I don’t doubt that God is in control anymore. That’s no longer a struggle for me to believe. I can even believe that he is good in all situations. But when I am confronted with things that are seemingly unjust, I become frustrated with him. I don’t think that God is doing a bad job; I just wish he could teach me things in another, less painful way. My gut reaction these days is to ask for mercy.

The more God peels away the layers of my life, the more I feel the sharp sting in my eyes—like the clout of a freshly opened onion. As the layers are peeled, the vulnerable, fresh inner layers are ripe with fragrance and make my eyes water. They are irritating and almost blinding as you try to work. Each time I cook, I am re-surprised by just how pungent onions can be.

Our unspiritual flesh is equally pungent. After I’ve gone through a trial and come out with new perspective and a humbled heart, I’m more apt to presume that I’ll be ready for whatever is next. But the next thing always seems to be stronger and more difficult. With each layer that is peeled away, my flesh hurts more. You can keep peeling an onion until it’s whittled down to the very core, and that is what God does with our worldly desires if we pursue him. He keeps peeling away the layers until there is nothing left, replacing them with shiny, new fruit. I say that I want to be like Jesus, and yet that requires giving over my whole body—all of my fleshy layers. No exceptions.

Psalm 145:17-19
James 1:2-4,12