Many thoughts assail us in the midst of suffering, to the point of questioning all that we believe. How do we guard our minds and fight against such thoughts when our hearts are so weary?

Do you have a well-stocked spiritual pantry? If not, how do we stock our hearts to prepare for the upcoming storms? Here’s the advice of a woman much wiser than me and the story through which she taught me.

When we’ve endured much suffering, bitterness comes naturally, as if it always existed in us. What’s harder is learning how to cultivate gentleness or a gentle spirit. What if suffering could produce such gentleness in us?

How much does a memory weigh? / When it falls over me like a heavy blanket / In the darkness of my dreams, / It’s like a hand crushing me with its weight. / How strong is a memory? / When it grips me like a fist / In bright daylight, unashamed of its evil, / It’s a captor’s hand leading me to places of terror.

We have many prayer requests each day, and a lot of them can seem like they go unanswered. We barter and plead, but we receive no answer. Is this proof that God isn’t good, or is this a sign of his Fatherly kindness and wisdom? How should we view unanswered prayers?

Good thoughts and prayers sound so meek, / And tears shed still don’t fall as healing waters, / My reach, my unsovereign hands feel so weak, / As suffering billows over loved ones like fire. / If only my words could mend broken hearts, / If only they could blow away the dark clouds, / If only they could outshine the smoke and dark / That covers those I love tonight.

Walking through suffering can feel as if we’re stumbling through a foggy, endless night, unable to ever find the light again. Here are three lampposts to guide us through.

In this dry summer heat / Like fallen autumn leaves / The grass crunches under our feet. / Though the flowerbeds wither, / And the water trickles into our wells, / The weeds push through acre upon acre. / Their green stems stand tall and strong, / Stretching toward the burning sun, / They thrive though the summer heat is long. / They cry, “Cursed! Cursed is this ground, / Because man could not deny the serpent’s taunt.”

What if good theology and beautifully true fiction could both work together to carry us through our suffering?

Is our suffering essentially good? Are there truly any gifts in the midst of our suffering? Here’s what God’s greatest gift is to the suffering saint.

In the midst of suffering, it can feel as if it will never end, but as believers we have the hope that the Shadow, no matter how long, is a small and passing thing.

In wisdom we look to a future that is promised, not a future that is proven by our past.

When prayers go unanswered, we tend to believe God is no longer for us. But what if we're missing all the prayers we never even prayed for?

My husband reached over and held my hand. “We can go home. It’s up to you.” My heart raced in my chest as I looked up at the people pooling in through the open glass doors of our church. In that moment, my theology warred against my angst: My love for the local church versus my social anxiety.

Have you gotten off track with your Bible study habits? When my twins were born, my habits were quickly uprooted. But when my life quieted down again, here's how I rebuilt my quiet time routine and got back into God's Word.

Book review of Tim Challies book Seasons of Sorrow.

I rarely dealt with or named my emotions—at least not the “negative” ones. They had to be killed, banished, ignored, and stuffed. I learned this from both Christian circles (like the counselor above) and my own fears. I didn’t want others to see my emotions. But what if we don’t need to pound every negative emotion into the dirt? What if there’s goodness in every emotion—even in our negative emotions that we don’t like so much?

Our Good Shepherd leads through both the even, green plains and the dark, rocky gorges. He never grows more distant on either terrain but leads us with his outstretched arm and protects us with his staff. As he leads us, his ear is bent low to listen to both our gratitude and our lament, and he never grows weary of hearing either—even if others do.

After the birth of our twins, my husband suffered and need my care. And many times I failed. Often, watching someone else suffer makes us feel so helpless. We come before our husbands empty-handed and often wordless. How can we be their helper when we feel so helpless?

Sometimes, suffering will be a reckoning with our doctrine. It will appear as hopeless laments. Sometimes there may even be questions and doubts. But God is still there.