Did God Write the Story You Didn’t Want?

Have you ever looked around at your life and assumed that nothing is ever going to get better? That the hard things will just get harder and the good things might disappear? That there’s no point in hoping anymore because it will only lead to disappointment?

I have.

When my husband left our family nine years ago, my adolescent daughters and I were reeling. We never imagined we’d be a splintered family. All we knew were unbroken families, and suddenly we weren’t in that group any more.

We struggled to find our identity together and establish our new normal. I didn’t like the way my life story was unfolding, and I mourned what I had lost. In my mind, intact families had kids who were drawn to God. They laughed together and talked around the dinner table. They whispered heartfelt prayers at night and respected their parents’ authority.

Our family didn’t do those things anymore. At one point, both of my daughters wanted nothing to do with God. God had let them down. They didn’t want to trust him again.

The Middle of the Story

And yet last fall, my oldest daughter Katie left for a year to serve the Lord in Africa. Eight years ago, serving Jesus would have been unthinkable to her. Eight years ago, God wasn’t real to her any more. Eight years ago, she almost walked away from faith.

On the Sunday that her church commissioned her, the sermon was on Joseph. The pastor said, “Don’t be so focused on what God has taken from you that you can’t see or believe that God will do something through you.”

Those words hit me hard. He went on to quote from Paul Miller’s powerful book, A Praying Life, “When confronted with suffering that won’t go away, or with even a minor problem, we instinctively focus on what is missing, not on the Master’s hand. Often when you think everything has gone wrong, it’s just that you’re in the middle of a story.”

Often when you think everything has gone wrong, it’s just that you’re in the middle of a story.

Hardest Year of My Life

That one sentence kept coming back to me throughout the sermon. It’s so easy to focus on what is missing and not on God’s hand when you’re in the middle of a story. When every day feels like an insurmountable struggle, and the details of the present are all-consuming, it’s impossible to imagine anything else is happening.

Eight years ago, we were in an excruciating part of the story. It felt like an unending nightmare. In fact, it was probably the hardest year of my life.

In the middle, all I could see was what had gone wrong. What God had taken from me. What seemed irredeemable and broken. I felt that I had lost everything. And I didn’t believe that God would do anything through me or through my circumstances. My husband was gone, my kids were a mess, and my body was failing. How could anything good ever come out of this unimaginable pain?

Why Wouldn’t God Answer?

Talking to my oldest daughter one afternoon in 2010, trying to help her make sense of what had happened, was one of the lowest points for me. I told her that God would walk us through the current crisis. She stood up, threw a Kleenex box at me and yelled as she walked out of the room, “Stop talking! Just stop! I don’t want anything to do with your God.”

I sat there, stunned. I wasn’t sure what to say. This precious daughter, who had been baptized two years earlier, had decided that my God wasn’t her God. She had prayed and trusted and waited for the Lord to change her family situation, yet nothing had changed. Things had gotten worse instead. Her prayers felt pointless, and her faith was crumbling along with our family.

I so wanted a happy ending, tied up with a bow. A restored marriage. Faith-filled children. A pain-free body. I was convinced my daughters would only trust God if their prayers were answered exactly as they were asked. After all, they wanted godly things. Why wouldn’t God answer them?

Night after night, I had prayed earnestly for them and with them. I knelt by their beds and we talked to God together. But after a while, they grew disinterested in prayer. Nothing seemed to be happening.

This Wasn’t the Plan

After years of praying with seemingly no results, I too was tempted to give up asking for change. I knew God was at work, but I couldn’t see any evidence of it. I wanted to protect my children and to give them everything I thought they needed to have a strong faith, but I simply couldn’t. Nothing was in my control. All I could do was cry out to God and wait.

I despaired for my daughters and for myself as darkness seemed to press in on every side. This wasn’t the plan I wanted for my life — or for theirs. I felt helpless and hopeless as I couldn’t see God working in any of it. I lay awake at night, afraid.

I could trust God for myself — but for my children? That was much harder. It required much more faith.

