When We Don’t Like What God Allows (Part I)
This year did not go as planned.
I had good plans—everything from January 2025 until the end of August 2025 was going seamlessly well. And then we were blindsided.
The first punch: Jeremy needed an emergency liver transplant to live.
Then the second punch: If he had the transplant, we would no longer be able to serve overseas with our organization.
We had just sold everything we owned and transitioned both our jobs to move back overseas. Ten years exactly from when we moved overseas the first time.
We lived overseas for nine months the first time then came back to the States. So we tried to slow down and do everything right and well this second time. We lived overseas for nine months and then came back to the States unexpectedly again.
“I don’t want this” is what I kept repeating before we left the Middle East.
Then, again, when we reached the States: I just don’t want this to happen.
And now, the words still reverberate in my mind: I didn’t want any of this to happen.
Like a nightmare you pray you will wake up from, yet the morning light returns each day, moving you forward against your will.
My worst fear, except for losing Jeremy or one of the girls, actually happened.
“Suffering is having what you don’t want or wanting what you don’t have.”
The despair that comes from grief can be excruciating.
“How long will this last, O Lord?”
“Why did You allow this?”
“How could You?”
“Can I still trust You to be good when Your will seems so far from what I see as good?”
And yet there You are:
Entering into our world, pitching Your tent among us.
Weeping alongside Mary and Martha over the death of Your friend.
Promising we will suffer just as You have, but also promising to be with us always.
Reminding us of the truths of the Scripture and Your Word: You restore our souls, You are close to the brokenhearted, and it’s only when we are at our weakest that Your strength can truly be displayed.
Hope.
My laments and complaints always turn to You—return to You.
I love you, Jesus.
Even when I don’t have the slightest notion as to what You are up to: I trust You, and I love You, and I know in the depths of my heart You are good.
Not only do I trust Your goodness, but I also know that what we went through in South Asia and the Middle East, and the suffering we endured over the years, is not only for Your glory, but I would even say it is for our good because our good is to be transformed to be more like You. And these circumstances led us to a place of complete reliance on You—taking up our cross, denying ourselves, and returning to You. You will rebuild and restore in time, and by the grace of You alone and the provision of the church, we have time.
Light will return from the darkness.
Fruit from the buried seed.
Life again with You after death.
Joy after sorrow.
Summer after the bleak midwinter’s night.
Hope after all our dreams have washed away.
It will all return—You promised.
But right now, at this moment, grief remains.
“This is the aftermath.
This is the free fall—how far down does it go?
This is the ripple effect.
This is what they mean: the dark night of the soul.
But You, Son of Man—
Love Incarnate.
You don't see from far away.
You come, sit with me.
And grieve with me.
And I see tears on Your face.
I've gotta reconcile that
You don't fast-forward me through this.
And I've gotta reconcile that
You want to know me when I'm like this.
And I've gotta reconcile that
You didn't change the diagnosis.
And I've gotta reconcile that
You've reconciled it all in Your flesh.”
—“Tears On Your Face” by Bethany Barnard