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A tailor prayed, “Lord, I cheat on pieces of cloth; you let babies die. But I am going to make you a deal. You forgive me my little sins and I’ll forgive you your big ones.”

Lew Smedes included that haunting anecdote in his important little book, Forgive and Forget. He uses it to call attention to a concept that might be more comfortable to ignore: theodicy and the problem of pain. Or more to the heart of the matter, what is the impact of our pain and suffering on the way we view God?

A tailor prayed, “Lord, I cheat on pieces of cloth; you let babies die. But I am going to make you a deal. You forgive me my little sins and I’ll forgive you your big ones.”

Lew Smedes included that haunting anecdote in his important little book, Forgive and Forget.  He uses it to call attention to a concept that might be more comfortable to ignore: theodicy  and the problem of pain. Or more to the heart of the matter, what is the impact ofour pain and suffering on the way we view God?

It is deeply important to us that we keep the fact that our journal is meant to be a conversation (hence the name, Conversations) in front of us at all times. We hope to prompt thought, encouragement and conversation with God, with others and with our editorial team. If nothing else, our past issue succeeded in doing just that! We heard from you, loudly and clearly, positively and negatively. We knew that we were taking a risk with the cover art for Issue 9.1: “Spirituality and the Body.” Before the issue was published, we prayed, consulted our editorial board and advisors and spent a long time in conversation ourselves.

Philip Yancey

In Conversation with Gary W. Moon

Philip Yancey is a popular author and speaker known for careful research, keen insight and raw honesty. Not long ago he was driving on a deserted road in New Mexico one Sunday morning when his Ford Explorer hit a patch of black ice. Yancey wrestled with the steering wheel, but his SUV went over an embankment, shattering glass, plastic, metal and bones.

He was rushed to a hospital where, after being strapped to a gurney for seven hours, a doctor broke the bad news: “Your neck is broken and a bone fragment may have nicked a major artery.” Then the doctor said, “This is a life-threatening situation. Here’s a phone. You may want to contact your loved ones and tell them goodbye.”

On the darkening, rainy night of April 29, 2011, as people huddled in basements and closets, a powerful, churning EF-4 tornado, with 175-mile-per-hour winds bore down on the small northwestern Georgia town of Ringgold. At about 8:30 p.m., it angrily smashed the McDonald’s and BP service center, flattened a three-story Super 8 motel, and turned a Ruby Tuesday restaurant into kindling. It engulfed Christopher Black’s home, instantly killing him and his wife, Pamela, and their two children, Kelsea and Cody. The tornado, one of 13 to strike Georgia that April night, left eight dead in Ringgold and scores of others missing.

My many-months-ago agreed upon assignment was to write an article that fit in with the theme of this issue of Conversations, the problem of pain. As one member of the editorial team put it, I have the reputation of being “so open about what God teaches [me] on [my] personal journey of pain.” It was thought that perhaps I might be able to help understand the promise of pain more than to strategize its relief.

The last 10 years of my journey have been challenging— physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. I grew up strong and active without much sickness, but recently I have experienced several illnesses that have been painful and limiting. In 1995, a major heart artery dissected after an angioplasty. In 1999, I was diagnosed with breast cancer and subsequently underwent treatment, including a mastectomy. In 2005, my thyroid was removed because of cancer and since that time I have struggled to get my hormones balanced. Most recently I have undergone corrective foot surgery following a broken foot.

Realities reside in our universe that go far beyond what we can see and touch and smell. There are immense spiritual realities. God, of course. And angels, God’s messengers. The Bible is actually a book full of angels. Please, I do not mean fluffy white beings with flowing robes and feathered wings. Nor do I mean the childlike nudes of Raphael or, even worse, the chubby cherubs of today’s clip art. No, in the Bible when an angel appears on the scene, the angel first must calm the utter panic in humans. When the angel Gabriel appeared to Zechariah, we are told that Zechariah “was terrified; and fear overwhelmed him” (Luke 1:12). Also, the angel population evidently is enormous, for we are told in Revelation that surrounding God’s throne are angels who number “myriads of myriads and thousands of thousands” (Revelation 5:11).

I don’t like visiting the doctor. It’s nothing personal. My doctor is skillful and knowledgeable. And he’s a terrific conversationalist. He teems with insight. He brims with curiosity. He’s a compendium of knowledge on a wide range of topics. Religion, economics, food, motorcycles, great places to travel—all and more is up for grabs as he pokes and prods my undersides, stares down my windpipe, and puts that funny little anteater thing into my ear.

One  reason Rebecca found trusting God so difficult was that Christians had tried to move her out of grieving by saying, “But you have another child,” and “God wanted your son in heaven,” and even, “God thinks you’re strong enough to handle this.” She said to me, “I don’t think I like their god.” She was not so much angry as she was confused.