gospel

Who is God? — Day 9: One Year Later

June 30, 2025

Our second church service since Mom left us filled me with encouragement once more. A healthy amount of tears dripped from my sore eyes onto my pallid cheeks as we sang of God’s good plans, his faithfulness, and his constance. All of which I believe, and I mean really believe.

However, I mentioned the dissonance between faith and desperate circumstances during Mom’s Celebration of Life, and I want to share more of what exactly that looks like. Suffering forces people to confront their inmost beliefs, and that is completely healthy and can become beautiful. My Mom loved Jesus with her entire being: the cacophony of confusion left in her wake prompts intense introspection and deconstruction.

Our Father in heaven,

your name be honored as holy.

Your kingdom come,

Your will be done

on earth as it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread.

And forgive us our debts,

as we also have forgiven our debtors.

And do not bring us into temptation,

but deliver us from the evil one.

Matthew 6:9-13, CSB

Now, please understand, I’m not looking for answers and I do not plan to provide any at this time, but I do want to share the questions clamoring in my mind. Thoughts that, perhaps, cloud your mind as well. Maybe sharing my thoughts will help those echoing the same to feel less alone and less afraid, because two thoughts can be true at the same time: one can trust God and be utterly confused and skeptical at the same time. Thus, my questions:

• Good fathers are supposed to protect their family. Why don’t you [God] protect mine?

• If Jesus is the abundant life, how could my mom die? She loved him.

• If he [God] knew what Mom needed, why weren’t her needs met?

I’ve said this so many times — I believe that God can do all things, but I fear what he will allow to happen. This is precisely why: I have now experienced twice how despair and hopelessness kill those whom I love, and those who legitimately love Jesus.

Today, I was incredibly overwhelmed by the generosity and the care from mine and Scott’s small group. They ensured our current needs were met and provided provisions for our future needs. My family has experienced such incredible and support from people being the hands and feet of Jesus, and, because of them, right now my faith remains strong. I wrestle through these complex questions, but it is abundantly clear that we have our daily bread, that God is providing and caring for us, and that we will get through this. I cannot thank our community enough for all they have done. You have eclipsed this horribly dark and tragic time with light and love and I am amazed and humbled at all of this. Thank you.

Tips for Communicating with Someone in Mourning

Acknowledging the situation is better than avoiding the topic altogether. It may be awkward to speak up, but a simple “I see you,” goes a long way 💙

June 30, 2026

God is faithful. His faithful love endures forever.

I’ve grown through the year — not that suffering is meant for one to grow, but that God can bring the blessing of growth and new perspective despite suffering. I reject the notion that anyone “needs” suffering to glean a cosmic understanding, but I acknowledge that committing to healing and renewed life can provide a beautiful glimpse into ethereal understanding.

It is better when people dwell in unity, and I miss the moments when I perceived my mother’s church as a safe place to attend. Maybe that safety was real, maybe it was an illusion. Maybe catastrophic loss changed things for the worse or perhaps it revealed a truth that was always there.

This particular Sunday was one of the most influential in my memory because of the sweet group of friends that continued to meet my family exactly where we were at. Their profound generosity and kindness shines brightly in my otherwise darkened memory: they provided for us for months. They gave sweet notes and gift cards that lasted until I returned back to work. The profound sadness and stress of losing my Momma was/is horrific to bear, but they eased that burden by ensuring that I did not need to worry about returning to work. I did not need to worry about what we would eat or how we would make it — they met those needs in the most incredible ways.

I think some supporters can feel an element of guilt because they are not sure how to support, nor do they feel that their support is enough, but support as detailed above enables more healing than supporters can imagine. People who acknowledge the loss, empathize with a griever’s perspective, and provide physical support for things we grievers can barely think about are earnest. There is nothing to be guilty about here, in fact, it’s something a griever cannot “repay.”

To a supporter, it may seem trivial that they had one honest and empathetic conversation or provided money towards a gift card or a meal while expecting nothing in return, but to a survivor this is the bread of life. This is the kindness that kept us from sinking, this is the provision that kept us eating, this is the support that allowed our mind to focus on healing from the loss instead of focusing on how we are going to afford to survive.

Kindness, compassion, and love change the world.

Kindness, compassion, and love nurture healing.

Above all, God is love.

