Look at what our Lord teaches us here: there is a limit to sickness. There is a boundary line beyond which it cannot cross. Yes, Lazarus would pass through death, but death was not the final word on his sickness. In every illness, the Lord speaks to the waves of pain: "This far you may come, but no further!" His purpose is not to destroy his people, but to instruct them. Divine wisdom holds the thermometer at the furnace door and controls the heat.

First, this limit is encouragingly comprehensive. The God of providence has set boundaries on everything about your sickness—how long it lasts, how it comes, how intense it gets, how often it returns, what effects it leaves behind. Every throb of pain is decreed. Every sleepless hour is predestinated. Every setback is ordained. Every dark moment of despair is foreknown. And every sanctifying result was purposed from eternity. Nothing escapes the ordaining hand of the One who numbers the hairs on your head—nothing great, nothing small. Nothing!

Second, this limit is wisely adjusted. It is measured to your strength, to God's purpose, and to the grace he provides. Affliction does not come by chance—the weight of every stroke of the rod is precisely calculated. Think of it! The God who made no mistakes when he balanced the clouds and measured out the heavens—do you think he makes errors when measuring out the medicine for your soul? You cannot suffer too much. Relief cannot come too late.

Third, this limit is tenderly appointed. The knife of the heavenly Surgeon never cuts one fraction deeper than absolutely necessary. "He does not willingly afflict or grieve the children of men." A mother's heart cries out, "Spare my child!" But no mother's compassion can match our gracious God's. And when we consider how stubborn and hard-mouthed we are, it's a wonder he doesn't drive us with a sharper bit.

Here is the consolation that should flood your soul: The God who set the boundaries of where you live has also set the boundaries of what you suffer.