Choose Hope Part 4: Hope over Affliction

This sermon series invites you to believe that hope is not wishful thinking — it’s the power of Jesus rewriting our story. Each week will highlight a different victory He makes possible: hope over pride, fear, affliction, sorrow, guilt, and shame. 

This week we look at God's promise to bless those who CHOOSE HOPE over AFFLICTION.

Transcript

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I'd been uh working in ministry for about three or four years, uh, mainly in youth ministry, working with teenagers, and I was speaking at a at a camp with hundreds of teen, not hundreds, a few hundred teenagers there, and it was Wednesday right in the middle of the week, and I went to bed with a little scratchy throat, and the next morning I woke up and I could not speak. I don't know if you've ever had that, you just lose your voice, and I was like, man, this is no good. I'm trying to speak, I'm helping lead this camp. And that began uh over six months that I had no voice. I lost my voice completely for six months. For somebody who works in church and somebody who speaks on a regular basis, that was a big deal. Katie, Catherine, loved it at the time. She could speak more than she ever had in our life in our home. But uh, but for me, it was an affliction that came into my life unexpected, unknowingly, and I didn't know why. I felt God had called me into ministry. God had called me to speak and to teach his word, and all of a sudden my voice was gone. The tool that He had been given, He had given me to use to proclaim the gospel was gone. I went to doctors, I tried to figure out the best diagnosis I got was a paralyzed vocal cord. They didn't know what caused it or if it would ever come back. And over the next literal three years, I had to teach myself how to speak again, to talk in a new way. The voice I have today is very different than it was before I was 25. So it's to me, it's become my normal, and for you it's all you've ever heard, but it was an affliction that took me on a journey in my faith that uh I would not have grown as deeply or as trusting in the Lord. I don't think I've ever had to walk through that. And today we're gonna understand that affliction, when it comes into our life, can often make us feel broken. Right? Whether that's physical or the affliction of evil in our world. And today we continue this series called Choose Hope, not as a feeling or a momentary lift, but as a deliberate way of seeing our lives. Every day, especially in difficult seasons, we decide which perspective will shape us. And today we're learning and leading into this truth that affliction has an opportunity to grow us when we view it through the promises of God. Affliction is a reality that we will all face in our life. It comes through loss, disappointment, unmet expectations, conflict, and seasons that feel heavy and unresolved. These are not theoretical moments, they are experiences that press on us and ask something of us. What makes affliction so powerful isn't just the pain that it brings, but the way that it shapes us. Pain can harden us, but it also can mature us. Difficulty can shrink our faith, or it can deepen it. Growth is not automatic, but it is possible when we lean into the promises of God, not just the way we feel. One thing every person in this room shares is this we are all going to walk through seasons of life that don't unfold the way that we hoped. And in those moments, we are faced with a quiet but important choice, and it's not whether affliction will shape us, but how it will shape us. Choosing hope doesn't deny pain. It doesn't ignore hardship. It means that trusting God is present and active even when circumstances are unclear. It means believing that God is forming us in a way that He is changing us more so than changing the world around us. Scripture invites us to this kind of hope. And we find this in Isaiah 40, 31, which has been our key verse for this series the whole time. And it says, Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles, they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint. What a beautiful reminder that when we hope in the Lord, our life rises. We mount on wings of eagles. We will run and not grow weary. We will walk and not grow faint. I often think when we think about affliction, right? The we think the promise says, Well, those who hope in the Lord, yes, we're gonna soar like eagles. We won't get weary, we won't get faint. But you know what it says there? You will run. You will walk, you are gonna have to go through things. It is not the removal of these things from your life, it is the go, you will have the hope to persist through them. And that's what this verse reminds us of today. When we place our hope in the Lord, it gives us the power, the energy, the ability to preserve, to run, walk, and not grow weary, not grow faint. So, what is this hope that we're talking about? We've defined it in this series as this it is the confident expectancy that God will bring good out of every circumstance because he is faithful, powerful, and always true to his promises. That's what hope is. That God will bring good out of every circumstance. Not that every circumstance will be good, but he will bring good out of every circumstance because he is faithful, powerful, and always true to his promises. And if this is true, the real challenge is of learning to anchor our lives into these promises. These promises that God has given us. And over the past few weeks we've looked at pride and how we