Pain On Trial — Roger Randall
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If you had asked me early in my ministry what God used most to shape a person, I would have given you a list: Scripture, discipleship, community, obedience, mission. All true. All essential. But I would have left out the one tool God has used again and again to carve His character into my life—pain.
I didn’t understand that at first. I didn’t want to understand it. Pain felt like an intruder, an interruption, something to endure and move past as quickly as possible. But over the years—through leadership, through loss, through disappointment, through the quiet battles no one sees—God began to whisper a truth I had never considered: “Roger, pain is one of the trials of life I use to show you that you can trust Me to get you through it.”
I’ve spent more than fifty years in ministry with Cru—high school ministry, college ministry, national leadership, international leadership, and on the French Riviera. I’ve walked with students, missionaries, leaders, families, and friends through every imaginable season. And if there is one thread that runs through every story, it is this: no one escapes pain. Not the godly. Not the faithful. Not the obedient. Not even the joyful. Pain comes for all of us. And when it does, it raises a question that echoes through every heart: “God, can I trust You here?”
For a long time, I didn’t know how to answer that question. I believed God was good. I believed He was sovereign. I believed He loved me. But pain has a way of shaking even the strongest convictions. It presses into the places where our theology meets our humanity. It exposes what we really believe—not what we say we believe.
There were seasons in ministry when the weight felt unbearable. Times when leadership felt lonely. Times when decisions carried consequences I couldn’t control. Times when I felt misunderstood, stretched thin, or simply worn out. Times when I prayed for God to move and He seemed silent. Times when I wondered if I was failing. And in those moments, pain would step into the courtroom of my heart and put God on trial. “If God loved you, why would He let this happen?” “If God were faithful, wouldn’t He fix this?” “If God were near, why do you feel so alone?”
Pain can be a ruthless prosecutor. But somewhere along the way—slowly, gently, persistently—the Holy Spirit began to turn the tables. Instead of allowing pain to accuse God, He invited me to put pain on trial.
I began asking different questions: “Pain, what if you are not my enemy?” “What if God is using you?” “What if you are not proof of God’s absence but a doorway into His presence?”
And that’s when everything began to change. I started to see pain the way Scripture describes it—not as punishment, not as abandonment, but as a refining fire. A place where God meets His children with a kind of intimacy that comfort can never produce. A place where trust is not theoretical but lived. A place where God proves Himself faithful in ways we would never know otherwise.
I think of Paul’s words: “When I am weak, then I am strong.” I used to admire that verse. Now I understand it. Pain taught me. Pain taught me that God’s strength is not a concept—it is a lifeline. Pain taught me that God’s presence is not a feeling—it is a promise. Pain taught me that God’s faithfulness is not fragile—it is unshakeable. Pain taught me that trust is not built in comfort—it is forged in fire. And pain taught me something else: God never wastes it.
I’ve watched this truth unfold in the lives of countless people. A teenager crushed by rejection who discovered Jesus as the Friend who never leaves. A college student battling anxiety who learned to rest in God’s peace. A missionary family grieving loss who found God’s comfort deeper than their sorrow. Leaders overwhelmed by responsibility who discovered that God carries what they cannot. In every story, pain became a meeting place with God. And in my own story, pain became a teacher I never wanted but now thank God for.
There were moments when I felt like I had nothing left to give. Moments when I prayed, “Lord, I can’t do this.” And in those moments, God didn’t shame me. He didn’t scold me. He didn’t demand more strength from me. Instead, He whispered, “Good. Now let Me carry you.” I learned that trust is not gritting your teeth and pushing through. Trust is falling into the arms of a Father who has never once dropped His child.
As I look back over decades of ministry—over the roles, the responsibilities, the opportunities, the challenges—I don’t just see the victories. I see the valleys. I see the nights of wrestling. I see the prayers prayed through tears. I see the moments when God felt distant but was actually closer than ever. And I see how every one of those moments shaped me.
Pain softened me. Pain humbled me. Pain deepened my compassion. Pain made me more patient with others. Pain made me more dependent on Jesus. Pain made me more aware of my own need for grace. Pain made me more confident in God’s sovereignty. Pain made me more certain that God is good—even when life is not.
If you are walking through pain right now, I want to speak to you gently, as someone who has been there: God is not punishing you. God is not abandoning you. God is not ignoring you. God is not disappointed in you. He is with you. He is for you. He is carrying you. He is shaping you. He is loving you. He is teaching you to trust Him in ways you never have before.
Put pain on trial. Hold it up to the light of God’s character. Examine it through the lens of His promises. And you will find what I found: Pain is not a witness against God. Pain is a witness for Him. Pain testifies that God sustains. Pain testifies that God comforts. Pain testifies that God strengthens. Pain testifies that God heals. Pain testifies that God is enough.
Pain may be a trial, but God is the Judge. And His verdict over your life is the same one He spoke over mine: “I am with you. I will get you through this. You can trust Me.”
-Roger Randall
