This is a guest post by Martha Bailey.

“And the handsome prince came along and swept her off her feet. They rode away into the sunset and lived happily ever after.” That’s the way a fairytale ends, but life is not a fairytale. Instead it is sometimes filled with pain and sorrow. What a blessing it is for those who believe in the Lord Jesus Christ to know there will come a day when we will live happily ever after. Speaking to John about heaven in the Book of Revelation, Jesus said that “He will wipe every tear from their [our] eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away” (Revelation 21:4).

Life often disappoints us leaving us in the throes of the “what ifs.” For many of us even the beginning of our lives was tarnished by circumstances beyond our control. We were born into adversity and forced to function in an environment that was far less than ideal.

The only memories I have of my father are associated with Bryce Hospital, a state psychiatric institution in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, where he was hospitalized when I was nine months old and remained until his death when I was nineteen. Those years are indelibly etched in my mind.

Since we did not own an automobile, we mainly communicated with Daddy through mail. For some unknown reason he chose to write only to me. I used to dread getting his letters. Each one rattled my world because he always said he would be coming home soon. Every letter left me fearful and anxious about what life would be like with him home and unstable. Every letter made security—what I wanted so desperately–seem beyond reach.

Visits with Daddy were few and far-between. We only got to see him once a year when my uncle would take my mother and me to the hospital. Not understanding the gravity of the situation I looked forward to seeing my father, but as I grew older the reality became excruciating to say the least. Anticipating the visitation was bad enough, but the hardest part was taking him back to the hospital, watching a big guy with a fist full of keys open the heavily secured door, and hearing it slam behind Daddy reminding me that our situation was not a bad dream but harsh reality.

All our visits were a surprise to Daddy. He was always so glad to see us, especially me, “the baby,” who was only an infant when he left home. Because his state of mind was always questionable and because we did not have money to go out to eat, we took him to a state park and had a picnic lunch—the only occasion when he was able to leave the premises of the hospital. During those times Daddy would fade in and out of reality making all the family very tense. By the end of the visit we were all stressed to the max, having tried so hard not to do or say anything that would set him off.

Although most of the memories associated with my father are very painful—ones I’ve tried to shove deep into my subconscious—there are three I will always treasure. One of those occurred when I was a teenager. During lunch at the park, Daddy said he had a gift for me. I could tell he was so proud as he pulled a little bent-up smokeless tobacco can from his pocket. Since as a young child I had learned to roll with the punches with Daddy, I was prepared to deal with whatever might be in the can. Taking the top off, he pulled out a strand of dirty, broken pearls he had obviously found on the hospital grounds. As if they were worth thousands of dollars Daddy handed them to me while searching my face to see my reaction. To be perfectly honest, I don’t remember what my response was. I hope and pray I expressed the gratitude, respect, and affirmation Daddy deserved.

As the years have gone by, those pearls have become priceless to me. For one thing they have Daddy’s DNA on them. I will never know exactly what he was thinking when he gave them to me, but I will always treasure the contents of that little can knowing he thought of me, his little girl, when he found them. In some small way they have helped to fill the deep caverns in my heart, ones I have always lived with because I didn’t have a father at home. Even after this many years the pain is still there. But one day I hope to see Daddy in heaven. It will be different then because he will be like the man Luke described in 8:35b—“sitting at Jesus’ feet, dressed and in his right mind.”

Life is full of hard knocks. Some of them smack us in the face the day we are born. Others come later. They have a cruel way of saying we will never be okay. However, God sees them differently, because nothing can ever touch our lives without His permission. Convinced of this truth Paul said, “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28). Though incomprehensible to me, somehow the Lord in His sweet compassionate way of showing His love takes something as unlikely as a dirty, broken, strand of pearls and enables us to say, “It hurts, but I’m okay.”

“Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword?…No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:35, 37–39).

Adapted from It Hurts But I’m Okay, By Martha Bailey (Insight Press, 2012).

Martha writes a weekly blog. You can read it at www.marthabailey.wordpress.com.