One of the questions I’m asked more than almost any other is,
“Why do bad things happen?”
I’ve been asked that question by children.
I’ve been asked that question in church hallways.
I’ve been asked that question during grief sessions.
And if I’m being completely honest...
I’ve asked it myself.
Especially after losing my son.
I don’t pretend to have every answer. If I told you I understood exactly why suffering exists, I wouldn’t be telling you the truth.
What I can tell you is what I’ve learned by walking through my own heartbreak and sitting with thousands of people who are walking through theirs.
Over the years, I’ve noticed something.
Whether someone is grieving the death of a loved one or the end of a relationship, our minds tend to circle the same questions.
Did I do enough?
Did I say enough?
What if I had called one more time?
What if I had stayed?
What if I had left sooner?
What if I had fought harder?
And after a breakup?
Oh my goodness...
Suddenly we want to know everything.
Who are they dating?
Who are their friends?
Where are they going?
What restaurant are they eating at?
Who did they hold hands with in third grade?
And what’s that person’s blood type?
(Okay... maybe not blood type... but you know what I mean.)
It’s almost funny... until you realize what’s really happening.
After years of listening to people’s stories, I’ve begun to wonder if our minds aren’t really searching for information as much as they’re searching for another ending.
As if one more answer...
One more conversation...
One more piece of information...
Could somehow change what has already happened.
As if we could go back in time and take a different path.
Correct something.
Undo something.
Fix something.
But life doesn’t work that way.
Peace, I’ve discovered, doesn’t begin when we finally get every answer.
Peace begins when we slowly accept reality.
Reality isn’t giving up.
Reality is quietly saying,
This happened.
I don’t like it.
I wouldn’t have chosen it.
But this is where my feet are today.
When someone chooses to leave a relationship, we can’t control their choices.
When someone dies...
we can’t bring them back.
That is the hardest reality any of us will ever face.
And strangely enough...
That’s where faith begins.
Not because faith changes what happened.
It doesn’t.
Faith doesn’t erase reality.
Faith gives us the courage to live inside reality without losing hope.
I believe we live in a world where hearts break, bodies fail, accidents happen, and people make choices that affect other people.
I don’t believe God delights in our suffering.
I believe God meets us there.
God sits with us there.
God carries us there.
I can’t explain every tragedy.
But I can tell you this...
I have felt God’s presence in each of the darkest moments of my life.
Including after losing Cameron.
Do I still miss him?
Every single day.
Would I change what happened if I could?
In a heartbeat.
But I also believe with everything in me that death is not the end of his story.
Or mine.
Sometimes people ask me how I keep going.
The answer is actually pretty simple.
I live in today’s reality...
while holding on to tomorrow’s hope.
And maybe that’s what faith really is.
Not pretending life didn’t happen.
Not pretending grief doesn’t hurt.
Not pretending heartbreak doesn’t change us.
But believing that one day...
Every tear will make sense.
Every goodbye will become hello again.
And we’ll realize that what felt like forever...
Was only a minute.
“Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.” — Psalm 30:5