trust ourselves more than God and how he's given us a promise to overcome that. We looked at fear and how things, worrying about what could happen in the future, and he's given us a promise to overcome that. Last week we looked at sorrow and despair, things that have happened in our past and a promise to overcome that. Now he gives us a promise, this new hopeful promises. What are these hopeful promises of God that we're gonna look at today? These hopeful promises give us these anchors for our soul. And we're gonna look at a promise out of John 16, verse 33. And again, this was shared just like last week on the night before his death. He knew he was walking into a difficult moment, and those that were following him are gonna be walking into difficult moments as well. And John 16, 33 says this. This is a promise. In the world you will have affliction. Right? That's kind of that's part of the promise. I wish it wasn't. I wish it says, in this world you will not have affliction. It's not what it says. In this world you will have affliction, but take heart, I have victory over the world. When Jesus speaks his promise in John 16, he does something both honest and hopeful at the same time. He names the reality of affliction without softening it. In the world you will have trouble, you will have affliction. And then he anchors his followers in something sturdier than circumstances. Take heart, I have overcome those afflictions. That promise does not deny pain, loss, or hardship. It reframes them. It tells us that while affliction is real, it is not ultimate. And while struggle may shape our days, it does not define the final outcome of our life. But the challenge for many of us is that we don't experience victory immediately. Hope rarely arrives as immediate relief. More often, hope looks like endurance. Learning to remain faithful, trusting, and open to God even when circumstances do not change quickly or clearly. That's why hope is best understood not as a concept, but as a story. Stories show us what hope looks like over time, stretched, tested, delayed, and eventually revealed. And we've been looking at stories to talk about this kind of hope all throughout this series. And today we're going to be looking at a story, the story of Joseph from the Old Testament. Joseph's life spans years of affliction, betrayal by families, slavery in foreign land, injustice, long periods where God seemed silent. And yet, woven through his story is a steady thread of God's promise. A promise that is not undermined by suffering, but slowly clarified through it. Joseph's life shows us what it means to take Jesus at his word and then to face real trouble. And yet learn over time that God truly does overcome affliction in the world. So as we walk through Joseph's story today, we're not just asking how God rescued him at the end. We're going to be asking how God carried him through and what it looks like for us to choose that same hope in the middle of our affliction. So let's start this story. Joseph, who went from favored to afflicted. Listen to the story of Joseph. Joseph was born into a family that mattered not just to itself, but to an unfolding story of the world. His great-grandfather was Abraham, the man God promised to bless all nations through. His grandfather Isaac carried that promise forward, and then his father Jacob, later renamed Israel, would become the namesake of the people still being formed. His family was chosen, but it was never peaceful. Joseph's father Jacob was shaped by struggle. He had wrestled his brother for inheritance, wrestled his way through deception and exile. He had wrestled even with God in the dark. He learned early that God's promises do not conceal hardship. They often move straight through it. And Joseph would learn this same lesson. By the time Joseph was born, he already had ten older brothers, men that were hardened by labor and responsibility. They worked long days tending flocks in dangerous terrain, defending against animals and thieves, earning survival with calloused hands. They learned a penability because the world demanded it of them. Yet Joseph's life unfolded a bit differently. He was born to Rachel, the first, the wife that his father loved the most. The woman whose long barreness had carved waiting into Jacob's soul. Joseph was the child of a delayed joy, and Jacob loved him with a tenderness that overflowed. But love, when demonstrated unevenly as it was here, often creates fractures and mistrust. And while his brothers bore the weight of the wilderness, Joseph remained nearer to home, protected, watched, and favored. The difference was not subtle, and eventually Jacob made it undeniable. He clothed his son Joseph in a robe of many colors that marked him as set apart. In their world, robes were not neutral. Everybody did not have one. They actually announced authority. Joseph may have felt cherished, but his brothers felt displaced. Distrust did not just erupt overnight, it accumulated. Every unequal task, every spared hardship, every reminder that Joseph would not be treated like them, it grew. Then God spoke. He spoke to Joseph in a language that Joseph would hear again and again in his life, dreams. Joseph dreams of dreamed of grain bowing in the fields. He dreamed of stars bending low to him. The image was bold, it was repeated, it was structured. This was not some passing imagination, it was revelation from God, but yet without explanation. God did not give Joseph a timetable. He shared it not cruelly, but without caution. He did