More to the Story

Despite my fears, very gradually, over several years, both my daughters came to a deep faith. This daughter, who wanted nothing to do with “my” God, pursued a relationship with him again. She started going to Bible study. Her demeanor softened. She talked about Jesus.

She then started leading a Bible study. God became “her” God again. And now she is serving him in Africa. Somewhere, in the middle of all the pain, God became real to her again. He wooed her back. Those desperate years when he was silent, he was not absent. He had been there all along.

We are all works in progress. And we are all in the middle of our stories. We don’t know how things will turn out. We do know, however, that nothing is impossible with God (Luke 1:37). He “gives life to the dead and calls into existence the things that do not exist” (Romans 4:17).

But at the same time, our stories may not look the way we planned. Nothing may look like it’s tied up with a bow. We may not see our kids return to Christ, our marriages restored, or our diseases cured. But we can trust that God is in the story. And he is the author, orchestrating the tiniest details for our final good. We may not understand why things happen, but we can be certain that God has a glorious purpose to the pain we are enduring.

I’m still in the middle of my story. And so are you. While none of us know the joys and trials we have yet to encounter, we do know that Jesus will be with us through them all.

And we can be confident that one day, after the last chapter is written, our story will be tied up with a bow in the most glorious way possible.

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What If Evil Does Befall Me?

The Lord says, “No evil shall be allowed to befall you, no plague come near your tent” (Psalm 91:10). But what if evil has befallen me? What if disaster has come into my tent? Does that mean God’s promises don’t apply to me?

Psalm 91 has been close to my heart for over a decade. I memorized it and recited it to my youngest daughter as she fell asleep every night. I assured her that God would protect us, especially after her dad left and our world disintegrated. But even as I said those verses aloud, I wondered how they related to us. Evil had befallen us. Angels hadn’t borne us up. We felt like one of the ten thousand fallen.

I wanted to ask, though I dared not say it to her, “Where was God in this mess?” I wanted to read the Bible and ransack it for promises, but so many of those promises felt distant from me. How was I to interpret the verses promising protection, deliverance, and provision when I was experiencing the opposite?

In the Shadow

Several weeks ago — years after I had first recited the psalm to my daughter — I was reading Psalm 91 again. Encouraged by the opening verses, I just wanted to abide in the shadow of the Almighty. But reading the promises for protection brought up old disappointments.

“I realized that God’s presence in trouble has been far better than the absence of trouble without him.”

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I was concerned because my physical struggles were escalating, and my right hand was declining rapidly. New weaknesses had surfaced, and I wanted reassurance from God. I wanted to rest on God’s promises, but this passage made me wonder how.

I felt a familiar grumbling bubbling up inside of me. Did I not make God my dwelling place? Why was evil allowed to befall me? Why hadn’t God guarded and delivered me?

I wrote my concerns in my journal. I wanted to know how to understand this psalm. How was I supposed to read it? Should I even pray it? In the quietness, two different thoughts came to me.

Safe in the Kingdom

First, I needed to rethink my definition of evil and even of rescue and deliverance. Evil may indeed befall us, as “the whole world lies in the power of the evil one” (1 John 5:19). Job hoped for good, but evil came (Job 30:26). Yet the evil that can befall us is temporary; its effects are limited to this life. The worst evil, which is eternal separation from God, will never come near us. And even in this life, what man means for evil, God intends for our good (Genesis 50:20).

In his last recorded writing, Paul says in 2 Timothy 4:18, “The Lord will rescue me from every evil deed and bring me safely into his heavenly kingdom.” Paul was not rescued from death. On the contrary, according to tradition, soon after this letter was written, Paul was beheaded by Nero, an undeniably evil man. But Paul was rescued in the fullest sense as God brought him safely into his heavenly kingdom.

I have been rescued from the consequences of my sin. From eternal damnation. From ever being separated from God. True rescue is this: he has rescued me from the dominion of darkness and brought me into the kingdom of the Son he loves (Colossians 1:13). So as I reconsider the terms eviland rescue, I see that God always protects me from evil and always rescues me.

