“Is Romans 8:28 Still in the Bible?”

Very true. This is why we have to rely on God’s Word so much. Our feelings and thoughts change and can send us drifting off in any which way, but God’s Word stands true.

I have been holding to this promise as well as many other similar ones. Our 24 year old son recently moved back in with us to get his life back on track. It has been a difficult battle. He is facing some things in his life that are making our lives stressed. I keep before me that God is in control and all of this has a mighty purpose that we cannot yet see.
I am new to your site and I enjoyed it. Thank you.

There is a wonderful leadership lesson here: grace inspires loyalty.

Of course, some may take advantage of that. Others may not reward grace with loyalty.

The times it’s been shown to me by my managers or clients, when I least deserved it, are stamped in my memory. They remind me that that person deserves some respect and loyalty.

I felt affirmed by your post and, in turn, wish to share my own devotional for the same passage (perhaps too long for this forum):

Motoring along a straightaway and suddenly the steering shudders and the car shimmies. Slowing to a stop, eyes sweep side-to-side and skyward, searching for a reason. The road is clear. The sky is clear. Walking the perimeter, I find chewed remains… ah, a blow-out. Unrecognizable now — how was that shred of rubber ever a tire?

Question ferments into doubt. The other tires look okay. Are they?

Loosening lug nuts, hoisting the spare to the ground, and fixing the jack in its niche push doubt aside until…. Until I am in shirt tails, sweat-soaked with thick smudged blackness. Why aren’t tires concrete and roads made of rubber?

With the spare securely bolted, focus returns to break this road-side camp. Tossing the iron and jack and the old lump of tire in the back, I carefully wipe the grease from my hands. Patting empty pockets, I turn to sifting through a mess of tools. No keys. I search the ground and, again, walk the perimeter. Nothing. I look under the car and on top. More laps around the car and I find the keys, of course, in the ignition.

I sink into the driver’s seat and turn the ignition. Nothing. I am all coolness now. I try again.
Hours later, the mechanic tallies the bill and I assess the damage. I have a new tire, a new battery, and no good explanation. The battery? “Just it’s time to go.” And “oh,” the mechanic says, “the other three tires are good.”

I doubt that.

Catastrophes, small and large, will do that — undermine your trust in the way you’ve always done things, in the way the world turns, in other people, in yourself…, or in God.

Suffer a betrayal or other wrenching loss, and it’s hard not to see the world or yourself differently.

Helen is surely an angel. I met her while in the depths of heavy grief; she listened and was a friend. That’s it; she offered no elaborate explanations or advice or counsel. Nothing fancy — she was a friend. Not a fixer, not parental — just a friend. She did not try to make everything “make sense.” I cannot recall most of our words to one another. I just remember, gratefully, her presence.

Helen ministers to others by attending their grief, but really, in the end, she’s nurturing a new beginning. She may have a knack or a special talent but really it’s her faith. She lives this gospel everyday: in helping others, listen — but then make way for the Holy Spirit.
Often the grief-stricken are seen as pitiable or downright incapable; that is to say, the mess in their lives is somehow confused with their competence, ability, or integrity. But my friend sees clearly: care-givers do not heal; they witness healing, first-hand. She trusts the wounded more than they trust themselves. In the swirl of hurt and chaos, she spies the light in sufferers and watches it grow.

Apostle Paul reassures us that when calamity strikes, we are not being punished. Our relationship with God is continuous and secure. Because of Christ, we do not fall in and out of grace.

But, really — what about when the wheels come off? What’s changed when relationships end abruptly, health dissolves, or finances crumble? Plenty. And nothing. Problems, challenges, pain, and loss are not mile markers on the road to perdition; we travel the road to holiness and purity. Hard to believe? Not for Paul. We have the indwelling Holy Spirit. And Paul should know: struck down on the road, he built the Church.

God never promises a problem-free life. He doesn’t prevent struggles; he works with them. In all things, God works for good. At the intersection of evil and holy, God reigns