not yet know that divine truth, when spoken too soon, could wound before it heals. To his brothers, the dream sounded like conquest. A favored younger brother announcing a future where they bow before him. In a family already raw with resentment, this dream was the last straw. Silence hardened their hearts, resentment sharpened within the brothers, and affliction was coming. One afternoon, Joseph was sent to check on his brothers working in the field. Not that Joseph had been working, but just to go check. And he wore his robe. As he walked alone, they saw him coming. There comes the dreamer, they said. Not our brother, not Joseph, the dreamer. They had taken away his name and identity. They didn't argue whether to act, but how to act. Some wanted blood, some wanted finality, some wanted relief, but a future that they feared. And right there in the midst of a murderous intention, God's protection entered into the story. Not loudly, but hesitantly. Reuben, the oldest of the brothers, felt the weight of leadership and failure collide. He had already lost credibility in his family and knew that one irreversible act, like killing Joseph, could seal his disgrace forever. He did not stand heroically against the group. He did not condemn them to stop. Instead, he redirected them. Don't kill him, he urged. Just throw him into the pit. It sounded cruel, and it was, but it was only delayed because Reuben had planned to return later, pull Joseph out when tempers had cooled and Isaac turned away. His plan was fragile, incomplete, and fearful, but it mattered. Because sometimes God's deliverance does not come as rescue, sometimes it comes as restraint. So Joseph wasn't killed, but he was seized. His robe stripped away, favor torn violently from his shoulders, and he was thrown into a dry cistern, stone walls closing around him, light narrowing above. Below, Joseph cried out, and above his brothers sat down to eat. And here the tension deepens. God did not stop the pit. He did not spare Joseph the fear, the isolation, the shock of betrayal. But Joseph stayed alive. When traitors appeared, these Midianites that were traveling to Egypt, the debate ended. Death would be costly, profit was easy. So the brothers decide to sell Joseph to the Midianites. Silver passed hands and decisions were finalized. The pit was emptied, not into freedom, but into chains. Joseph was now a slave. Reuben, who had left, returned too late. His rescue failed, but Joseph lived. And that mattered more than anyone that realized. Joseph didn't know that yet. All he knew was pain, confusion, and a promise that felt impossibly distant on the way to Egypt. In the world you will have trouble. Joseph was living these words before they were ever spoken. But the trouble did not cancel the dream that God had given him. The dream did not escape the trouble either. And even here, beneath affliction, betrayal, and silence, God was already overcoming the world quietly, patiently, and inevitably. Joseph's story leaves us in a difficult place. A young man marked by promise is betrayed, stripped of identity, and left in a pit. Nothing about that moment feels fair, feels justified, or redemptive in any way. And if we pause there, Scripture allows us to, we're forced to confront something uncomfortable. Affliction can come even when God speaks clearly to us. Even when we believe we're walking toward what He has promised. Affliction can come. So it asks us this question that we can see in Joseph's story: where does affliction come from? And I think it comes in our life from three areas. One, affliction can come from the broken world around us. Scripture is clear that we live in a world fractured by sin. Not just personal sin, but relational, systematic, and generational brokenness. From Genesis onward, the Bible depicts how jealousy, fear, pride, and unsolved, unresolved wounds spill into the lives of others. Joseph's affliction begins not because God abandoned him, but because favoritism created resentment and envy took root in his family. The Bible never teaches that following God insulates us from the sinful choices of others. Instead, it continually acknowledges that betrayal, injustice, and harm are going to be part of our life in the fallen world. Joseph affirms this same reality, or Jesus affirms this same reality when he tells his disciples that trouble is inevitable in our world. Broken people often wound others, not always intentionally, but inevitably. And we have to remember here that when applic when affliction comes through our through the brokenness of others, God invites us to anchor our hearts in his justice rather than our own bitterness. His justice, not our bitterness. But affliction can also come from immature characteristics within us. Look at the story of Joseph. He had this dream of him standing in front of what symbolically was his family and being authority over them, and he shares this recklessly. He puts it out there, and his immaturity adds to the affliction in his life. He spoke vision without wisdom, revelation without restraint. This pattern appears through Scripture. Moses had power long before he had patience. David was anointed king years before he was ready to rule. The disciples were called before they understood what faithfulness would cost. So even our own immaturity can add to our affliction. If you've lived this life long enough, you've seen this happen in your own life. You look back and go, What was I thinking? Why did I say it that way? Why did I do it this way? When affliction exposes