* * * *

A deluge of questions barraged my mind back then. What was a flood dwindled to a trickle of ever-present drops of questions, much less intense but nevertheless constant. Healing harvests new worldviews, and these are my new perspectives on those old questions:

• Good fathers are supposed to protect their family. Why don’t you [God] protect mine? God is love. Love protects, but love cannot control all outcomes. My perspective on the idea that God “allows” certain outcomes was most challenged by Thomas Jay Oord’s book God Can’t, as I have previously mentioned. I believe that God gave people free will, and that people harm one another. In this specific case, it was my Momma who harmed our family [not God]. Individuals are accountable for their actions because of their free will. God is love, and love protects. If God could protect from this harm, He would.

• If Jesus is the abundant life, how could my mom die? She loved him. How much we love God and/or others does not cure, manage, or heal mental illness. People who love Jesus can be suicidal. People who love Jesus can be delusional. One’s love for God and other people is simply not enough to keep him or her alive. There is no relationship between theological beliefs and mental illness — belief or love of Jesus does not fix mental illness at all. In fact, people can put their entire hope and joy in heaven and begin to loathe this beautiful life they were given. I call this idea Christian Escapism: the belief that one’s life is altogether terrible and it would be better to unite with Christ in one’s idealized imagined heaven. Life is always a gift, life is always a blessing. We were not given the gift of life simply to die.

• If he [God] knew what Mom needed, why weren’t her needs met? Mom’s needs could have been met. She was an educated white woman in America, with more friends and connections that most people have in their lifetime. She had the resources available. She had the support available. She was capable of having her needs, whatever they were, met. Mental illness creates delusions — delusions that choices are limited, that life is altogether horrible, that our pain will always be all-consuming. It isn’t God’s fault that my Mother did not pursue life and healing, and I believe that it is as tragic to God as it is to us.

I do not fear what God allows anymore. I fear what man is capable of, and what man will choose to do with his or her freedom. I fear what people will do with their brokenness and hurt. I fear what people will do with their anger and frustration. Emotions offer so much insight into who we are as individuals: they reveal what is important to us and help us experience the fullness of life in its brevity and elation. They are a gift, but a gift that requires nurturing and tending. I fear what people will do when they do not tend to their emotions and when they do not pursue healing.

Day 9

Our second church service since Mom left us filled me with encouragement once more. A healthy amount of tears dripped from my sore eyes onto my pallid cheeks as we sang of God’s good plans, his faithfulness, and his constance. All of which I believe, and I mean really believe.

However, I mentioned the dissonance between faith and desperate circumstances during Mom’s Celebration of Life, and I want to share more of what exactly that looks like. Suffering forces people to confront their inmost beliefs, and that is completely healthy and can become beautiful. My Mom loved Jesus with her entire being: the cacophony of confusion left in her wake prompts intense introspection and deconstruction.

Our Father in heaven,

your name be honored as holy.

Your kingdom come,

Your will be done

on earth as it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread.

And forgive us our debts,

as we also have forgiven our debtors.

And do not bring us into temptation,

but deliver us from the evil one.

Matthew 6:9-13, CSB

Now, please understand, I’m not looking for answers and I do not plan to provide any at this time, but I do want to share the questions clamoring in my mind. Thoughts that, perhaps, cloud your mind as well. Maybe sharing my thoughts will help those echoing the same to feel less alone and less afraid, because two thoughts can be true at the same time: one can trust God and be utterly confused and skeptical at the same time. Thus, my questions:

• Good fathers are supposed to protect their family. Why don’t you [God] protect mine?

• If Jesus is the abundant life, how could my mom die? She loved him.

• If he [God] knew what Mom needed, why weren’t her needs met?

I’ve said this so many times — I believe that God can do all things, but I fear what he will allow to happen. This is precisely why: I have not experienced twice how despair and hopelessness kill those whom I love, and those who legitimately love Jesus.

Today, I was incredibly overwhelmed by the generosity and the care from mine and Scott’s small group. They ensured our current needs were met and provided provisions for our future needs. My family has experienced such incredible and support from people being the hands and feet of Jesus, and, because of them, right now my faith remains strong. I wrestle through these complex questions, but it is abundantly clear that we have our daily bread, that God is providing and caring for us, and that we will get through this. I cannot thank our community enough for all they have done. You have eclipsed this horribly dark and tragic time with light and love and I am amazed and humbled at all of this. Thank you.

Tips for Communicating with Someone in Mourning

Acknowledging the situation is better than avoiding the topic altogether. It may be awkward to speak up, but a simple “I see you,” goes a long way 💙

Behind the Canvas

Behind the canvased sky,

I see a river flowing free.

