As I approached late middle age, I became born again. An old man in the world became a new child in Christ. And like many new believers, I carried an assumption that turned out to be wrong. I believed that God’s blessing meant an end to suffering; that once His face shone upon me, life would smooth out, prosperity would follow, and the hardships I had endured for years would finally loosen their grip.

Life stinks used to be my motto.  There was a time (I was much younger then), when most mornings, I’d sit, tired and hungover, with a cup of black coffee and a cigarette contemplating all the evil in the world.  I relived the evil I had experienced, and that I witnessed, and I analyzed all the ways that life stunk.  The holidays made it a little better but Thanksgiving, until a few decades ago, always made me angry.  Because at Thanksgiving we are supposed to be thankful and during that time I couldn’t think of anything to be thankful for.