Jesus Himself was not only the perfect, good, and loving Son of God, but a man “acquainted with grief.” He understands our suffering. He faced temptation, sorrow, grief, and death — the worst death imaginable. Not merely because He was brutally beaten, mercilessly mocked, and unjustly accused, but because He was completely alienated from His Father as He took on the sins of the world.

The point is not to compare our woes with our Savior’s. Yet consider how Christ could have perceived His own suffering. Sinless and perfectly obedient, He had every right to focus on the injustice of it all. He was hated, despised, and rejected — facing adversity He did not deserve. And yet He never once complained. Never once did He question God. Even in Gethsemane, after asking that the cup might pass from Him, He submitted: “nevertheless, not as I will, but as You will” (Matthew 26).

On the cross, He prayed for His accusers — praying that God would forgive His accusers because “they know not what they do.” Leading up to His death, He never gave into the fears and anxieties of His disciples but encouraged them to “take heart,” never losing sight of the purpose unfolding through His suffering.

All throughout Scripture we are reminded that where we fix our gaze matters. God calls us to “set [our] hearts on things above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God.” The more we look there — intentionally and consistently — the more we see His goodness, love, mercy, grace, and faithfulness. As Psalm 1 tells us, the one who “meditates day and night” on His Word becomes “like a tree planted by streams of water that yields its fruit in its season, and its leaf does not wither.” In all that he does, the Psalmist wrote, he prospers. This doesn’t mean a life free from difficulty, but a life in which pain draws us closer to Christ — a life that is truly rich, indeed.

Joseph’s story paints this truth vividly. Betrayed by his brothers, sold into slavery, thrown into prison, and forgotten for years, he later declared his faith when he said, “You meant evil against me, but God meant it for good” (Genesis 50:20). He wasn’t excusing the evil that caused him so much pain and suffering. He was simply acknowledging that he knew his pain and suffering had purpose, and that it was rooted in the good will of God.

Other biblical figures like the Apostle Paul and Peter, along with countless persecuted believers throughout history, considered it an honor to suffer for Christ. If you could talk to them today, surely none of them would say they regretted their pain. Paul spoke often of future glory amid present trials. Peter asked to be crucified upside down, believing himself unworthy to die as his Lord had. Persecuted Christians across the globe wake each day and choose to endure the suffering, torture, pain, and loss. It’s not because they want to suffer. It’s because they know that “after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you” (1 Peter 5:10).

Yet no one thinks this way unless they make daily, conscious decisions to fix their minds on what is true, honorable, just, pure, lovely, commendable, excellent, and worthy of praise. Those who labor to do so — even in great suffering — discover the fruit of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. No one ever said it was easy. But in these very thoughts, hope is found. Life is found. Perhaps even a renewed vigor to keep on living and trying and serving is found.

Pain remains a consistent, unwelcome presence in our lives. But what if this very pain — an inevitable part of a broken world — is what God uses to bring us closer to Himself? Take heart. No weapon formed against us will prosper (Isaiah 54:17). Those of us in Christ can confidently say with Paul, “We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not destroyed” (2 Corinthians 4:8-9).

The cancer diagnosis, the crippling debt, the years of loneliness, the impending divorce, the infertility, the stubborn addiction, the persistent depression… none of these have the final say. The words, “It is finished,” were already uttered on the cross that held your Redeemer. This Redeemer has no intention of abandoning you. If you’re in Christ, He has redeemed your soul. Now we must choose to believe He will also redeem our time, emotions, losses, sorrows, health, relationships, failures, doubts, and everything else in between.

A pastor once said that “weakness is God’s way of moving in this world.” Praise God for that, because we’re all so weak. Yet for the Christian, “there can be joy in the midst of suffering, joy that transcends the pain of the moment. We discover it in the house of mourning. It is in weeping that we learn to contemplate the goodness of God.” One day, “when we behold the face of God, all memories of pain and suffering will vanish. Our souls shall be totally healed.” Then, like those who suffered before us, you will be able to say it was all worth it — not because of any strength you possess, but because of Christ, whose good, perfect, and glorious will pierces even the deepest valleys and darkest nights.

No matter your anguish, dear reader, find rest in Him. For the very “winds of anxiety are laid to sleep in the caverns of divine faithfulness” (C.H. Spurgeon).