Somehow There Is Still Good

Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father. (James 1:17 ESV)

My world came to a standstill the day my friend died.

I think if I’d looked out the window that August afternoon, everything would have been frozen in place. The trees, the wind, the sun—each of them paused mid-motion. At least, that’s how it felt it should be. I did not see how the world could keep moving once her heart had stopped.

Tat Blackburn was twenty years old when the truck collided with her car on a rainy highway. She and her fiancé were driving from Saskatchewan back to Ontario through Wisconsin. They wanted to get deep-dish pizza in Chicago. He had proposed a few days earlier.

I had never heard the sound of a heart break until Tat died. Then I heard the sound often.

Over a thousand hearts shattered at her funeral. It was the largest funeral I’d been to, and when I stood to give my eulogy, I looked out at all the people who were impacted by her life. I was astonished. I hated the reality of having a funeral for my friend, but still, I was achingly proud of her.

My heart continued breaking—on her twenty-first birthday, on what should’ve been her wedding day, on regular days when I wanted to take her out for cheesecake. Grief is like that—it pummels your heart again and again and again. I think loss leaves your heart black-and-blue and bleeding for a long time.

I once found myself sobbing in the smoothie section of the grocery store. Tat and I would always split Amazing Mango smoothies. I had forgotten about that until I saw the familiar yellow bottle in the grocery store fridge. Grief overcame me, and I burst into tears in the middle of the store. How could a smoothie contain so much joy and so much sadness?

But this is the tension I have found myself in daily: even in my insurmountable grief, there is good. There is always good because there is always God.

I think about Tat every day. I have come no closer to an answer for why she died. I am starting to think I will never know until I see her again. But I do have answers on other things: I believe that every good thing comes from God. And I believe that even in our heartache and devastation, God is always good.

I don’t see Tat’s death as good. It’s awful and painful and wrong. But I see God’s kindness and goodness through her death. In numerous ways, God has reminded me of His love and His tenderness. God’s got Tat, and God’s got me.

There is still good—even in sorrow. Because God is always good.

The night Tat died, Jesus gave me a dream. I saw her with Him.

She was wearing a gauzy white dress, and her hair was long and flowing even though she’d recently cut it. Her hand was entwined with His, and her facial expression was filled with a kind of adoration I had never seen here on earth.

Jesus was gazing down at her, delight pouring like sunshine from all of His facial features. I could feel the warmth radiating from Him, even though I knew I was not there with them.

Tat’s smile extended, and she tilted her head back.

And then she laughed.

Jesus is with Tat. At the same time, He is with you and me—and let me tell you: even when nothing else around us is good, His presence in the midst of our deepest pain is a good gift indeed.

Prayer:

Lord, You are good, and Your presence is steady when life is incredibly painful. These words are not always a comfort, to be honest, but at times just reciting them can soothe my grief-stricken soul. You are still good. No matter what. Whether I understand my circumstances or not, when I cry out in grief, You are still good. Lord, help me lean into this truth when I really need peace to overwhelm my soul. In times of sadness, let me recall the good gifts You’ve given and see small pieces of good-ness in the world. And when I’m just not okay, comfort me, Lord. Amen.

This is an excerpt from Take Heart: 100 Devotions to Seeing God When Life’s Not Okay by (in)courage  - a devotional book now available on DaySpring.com. Learn more about this book, or shop other books & devotionals from DaySpring.