Every day throws challenges at us.

One simple idea has helped me get perspective on some of the trials I’ve been facing – and processing the trials that friends have been facing:

Pain is normal.

Our culture tells us the opposite, all the time. Whenever we watch a movie, all the problems are solved in about two hours. For a TV show, it takes even less time to reach resolution.

We are told:

• Spending money will fix almost any problem.
• If we just had a new car, we’d be spared the headaches of getting it fixed – at least for a little while.
• If we just had a little more money, we wouldn’t have to worry.
• Trusting in medical science will cure our aches and pains.
• If I just had a week on the beach, I’d feel so much better.
• If my kid didn’t have that problem, it would be so much easier.

But if you look at the Bible, every person who was right in God’s eyes didn’t have a pain-free life. In fact, many had a lot of pain. Take David… he hid in caves to keep from getting murdered (1 Samuel 24 – particularly in verse 11).

I realize that the experience of pain is vastly different from person to person. (I think I’ve been on the receiving end of pain far less than many people I know.) But we all have to deal with pain every day. (See Genesis 3:17-19. I don’t think God was referring only to Adam when he said that.)

The sooner I accept the fact that pain is just part of life, the sooner I will stop trying to make it go away. If I go through it, I will learn a lot in that journey. And be able to help others facing similar pain.

Paul Merrill writes here every first Friday.

Solomon built God a temple. It took seven years. It was a remarkable structure.

For example, the lumber was cedar. It was cut in Lebanon, a country to the north. It was hauled down hills to the Mediterranean. The boards were tied together into rafts, floated along the coast, and then carried inland thirty-seven miles to Jerusalem. There were 10,000 Jewish workers at a time involved in the process.

Then there were the stonecutters. And Hiram the bronze-worker.

You can read the details yourself in 1 kings 5-6.

In the middle of the building process, God talks to Solomon. I’m not sure how. It could have been through a prophet or in a voice in his head.

But somehow, God offered an interesting perspective on the new temple. “About this house,” God says, “I just want you to know that I care more about what you do every day in obeying me than about this house.”

The message shows up in the middle of the narrative about the building, with no comment or discussion. But it feels a little jarring. At least to me. Because Solomon is building God the most amazing house that could be imagined. It was second in size only to the house Solomon built for himself. And the one he built for one of his  many wives.

Because Solomon is building God the most amazing house that could be imagined. It was second in size only to the house Solomon built for himself. And the one he built for one of his  many wives.

And God says that what really matters isn’t the house built in seven years. It’s the life built an act of obedience at a time over decades.

Solomon’s life eventually spun out of control. His kingdom fell apart. His temple was destroyed.

He had built a house. He forgot the daily obedience.

A researcher is working on clinical trials for a new Alzheimer’s treatment. The drug he has developed doesn’t eliminate brain plaque. It strengthens brain building blocks. The theory is that if the brain cells are stronger, the plaque can’t do as much damage.

It’s a powerful idea. It’s also a powerful metaphor. Rather than focusing all your energy on the messy stuff that clogs things up, strengthen the core.

Strengthening the relationship is a way to reduce the effects of distraction. Strengthening the team gives you resilience in whatever obstacles that appear.

And for Paul, thinking about true and noble and right and pure and lovely and admirable and excellent and praiseworthy things is more effective at protecting our hearts and head than is worrying.

I wrote a story in two parts about this last year, about a conversation with Ella about what Paul meant.

I suggest that today you consider reading them.

You know, instead of worrying.

Part one: Think better

Part two: Praiseworthy Portillo’s

First published March 8, 2013

“Some things words can’t change.”

The seasoned pastor stood at the edge of the eating area. The tables were full of people processing their grief with fried chicken and green beans almondine and fruit pie. Stories were laid on the tables with dinner rolls, and the salad was dressed lightly with the oil of hesitant laughter.The death had been difficult, the funeral as grace-filled as was possible. And now it was time to breathe a bit.

“Some things words can’t change. But words are all we have. So we keep doing what we can.”

I’ve struggled often with the inadequacy of words in painful moments. We don’t want to say the wrong thing, the cliche, the quick misapplication of the Biblical sentence, out of context, out of tune. Some people have no fear of that, of course. They are quick to speak without thinking.

Between these extremes of silence and blather, there may be a place for painstaking, pain-acknowledging, pain-absorbing words. Words that don’t fix anything, but provide stepping stones in the deep, turbulent streams of grief. A funeral can be quiet, but it can’t be silent. “What do we do now?” cannot be left unanswered, no matter how inadequate the very best answer feels.

And so there is a place for seasoned word-workers, as careful of the fine grain of a grieving widow as a cabinetmaker working with rare wood. They are wise enough to know that well-enough often cannot be left alone, that comfort, however unfulfilling to the gaping hole in the heart, does help time pass.

“And presence. Never underestimate the value of presence.”

The word-worker had spent time with the family in pain, knew the now-missing person. When he offered words they carried the weight of hours, of relationship. And with that, the truth is clearer