Even If . . .

I believe God is good . . .

all the time,

and in the “even if” moments of life.

I tremble at times

– knowing what His goodness has allowed, without my approval or understanding.

With my words, written or spoken, I proclaim

– “He is faithful. He is kind. He is just.”

Even as my chest tightens when I trace the outline of my own life’s story.

Somewhere in the in-between of what I know deep in my soul, and what I have lived in reality

– there is a tension that pulls so strongly I am greatly afraid I will be pulled in two.

I have seen too much, heard too much, felt too much

– to call this life easy.

I have buried too many when I thought death was far away.

I have watched prayers fall to the ground like shattered glass upon the floor

– cutting my knees and my feet, as well as my soul, into pieces.

Still, I whisper – when I just cannot shout – God is good.

Even if.

Even if I am wounded.

Even if the healing never comes.

Even if dreams slip through my fingers like sand.

Even if needs reverberate in my soul.

God is good.

I do not doubt or question God’s character.

I absolutely do struggle to reconcile His permission.

I don’t wonder Who He is.

I do want to know why He has allowed this or that.

I wonder why He has stood still when everything in me, and around me, has broken.

Why has He remained silent when just one word would have stopped it all.

Why His hands, that formed galaxies beyond my understanding, did not reach down and interrupt the unraveling of my life.

Deep inside my heart and soul, there is a wrestling match of words and emotions.

Since You are good – why did this happen?

That doesn’t take away from my faith.

But it does reveal my faith.

Real Faith does not exist in the absence of pain

– it is forged in the presence of the questions with no answers.

Real Faith sits in the ashes and still turns its face toward Heaven

– even when Heaven is still and quiet.

Real Faith weeps at the feet of Jesus with the words,

“I know You could have stopped this, You could have changed the outcome – and I do not understand why You didn’t.”

Without walking away.

God is not threatened by my grief.

He is not offended by my confusion.

He does not recoil at my questions.

God steps into them, into my heart and soul.

This God that I call “good”

– is the same God Who entered suffering Himself.

He did not explain pain from a distance far away

He wore pain in His Own body.

He knows what it is to cry out, to feel the weight of what was allowed, to know no intervention.

He carried a story that looked like loss before it ever looked like redemption.

So when I cry out

– “I believe You are good, but I cannot be ok with what You allowed . . . I don’t know how.”

He does not silence me.

He only draws nearer.

I believe somewhere in the sacred space between my belief and my breaking

– He is doing something I cannot see yet.

He is not wasting one tear.

He is not overlooking nor ignoring.

Somehow, some way, somewhere

– He is weaving, thread by thread.

The tears I did not choose.

The nights I could not escape.

The pain I feel is unnecessary and cruel.

He is creating something that will one day make my trembling voice and soul steady and strong again.

And one day, maybe not today, maybe not even soon –

But one day, my voice will rise again

– not as a question, but as a knowing:

God is good.

Even there.

Even here.

Even now.

Even if.

I am allowed to grieve what has happened, while still clinging with Hope to Who He is.

I can say, “I trust You . . . but this hurts!”

That is not the absence of Faith.

That is Faith

– with tears in its eyes.

And here I am

– just as I am.

Trusting God . . . Even If.