immaturity in us, the invitation is not shame, but growth. And finally, affliction can come from a purpose of God beyond our view. Joseph did not know what God was doing. Joseph's affliction was ultimately positioning him to preserve life in the future, but he had no clue about that yet. And affliction can sometimes come in our life as a tool to move us in a direction where we did not know we needed to be, but yet God wants us there. When affliction resists simple explanation, faith invites us to trust God's character rather than demand immediate clarity. So now let's move to the second part of Joseph's story, where he begins his journey of finding hope refined in affliction. The slave train finally made it to its destination. Joseph arrived in Egypt. And it was unlike anything he had ever known. It was vast, ordered, powerful. It was the center of the ancient world, a land of wealth, grains, and gods. Foreigners like Joseph existed only as tools. Slavery was not chaotic cruelty there, it was efficient and unquestioned. Joseph was immediately sold into the household of Potiphar, an important official in Pharaoh's court. At first it felt like a small mercy. There were walls, structure, routine, a bed to sleep in, and slowly, almost unnoticed, Joseph began to rise again. He worked faithfully, he learned the language, he watched carefully. Everything placed under his care prospered, and Potiphar noticed, and his responsibility grew. Trust followed, and before long Joseph managed the entire household, from pit to position, even if still in chains. And yet the dreams were silent now. Joseph had seen himself rise in the visions from God, but this was what it meant. A grand vision to be a slave in a foreign land? It felt partial and incomplete. And then everything collapsed again. Potiphar's wife noticed Joseph. His isolation, his vulnerability, his lack of protection, her pursuit of him was persistent. And refusal carried risk, Joseph understood well. In that culture, her word outweighed his completely. And when Joseph resisted her advances, not because it was safe, but because it was right, it cost him immediately. Her lie came easily and swiftly, and a punishment followed without investigation. Joseph was dragged into prison, not a place of correction, but disappearance to die. And this is where the real struggle began. Joseph had endured betrayal. He had survived injustice, but prison seemed a bit harder. Why does obedience lead me here? I did what was right. Why does the God who gave me dreams keep allowing doors to slam shut? And once more dreams found him. The dreams of two royal officials, Pharaoh's cupbearer and baker, sat beside him in prison with many others, haunted by visions they could not understand. In Egypt, dreams were believed to carry divine messages, but interpretation belonged to specialists. Joseph listened, this time not to speak on his own future, but only of God. He interpreted their dreams accurately. One was restored, and death for another, and both came true. The cupbearer was freed. Joseph waited. He had been promised that someone would speak for him. Surely now the dreams would prove true. But days became weeks, weeks became months, months years, and Joseph was forgotten again. By this point, the dreams no longer fueled ambition. They shaped patience. Joseph had learned restraint, humility, independence. He finally let go of the dream that he had clung to sometimes more than God himself. He no longer trusted the dream to save him, he trusted the God who gave it to him. And then someone else had a dream, Pharaoh. The ruler of Egypt woke shaken from a horrible dream. No priest or magician could explain the visions. And suddenly Joseph was remembered by the cupbearer. He was pulled from prison, cleaned, and brought before Pharaoh. And Joseph stood where he once dreamed he would, but not as he has imagined. Not robed in honor, no triumph, only calm dependence upon God. He spoke carefully now. He credited God alone. He explained the dream and then offered wisdom, not just meaning. He began preparation, a plan to preserve life. Pharaoh listened, and Joseph was lifted again, this time higher than ever before. But this rise was different. Joseph no longer confused position with promise. He had learned that God's dreams do not bypass affliction, they come through it. And every delay had shaped him to carry not just authority, but responsibility for others. This part of Joseph's story brings us to the idea that we don't like about affliction. Because I think when affliction comes into my life, I've learned what I need to learn pretty quickly. Okay, God, I get it. Now take it away. And we see in Joseph's life that's not what happened. It took him deeper and deeper and deeper into affliction. And this is because affliction can also produce things in our life. And let's see what those are. Affliction can produce character for us rather than convenience. Scripture constantly shows that God is less concerned with our comfort than with our character. And that's hard sometimes. Because we are people who love comfort. We love to be comfortable. We love to make things comfortable around us, but in Joseph's story, there was never comfort. There was character building. And the Bible reflects this core truth: character is formed not in moments of ease, but in sustained obedience over time. The Bible teaches that perseverance through difficulty produces proven character, something that cannot be manufactured quickly or borrowed from others. So when affliction removes