I think if I took the time to calculate how much of my life I have spent pondering the brokenness of this world, it would equal at least a couple thousand hours. My shelves are filled with C.S. Lewis, Ortlund, Piper, and Chan. Many other random authors that I had never heard of, yet they wrote on suffering so “I must read it.”

I must read it because maybe, just maybe, they have the answer I’ve been looking for. Some in-between theology that has the parts I like from Calvinism, the good stuff from Wesley and Arminian, and combines it all, perfectly neat and tidy, and wrapped in a bow of theological perfection. It’s gotta be out there somewhere. Maybe it’s in the book with the dark trees and catchy title on the cover. Gotta be. Or maybe it’s the newest one on the bottom of the shelf in the local bookstore I saw on vacation. This one must be it.

That’s what I’m looking for. Just like every other person experiencing great grief and trying to figure out what God is doing in the mess.

I’ve discovered that maybe my favorite question isn’t “why?” but rather “how?”

How can He see me in this and yet not change it? How can He watch me sob into my pillow begging for relief and do nothing? How? How is this the good and gracious God we worship?

I’m sure you’ve asked yourself and Him this question many times. If so, you’re in the right place. I won’t pretend to answer this for you. Maybe when I find that perfect book or podcast, but until then you’ll just find my thoughts, written on page, hoping to bring you some camaraderie.

Hopefully you’ll see that the deep brokenness you feel is not something that should shy you away from others, but towards another. We all have it. We’re all struggling with something that makes us feel unworthy. Some more than others, but alas, we’re all here. In pain. In suffering. Here. 

So while we’re here in this broken mess, let’s sit together on this theoretical porch, drinking our sweet theodi-tea (like theodicy? I tried.), in our rocking chairs and ponder. Together. Listening to the crickets, seeing the darkness for what is, and looking up to the stars whose Maker placed them there. Remembering we are never alone.