Fiction is meant to entertain. I understand that. But the great thing about being an author is that I get to make the world how I want it. It may take a couple hundred or thousand pages, but the bad guy is going to get his. The main character may suffer, but he or she is going to be happy eventually. It’s the magical world behind my eyes, and it is a world in which pain has a purpose.
But pain does have a purpose. Whether we like it or not, the pain in this world leads to great acts of love. Where is God when a child is abused? In the heart of the police officer or social worker or neighbor that brings the child to safety. Or if there is no immediate rescue, God may be in the heart of that child, once grown, who works to help keep other kids from a similar fate. I’m blessed to live in the South where people often hold benefits to help bury the poor or build a house for an elderly person or pay medical bills for a cancer patient. How many charities exist because of tragic situations? I don’t even know.
I always wondered why Paul was crazy enough to say to count all things joy, even trials. But now that I’ve lived to see what tragedy brings, I understand. Pain brings out the best in some people, and without it those gifts would go untapped. So I can’t thank God immediately for a broken heart. But I do know that if I wait around a while, I might see something great come out of it.