"It’s a lot to handle—the spiritual heaviness of this world. So far from how things were in the garden…" my friend texted me while checking on my little Eastern Tennessee family. Hurricane Helene struck our county, washing away homes, destroying cars, drowning cattle, and leaving people missing. But I'd be remiss if I didn't confess how frustrated I am that I'm so selfish regarding catastrophe when, in the grand scheme of destruction, my life was unscathed.
We lost power for a bit, but we had a generator.
The main bridges into town are collapsed or compromised, but my family's old 1890s farmhouse has zero water damage.
Greene County has cut off running water, but we have well water on our property and have yet to miss a shower while running loads of laundry in the wash.
Better still, my parents, my sister, my brother-in-law, my husband, and my precious baby boy are all safe and sound.
I know God is good. He leaves His gracious fingerprints all over my life.
Meanwhile, I'm anxious. I'm angry. I'm tense. I'm nervous. I'm shaky. I'm lost wrestling with thoughts that have no concrete answers.
Isn't that the bane of living in a broken body prone to fear, selfishness, and skepticism? Surrendering control. Uncurling your fingers and letting a God you can't see take hold of all you love?
If I'm painfully honest, while I believe this God I can't see is good, situations like this leave me questioning His justice, sovereignty, and fairness.
Maybe Hurricane Helene hasn't swept through your town and destroyed your home. Perhaps a different storm has left you drowning—a deceptive spouse, rebellious kids, a terminal health diagnosis. Perhaps you know deep, deep down that God is good but you can't understand His methods. They feel detached, distant, and, well, not-so-good. Regardless, you want to reclaim the warmth and peace you have when you not only know but feel God is good and kind. You're in a hard place. You're waiting for the feeling of contentment in your Christianity to return.
I'm so sorry you're in this season. It's uncomfortable, especially if you're a mother, like me, singing "Jesus Loves Me" to your one-year-old, lips humming words your mind can't box and tie up with a pretty theological bow. It's uncomfortable if you're a small group leader, church staff member, or anyone else who leads others to Jesus.
But you're safe to be angry here. You can read this article and at least know you aren't alone in your wrestling with the faith. And while I won't offer shallow Christian sayings as a sort of mediocre balm to your wounds, I will share a few truths that have kept my faith above water. I hope they will be a lifeline to you, a life raft of sorts, until your soul can rest and regroup and remember the feeling of God's rich goodness.
1. God Doesn't Dismiss Our Messy Situations
One of my favorite stories in Scripture begins with Jacob on the run. He's messed up—deceiving his father, undercutting his big brother, and skipping town without manning up to face any consequences. Despite his mistakes, God meets Him in the wilderness, where, much like those in Hurricane Helene's wake, Jacob is without stockpiles of peace:
"And he arose that night and took his two wives, his two female servants, and his eleven sons, and crossed over the ford of Jabbok. He took them, sent them over the brook, and sent over what he had. Then Jacob was left alone; and a Man wrestled with him until the breaking of day. Now when He saw that He did not prevail against him, He touched the socket of his hip; and the socket of Jacob’s hip was out of joint as He wrestled with him. And He said, 'Let Me go, for the day breaks.'
But he said, 'I will not let You go unless You bless me!'
So He said to him, 'What is your name?'
He said, 'Jacob.'
And He said, 'Your name shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel; for you have struggled with God and with men, and have prevailed.'
Then Jacob asked, saying, 'Tell me Your name, I pray.'
And He said, 'Why is it that you ask about My name?' And He blessed him there.
So Jacob called the name of the place Peniel: 'For I have seen God face to face, and my life is preserved.' Just as he crossed over Penuel the sun rose on him, and he limped on his hip." Genesis 32:22-31
Jacob wasn't in a great head or heart space. He was in the middle of unconfessed sin, in a place where fear had him on the run. Even still, God hadn't left him, and He didn't dismiss Jacob's gritted prayer, his near-demand, to be rescued. God made no prerequisites for allowing Jacob to take hold of His being and beg for a blessing.
Friend, if you're waiting to come to God until you feel good about your definition of His goodness, you're missing out on the favor that comes to those who wrestle with Him.
2. God Grants Favor to Those Who Wrestle with Him
Reread verse 28: "And He said, 'Your name shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel; for you have struggled with God and with men, and have prevailed.'"
Israel, the backbone of the Christian nation, began with a man wrestling with God, a man who wasn't living like he should, believing like he should, or feeling like he should. But what Jacob was doing was contending with God, caring enough about who God was that he would show up and question all he'd ever thought he knew about Him.
In this wrestling, Jacob walked away with a new name. God's character, His great name, didn't change, but Jacob's did. And it was all for the better. It was all for the restoration of one man's heart that would birth a nation of people who would establish twelve tribes and wrestle with God in Egypt, throughout the wilderness, and even in the Promised Land yet welcome the Savior. This Savior would share how the God of heaven would save them from their sins and finite minds so they could be at peace and even free to wrestle with Him while stumbling through a fallen world.
We weren't saved to live without questions. We were saved to desperately pursue God, to wrestle with Him so we can better understand who He is and share His goodness with others.
3. God Will Let the Sun Rise in Your Life
It's been days since Hurricane Helene washed through my town, yet the clouds remain. Rain drizzles. The view from my window is murky, yucky, and abysmal. For those who've lost their homes and loved ones, I'm sure no amount of literal sunshine would do much to heal their hearts in the here and now.
Nonetheless, God doesn't leave us in our today, in our pain, in our questions, in our anger, in our inability to see five minutes down the road. He doesn't let how we feel today dictate what He will do tomorrow. He's often behind the scenes, moving between our tantrums and attitudes, humbly drawing everything back to that original Garden state. He's whispering to the seeds deep below the mud's surface to sprout and push through. He's showing lost animals the way back home. He's pointing people to those who need their help, whether that's offering a kind word, donating a case of water, or lending a bag of clothes.
If there's one thing I know, even though I don't feel much fire behind its truth right now, God doesn't leave things broken and undone. He leaves the moon in place long enough for us to rest, to restore our aching bodies, but the sun still comes up. Since the beginning of time, God has been faithful in bringing beauty and light back around. It's always on time, never without purpose, always willing and able to soften the hearts of us all.
I'm not sure where you find yourself today. I'm unsure which storms, whether physical, mental, emotional, or spiritual, have left you wary of God. But I want you to know God's grace isn't measured by your perception of His goodness. His longing to speak hope into your heart isn't delved by how you feel about His character. He loves you too much to hinge His love on your humanity. That's what makes Him God. That's what makes me believe He's good even when I'm not sure I want to believe He's good.
I pray you can rest in knowing you aren't alone. I pray you know you aren't a "bad" Christian for feeling all the awful things. I pray you know God isn't waiting with thunderbolts in hand if you dare to ask Him a hard question (with a little attitude).
I pray you whisper the final stanza of my favorite hymn, an old Irish song, and allow it to bring new life into your day:
High King of heaven, thou heaven's bright sun,
O grant me its joys after victory is won;
great Heart of my own heart, whatever befall,
still be thou my vision, O Ruler of all.
—Be Thou My Vision
Photo Credit: ©Getty Images/Joe Raedle/Staff
Peyton Garland is an author and Tennessee farm mama sharing her heart on OCD, church trauma, and failed mom moments. Follow her on Instagram @peytonmgarland and check out her latest book, Tired, Hungry, & Kinda Faithful, to discover Jesus' hope in life's simplest moments.