Prayers and Promises

Second, Psalm 91 is a great passage to pray. It is good and right to cry out to God for provision and protection. He is my heavenly Father, and he cares about every detail of my life. He holds my tears in a bottle and redeems my life from the pit (Psalm 56:8; 103:4). Even the hairs on my head are numbered (Matthew 10:30).

“For all the days ordained for me, the Lord will unfailingly give me what is best, until he brings me safely home.”

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He tells me to bring all my concerns to him, which the Psalms model beautifully. They have given me strength to go on and revived me when I was weak. Indeed, the Psalms are the prayer book of the church. But the prayers and promises in Scripture cannot all be interpreted in the way we want. Many of the Psalms are wonderful prayersfor this life, but promises only for eternity.

Our Present Help

As I read the remainder of Psalm 91, I am captivated by the end: “When he calls to me, I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble; I will rescue him and honor him” (Psalm 91:15). I sensed the Lord asking, Haven’t I always been with you in trouble? Have I ever left you? Don’t I speak to you? Do you see how I’ve rescued you?

God has gloriously rescued me. He has spoken to me through Scripture. He has been abundantly faithful to his word, and he has never left me.

My discouragement came because I wanted him to deliver me out of trouble on my timetable and to answer all my requests with an immediate “yes.” But as I pondered verse 15, I realized that God’s presence in trouble has been far better than the absence of trouble without him.

Until Earthly Danger Ends

As I read over Psalm 91 now, I see it with a different perspective. God has given me everything I need. I can abide in the shadow of the Almighty forever. True evil will never befall me. Because of Jesus, I will never experience the recompense of the wicked.

When I’m in earthly danger, I can ask that his angels guard me in all my ways. I can count on him as my refuge and my fortress. I can be assured he will be with me in trouble. I can cry out to him for protection. And when I cry out to him, this is my rock-solid comfort: for all the days ordained for me, the Lord will unfailingly give me what is best, until he brings me safely home.

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Do You Wish You Had Accomplished More?

John the Baptist’s life began with great promise. An angelic proclamation. A call from God. A thriving ministry. Yet his life ended in virtual obscurity — alone in a small prison cell.

“Can we find joy when God uses us, even if it looks like our influence and popularity is diminishing?”

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John is not what we would consider a success. We celebrate people who begin with nothing and end with great accomplishments. We often find little to admire when it’s the other way around. Most of us begin with great expectations for our own lives. We want to make a name for ourselves, or have a fulfilling career, or raise an exceptional family.

When the years go by and we have not accomplished what we had hoped to, we are left wondering what good our lives have been. We have a nagging feeling that somehow we haven’t measured up.

I know that feeling all too well.

Chasing Success

I started off wanting it all. I wanted to make a name for myself in a successful career, while being a Proverbs 31 woman and raising an exceptional family. At first, it all seemed attainable.

After earning my MBA, it felt like I was on the fast track to success. When I chose, a few years later, to be a stay-at-home mom, I felt the sting of embarrassment when several classmates laughed at my “admirable” choices.

I then focused my energies on making our home a warm and hospitable place, a place where people felt welcome and cared for. But a diagnosis of post-polio syndrome forced me to stop using my arms for anything besides self-care, leaving little room for hospitality, much less home-cooked meals.

Though I couldn’t serve others physically, I still poured myself into raising a strong family by trying to be a supportive wife and mother. So, when my husband left our family and later filed for divorce, I was completely devastated. Not only for myself, but also for our children. They struggled with explosive anger and hurt, further intensifying my sadness and shame.

I felt like an absolute failure. Not only could I not meet all my goals; I couldn’t meet any of them.

Not Called to Succeed

Mother Teresa’s words gave me life as I considered all the ways I hadn’t measured up. I hung onto this simple statement and have reminded myself of it throughout my life: “God did not call me to be successful; he called me to be faithful.”

“I struggle with viewing success as a benchmark rather than a blessing.”

