Purpose in the Pain

On a recent hike, I came upon an open space where the ground was a soft bed of pine needles dotted with acorns. “Fairy tea cups!” I exclaimed to my eight-year-old, who excitedly crouched down and started filling her pockets.

Woodland fairies may take their tea from acorn cups but I wouldn’t recommend eating acorns unless they’ve undergone a thorough leeching process. These little nuts are packed with tannic acid. If you don’t remove the tannins first, acorns will give you a nasty bellyache.

While tannins might give humans serious indigestion, they serve a marvelous purpose for the little acorn. Tannic acid is antimicrobial and antibacterial; it wards off disease that could prematurely kill the seed. Tannins protect the acorn until it’s mature and ready to reproduce.

If you were to chomp down on an acorn, you’d taste only bitterness; but this bitterness holds purpose for the life of the plant. That acid protects and preserves. And the foul taste? Well, let’s just say you need to have a palate for it. What you or I call inedible, squirrels and blue jays consider a dietary staple. Apparently the bitterness all depends on perspective.

What divine truth God has squirreled away in these little nuts! In God’s economy, bitterness is never without purpose. Even the most painful loss, even the most sorrowful grief. There’s nothing vestigial, nothing useless. Through every moment and every situation—even the distasteful ones—God is drawing us to himself in love.

After the loss of your loved one, you don’t need to try to “find a silver lining in your sadness.” You may never understand your grief, this side of glory. Nevertheless, as sorrow does its work in your life, you can trust that there is more than you can see. You can become content in grief, resting in mystery. God is doing something, even when you don’t know what it is. If you feel unsure, just take a woodland walk and look beneath your feet to remember. In God’s good and gracious hands, even bitterness holds purpose.