The rugged tapestry once concealed all that’s real,

But Time tore the Romantic landscape

And began to reveal the mysteries hidden behind.

Through holes, I glimpse the world that inspired its painter.

— — —

A few months ago, I scoffed as I read “I was twenty-seven when I learned that my days were numbered… I had been given the opportunity not many twenty-seven-year-olds could claim: the opportunity to count each of my days as precious.”  Anger and jealousy panged my heart: anger, because  I never wanted this “opportunity”, and  jealousy because I was younger when I was granted this “opportunity.”  I’m incredibly stubborn sometimes, and, in that moment, I did not want to think about the loss of my brother as an “opportunity.”  In that moment, I just wanted my brother back.  Jen Wilkin, author of None Like Him, continues, writing: “Any illusions I might have had that this life would last forever were effectively removed.  I learned a perspective that many don’t grasp until the aging process begins its faithful instruction in universal human frailty.” [1]

I mulled over those statements for weeks before I could finally adopt the author’s same sense of calm appreciation for having to face harsh realities at a young age.  Reflecting on the new perspective growing within me, I described it to a dear friend who lost his brother years before I lost mine:

Growing up, it’s like you’ve been painting a picture for your entire life.  Each joy or heartache you experience as a child adds light and darkness to your canvas, and, through the canvas, you see the world.  It’s beautiful but imperfect—it is not without its own sadness and glory.  The painting’s our framework—we create it and we focus so intensely that we forget it’s a mere painting.  Then, one day, Death happens, and he severs our paintings.  Our canvases cracks, our mind quivers and retreats in confusion.  It’s torn us, and it’s painful to be torn.  When we get past the hurt we feel at the breaking, we finally see it—there appears to be a light from behind the gashes.  Peaking in, there it is—the real world.  Our minds only painted them with what we thought we knew, but now, after the tear, we see it.  It’s beautiful and it’s sunny.  Of course, there are dark shadows and tumultuous areas, just like the ones in our paintings, but there exists a clarity and a depth that our paintings could never capture.  We finally see what’s real, and our pieces seem suddenly insignificant; our painting cannot be mended—the damage cannot be undone—but we see the Truth beyond our created canvases.  

My friend listened and calmly smiled at me, “It’s not just death, but I think that’s just a part of growing up,” reminding me of the universality of the human condition.

He’s right—we all have moments where everything that made our frameworks shatters and we’re left feeling vulnerable and shattered.  At first, it’s hard to see anything, but, in time, we begin to realize how our perspectives have altered.  We learn truths about God, about the world, and about ourselves that we never would have known.

Like Wilkin, I have been blessed to learn life’s brevity before my parents even appear old and frail.  Sometimes I envy those who get to enjoy their twenties free of the intense emotional toll that bereavement promises, but God is faithful to give me reminders that he’s redeeming the times.  He’s gently taking me by the hand and walking me down a path He knows I didn’t want to be on—a path He didn’t want me and my family to have to walk;  “The Lord is not slow to fulfill his promises as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance” II Peter 3:9.  Christ did not wish Patrick’s death upon us.  Knowing that doesn’t make this any less painful, but it does remind me that God is trustworthy even in the darkest circumstances. 

— — —

So, I press on—uncovering more mysteries beyond the canvas I created.  Pursuing God as he bestows me with “a crown of beauty instead of ashes” (Isaiah 61:3). 

For now, life is calm.  It’s been a much-needed respite.  I continue to wrestle spiritually and emotionally with Patrick’s death.  Psalm 126:5 sings, “Those who sow in tears shall weep with shouts of joy.” I’m still very much in the first stage of that verse, but I am able to experience joy as well.  I’m not quite shouting about it, but there’s a calm gratefulness and happiness that permeates everything these days. 

I realized about two-weeks ago that life had calmed.  The storms have ceased for a time.  Now I’m living in the recovery—still afraid of aftershocks, still hesitant and cautious, still mourning deep losses—now, God helps me pick up my broken pieces and carries me beyond the waves into still waters (Isaiah 43, Psalm 23).  He’s my refuge and my hiding place when I’m too afraid of the world around me (Psalm 119:114).  He renews my strength.  In Him I trust, and I will not be shaken (Psalm 62:6). 

[1] Wilkin, None Like Him, p. 78