comfort and convenience, God invites us to remain faithful in the ordinary and unseen moments of our lives. But we also see that affliction can produce dependence rather than control. And this is a hard one for many of us because as much as we love comfort, we are desperately in love with control. We love to guide, direct, and tell God what to do, more so than listen and depend on God for what to do. An affliction in these moments of Joseph's life led him to let go of control. And to trust that what God had promised him would come true, but God was the one directing the steps, not Joseph. And this is hard for us. Scripture shows that this loss of control is not punishment but formation. God uses affliction to teach dependence rather than certainty. Because there is only one certain thing in this world, and it's God. So when affliction dismantles our sense of control, God invites us to shift our trust from outcomes and answers to his character. And finally, affliction can produce endurance rather than escape. And again, I think if we had our choices in the midst of affliction, we would choose escape. Take me out of this. How often do we pray? God, remove me, remove this circumstance from my life, make my life easier. And God wants us to learn to endure. Scripture teaches that endurance is essential for spiritual maturity. And so oftentimes when we pray for escape, we're actually asking God to short circuit our path of maturity. Joseph does not escape difficulty, he outlasts it. And that's what happens in our life. When affliction persists longer than expected, God invites us not to flee or shut down, but to endure faithfully. Because I think most of us understand difficulty is going to come into our life. We've lived long enough we see it. But that endurance, that willingness to trust God when things don't make sense, to not run to comfort, and to grow our character is the hard part of dealing with affliction in our life. But now we're going to see the third part of Joseph's story, where he's been redeemed to break the cycle of affliction. We pick up the story as the famine has arrived. Egypt has survived this famine because Joseph had suffered. The irony would not be lost on him. The years of famine arrived exactly as the dream had warned. Fields at once overflowed fell silent, rivers receded, grain vanished, and hunger did what armies could not. It moved people across borders, stripped pride and reordered power, and Egypt alone had food. Because Joseph, once a slave, once a prisoner, had prepared for a future no one else believed was coming. From across the region, men began coming in desperation in their eyes, carrying coin and livestock and offering anything they had left to buy grain. And then one day, familiar faces appeared. They bowed low before him, instinctively, because they saw a man of authority. These were men worn by famine, older now, slower, humbled. Joseph knew them immediately. They were his brothers. The dreams returned in full clarity, not as ambition, but as completion. The images from his youth, sharpened by years of pain, unfolded before him without announcement or thunder. His brothers stood in need. They did not recognize him. How could they? The brothers that had sold him into chains, disman stood dressed as an Egyptian power in front of him. The irony was complete. The very suffering meant to erase Joseph had positioned him in a place to hold his life in their hands. Reuben spoke. Stepped forward, not to defend himself, but to confess. He reminded them of the day by the pit. And he warned them, his brothers, how they had ignored him, how he had tried too late to make it right, and they were now being punished for what they did that day. Years of forced silence had prepared Joseph for this moment. He had learned to interpret dreams, but here he had to interpret hearts. He listened and weighed and waited. The amazing part of this story is that God's victory had moved through affliction. Not around it. Evil intentions had been real, and yet they had authored the story. The very harm meant to destroy Joseph had positioned him to preserve life. Joseph, though, held his silence alone for a moment longer. Because sometimes hope does not arrive all at once. Sometimes it waits. Allowing repentance to fully surface, humility to take roots, and hearts to be ready. And his brothers, not knowing it was Joseph, waited to see what would happen. What I love about this part of the story is that we see that affliction also doesn't just shape us, it teaches us to live differently once we've been through it. And what you see here is that affliction can teach us to see the pain, to see pain from a new perspective. Joseph saw his brothers in pain and did not want revenge, even though he had every right to give it. He saw pain as a tool. When affliction enters our life, God invites us to learn a new way of seeing things. But affliction can also teach us to show compassion to those suffering. How many times could somebody have showed Joseph compassion and didn't and prolonged his affliction? There were times that somebody did show him compassion and eased his affliction. Joseph was taught that showing compassion to those in suffering is a way to end the cycle of affliction in life. When affliction has marked our life, God invites us to allow that experience to enlarge our hearts. And it gets to the final thing that it teaches us, and the most important. Affliction can teach us to steward God's restoration into this world. In this moment right here, Joseph had a chance