Between Papercuts & Promises

Life rarely announces itself with fireworks. Most days arrive quietly, carrying a mix of minor irritations and unexpected mercies—annoyances that nick the soul and blessings that steady it. We all live somewhere in between.

Between paper cuts and promises.

That phrase came to me on a morning I was preparing to speak at a funeral.

I was rushing—shower running, notes half-organized, heart already carrying the heaviness of the room I was about to step into. A family was grieving deeply. A husband. A father. A dad. Precious people trusting God in the early, raw hours of loss.

And in the middle of all that—nothing dramatic—I cut my finger on a piece of paper.

A paper cut.

Not a crisis. Not a catastrophe. Just enough sting to draw blood and demand attention. And standing there, holding my finger, getting ready to stand with people whose lives had been ripped open by grief, the thought landed quietly but firmly:

This is where real life is lived.

Not in the extremes alone—but between papercuts and promises. Between small frustrations and sacred moments. Between what hurts just enough to annoy us and what heals enough to hold us. 

The obstacles in life are normal and should be expected—appreciated rather than resented:

Resentment hardens the heart; appreciation shapes it into something useful.

We tend to assume hardship is an interruption—something foreign, unfair, or out of place. But Scripture tells a different story. Difficulty isn’t the exception to life; it’s the terrain—the topography. Growth doesn’t happen in spite of resistance, but through it.

James comes right out of the gate with a line that feels almost offensive, and definitely confusing, until you live long enough to understand it:

"Consider it pure joy… whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance."
— James 1:2–3

Notice what James doesn't say. He doesn't say if you face trials. He says whenever.

Paper cuts are part of the package. Not life-ending wounds—just enough sting to test your patience, refine your reactions, and reveal what's really forming inside you. And James dares us to see those moments not as curses, but as catalysts.

The wisdom writings from Ecclesiastes offer a sober reminder that life is not a lopsided deal:

"When times are good, be happy; but when times are bad, consider this: God has made the one as well as the other."
— Ecclesiastes 7:14

That verse dismantles the illusion that blessing is God's presence and irritation is His absence. The good days and the hard days share the same Author. The same hand that offers the promise allows the paper cut.

Which means the question is never, "Why is this happening to me?"
The better question is “What is this forming in me?”

Then Paul steps in—not to dismiss present pain, but to reframe it:

"I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us."
— Romans 8:18

Paul doesn't minimize the irritation— He maximizes the revelation. 

Notice the shift. Revelation, not relief, becomes the goal. What God is unveiling in you matters more than what He's removing around you.

The promise isn't merely future glory; it's present formation.

This is where resentment and appreciation part ways.
Resentment keeps score.
Appreciation keeps perspective.
Resentment asks, “Why do I have to deal with this?”
Appreciation asks, “What is this teaching me?”
Resentment stiffens the soul, making it brittle and defensive.
Appreciation softens it—molding it into something durable, something useful, something that can hold weight without breaking.

Life, as it turns out, is not lived in extremes. It's lived in the middle. Between inconvenience and invitation. Between irritation and insight. Between grief and grace.  And the people who grow the most aren't the ones who avoid obstacles—they're the ones who learn how to receive them without letting them poison the heart.

So don't wait for a life without paper cuts. That day isn't coming.
Instead, learn to recognize the promises that are quietly unfolding alongside them.

This is where faith learns to breathe. This is where life actually happens- between papercuts and promises.