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John the Baptist would have agreed. His coming was marked with great anticipation. Both Isaiah and Malachi prophesied about the one who would prepare the way for the Messiah (Isaiah 40:3; Malachi 3:1). Even before he was born, the angel Gabriel said that he would be great before the Lord, would be filled with the Holy Spirit even in his mother’s womb, and would go out in the spirit and power of Elijah (Luke 1:15–17).

With proclamations like that, how could John the Baptist not be successful?

The Last Great Prophet

At first, he achieved great success. Indeed, John preached with great power, like Elijah. Crowds flocked to him in his short public ministry, which scholars say may have lasted less than a year. In that brief time, John drew much attention from the scribes and Pharisees, who were threatened by the people who thought John was the Messiah.

John was the last of the old-covenant prophets like Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and Daniel, who all predicted the coming of Christ. He was “the voice of one crying in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord’” (Matthew 3:3). But John was the only prophet who was privileged to see the Messiah in the flesh. John even baptized Jesus, and saw the Spirit descending on him, and heard with his own ears God saying, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased” (Matthew 3:17).

John undoubtedly would have been excited about what God was doing. The long-awaited Messiah had come, and John might have assumed that he, his herald, would minister (and succeed) at his side.

I Must Decrease

But John was imprisoned just a few months after Jesus began his public ministry. John didn’t see the fulfillment of his ministry; he simply had to trust that God was using his life’s work.

“God is after your faithfulness, not your success.”

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John exemplified these words from the Lord’s Prayer: “Your kingdom come, your will be done” (Matthew 6:10). John was not focused on his own kingdom; he was focused on the kingdom of God. He didn’t try to expand his ministry or influence; he was content to go where God had called him. He didn’t feel slighted that his popularity was waning; he rejoiced that Christ’s fame was spreading. In every case, John subordinated his ego and his plans to God’s.

John’s life kept diminishing and fading away. Once Jesus emerged, the masses paid less and less attention to John. Some of his disciples, like Andrew, left him to follow Jesus. When his ministry overlapped with Jesus’s, John’s disciples noted, “Look, he is baptizing, and all are going to him” (John 3:26). John’s response: “This joy of mine is now complete. He must increase, but I must decrease” (John 3:29–30).

Faithful unto Death

From a worldly perspective, John probably looked like a failure. He was never prosperous, and his ministry evaporated quickly. He didn’t even have a glorious death. He died at the whim of a foolish girl, her vengeful mother, and a wicked and weak king.

Yet John the Baptist was wildly successful in God’s eyes. John had served a crucial purpose in the kingdom, faithfully preparing the way for Christ. He didn’t see the fruit of his ministry. Many of us never do. Yet Jesus exhorts us in Revelation 2:10, “Be faithful unto death, and I will give you the crown of life.”

Jesus had nothing but praise for John. He said he was the greatest man who had ever lived up to that time (Matthew 11:11). But John’s life and ministry was probably nothing like John envisioned.

Good and Faithful Servant

Does your life sometimes feel small and insignificant? Did you start off with great plans for your life, yet now it seems you have done little of what you set out to do? Are you judging your worth by the standards of worldly success?

If you started out your career or your ministry or your calling full of promise, but it didn’t unfold as you planned, take heart. God is after your faithfulness, not your success.

“If you started out your career or your ministry full of promise, but it didn’t unfold as you planned, take heart.”

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Remember what God values. He’s after our hearts — our willingness to be used by him. Can we find joy when God uses us, like John, even if it looks like our influence and popularity is diminishing? Can we find our worth in Christ alone and remember that our goal on this earth is to make God’s name look great and not our own?

I wish I could say that I’ve let go of my desire to look successful in other people’s eyes, but honestly, I still struggle with it. I struggle with viewing success as a benchmark rather than a blessing. I struggle with comparing myself to people who have accomplished more than I have. I struggle with needing to produce measurable fruit, even in ministry.

Yet when I remember that God calls me to be faithful not successful, I realize how misplaced my desires can be. I don’t need to compare myself with others; I need to focus on being faithful in what God has called me to do. I can learn from John the Baptist and await my reward, when I hear those precious words, “Well done, good and faithful servant. . . . Enter into the joy of your master” (Matthew 25:21).

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