to continue the cycle of affliction. Those that had brought him the most pain in his life stood kneeling before him, and he had the authority to have them killed. But yet he chose to stop the cycle. He chose peace, as we're going to see instead. He transformed this and he lived out John 16, 33. He says, In this world you will have affliction, but take heart, I have victory over the world. The victory isn't that the world will be defeated, it is that the hope of God will prevail. It's not that we will get revenge and retribution, it's that we will live in a new way. And this is what we see in the story of Joseph playing out as he brings grace even to those who brought affliction. Joseph could not endure any longer. The room felt too small for the weight that stood before him. Years of silence were pressing against a moment that demanded truth. His brothers stood uneasy, confused by this powerful Egyptian who had threatened and yet sustained them. They did not recognize this man as they watched them with as he watched him with wet eyes and a clinched jaw. And then Joseph spoke, not as a ruler, not as Egyptian, as a brother. He said, I am Joseph. These words hung in the air, heavier than any sentence spoken before. Silence crashed down like a wall, faces trained of color, knees trembled, breath caught in their chest. Every memory rushed back to pit, the robe, the silver, the year spent bearing a lie daily in their life. The brother they betrayed was alive, and he held their future in his hands. They expected wrath, retribution would have made sense, justice finally delivered, power returning pain, exactly it had been given. But Joseph stepped closer, and his voice broke, as he said, Do not be distressed. Do not be angry with yourselves for selling me here. These words should not have been possible. Every reason existed for him to hate them. You intended evil against me, he said, but God intended it for good. And suddenly the pit had meaning, the prison had purpose, the years that felt wasted were woven into something larger than any single life. Joseph did not deny the affliction, he did not pretend it didn't hurt, but he refused to let evil have the final say. Victory that moves through suffering comes out the other side transformed. The victory over the world was not the famine and the grain, it was what God did in Joseph's life to save a people, to stop a cycle of affliction. Victory had come, not because pain was avoided, but because God had overcome the world in the very place pain had tried to rule. Which brings us to the question of today. After witnessing Joseph forgive his brothers caused him such pain, we're left with this question. Am I defining my affliction by its pain or by the promise of what God may be forming within me? Whatever affliction you have in your life, maybe it's a betrayal, maybe it's an abandonment, maybe it's a time in your life where you feel it's you against the world. Are you judging your pain, defining your pain, your affliction by the pain it's causing, or by the promise of what God is forming within you? If you've known pain, which I think we all in here have, sometimes it can feel wasted, irreversible, or a past you wish you could undo. But Joseph life points to a Savior who specializes in the redemption of pain and affliction. The same God who worked through betrayal, pits and prisons and famine is at work in Jesus today, taking sin, shame, and death itself and turning them into forgiveness, new life, and hope. And so today the invitation is this trust the God who overcomes the world. Surrender your story, both the good and the painful, to Christ, and discover that even your affliction can become the place where grace, healing, and new life begin. Will you pray with me? Ask you just to take a moment. Maybe this idea of affliction is uh you don't have to think hard about what's afflicting your life right now. The pain that's in your life, it is right at the surface. Or maybe there's a pain that's been with you a long time. You've never seen it more than anything but plain, pain, and affection. You've never given it to God's promise. Before we pray, I just want you to take a moment to take that affliction, whatever it is, whatever is most present or what's been most persistent in your life. I'm going to challenge you to bring that before God as we pray. God, we thank you for meeting us here today. As we hold this affliction, we come before you not as what we're pretending to be, but who we truly are, pain and all. Thank you for the hope that you offer through your Son, a hope that does not deny our pain, but enters into it and transforms it. We bring you our stories, our wounds, our regrets, our questions, trusting that nothing we carry is too heavy for you to hold. Lord, for those of us in here who feel burdened by affliction today, remind us that we are not forgotten. For those who feel weary from carrying pain for so long, remind us that your grace is sufficient. And for those who are longing for restoration, help us believe that you are still at work, even in places that feel unfinished. God, as we come to worship you in song now, come, we come with open hands and honest hearts, not gripping this affliction anymore, but presenting it to you. We lay down our defenses, our striving, and our need to have it all figured out. And we receive again your invitation to come, to rest, to be renewed and to made whole. God, shape us by your presence and lead us deeper into the hope that you can only give. In the name of Jesus we pray. Amen.