Why I Still Believe

One of the things I wrestle with in Soul Weathered is mystery.

Not because I enjoy unanswered questions.

But because there are questions that simply don't have easy answers.

Sometimes I wonder about the person who might pick up Soul Weathered—the agnostic, the atheist, or simply the person who has been deeply wounded—and think, This doesn't answer my questions.

Honestly, I understand.

Because I've asked many of those same questions myself.

In my early thirties, I went through a season of intense searching.

I studied creation.

I wrestled with intelligent design.

I read books from both sides of the debate.

I wrestled with suffering.

Salvation.

Heaven.

Hell.

People who have never heard the name of Jesus.

I wanted answers.

Real answers.

Not clichés.

Not easy explanations.

Some questions became clearer.

Others never did.

And somewhere along the way, I discovered something surprising.

I had become comfortable saying,

"I don't know."

Not because I had stopped thinking.

But because I had finally accepted that I am not God.

I don't see history from beginning to end.

I don't see every human heart.

I don't see every purpose behind every event.

I don't stand where God stands.

The question I hear most often is probably the oldest one of all:

"If God is good, why is there so much suffering?"

That isn't just a philosophical question for me.

It's deeply personal.

My brother died after walking out of an emergency room because he became tired of waiting to be seen.

Both of my daughters live with chronic illness.

I live with the same disease myself.

When my oldest daughter was diagnosed with Crohn's disease, I remember crying out to God in anger.

"Why her?"

"I've tried to serve You. Why would You allow this?"

Years later, my second daughter received the same diagnosis.

The questions returned.

Do I believe God heals?

Absolutely.

I've seen remarkable healings.

I've prayed for people who recovered from diseases doctors could hardly explain.

But I also believe something else.

I believe God's grace often comes through medicine.

Through physicians.

Through scientific discovery.

Through innovation.

Through creativity.

Those things are not opposed to God.

They are expressions of the creativity He placed within human beings.

His kingdom breaks into this broken world in countless ways.

Sometimes through miracles.

Sometimes through faithful people using the gifts He has given them.

I also believe we have an enemy.

Scripture is clear that this world is not as God originally intended it.

Disease.

Death.

Violence.

Addiction.

Abuse.

Broken relationships.

Our bodies themselves bear the marks of a fallen creation.

Creation is still longing for redemption.

So are we.

Does that answer every question?

No.

Not even close.

There are still things I cannot explain.

Why one child is healed while another is not.

Why tragedy visits one family and seems to pass another by.

Why some prayers are answered immediately while others seem to wait for years.

Or why God sometimes appears silent.

I don't know.

But during one of the hardest seasons of my life, while praying for my oldest daughter, I sensed God speak two things to my heart.

The first was simple.

"I know how you feel."

Not because He sympathized from a distance.

Because He watched His own Son suffer.

There is no pain I carry that He does not understand.

The second was even more difficult.

"This is her story."

Not because God delights in suffering.

But because He refused to let suffering have the final word.

He would somehow weave His grace, His presence, and His glory into her story.

Today, when I look at my daughters, I don't first see disease.

I see remarkable women.

Loving wives.

Wonderful mothers.

Women whose compassion has been deepened by hardship.

Women whose faith has been refined rather than destroyed.

Would I take their illness away if I could?

Without hesitation.

Do I still pray for healing?

Every chance I get.

After twenty-five years of walking with hundreds of men, I have discovered something I never expected.

The questions have not disappeared.

In some ways, they've become deeper.

But so has my confidence in God.

I've watched Him redeem marriages that everyone thought were over.

I've watched addicts become free.

I've watched fathers reconcile with sons and daughters after decades of separation.

I've watched men discover forgiveness after carrying shame for most of their lives.

I've watched people healed in ways I cannot explain.

And I've watched others never receive the healing they prayed for, yet become some of the most beautiful image-bearers of Christ I've ever known.

I've watched heaven break into earth more times than I can count.

Not always dramatically.

Often quietly.

Through forgiveness.

Through courage.

Through medicine.

Through friendship.

Through endurance.

Through grace.

So while I cannot explain every mystery, I no longer build my faith on having every answer.

I build it on the character of the God I have come to know.

The God who has walked with me through joy and grief.

The God who has never stopped pursuing me.

The God who entered our suffering rather than remaining distant from it.

I still have questions.

I suspect I always will.

But after years of walking with God, I've discovered that faith is not the absence of mystery.

Faith is learning to trust the One who already knows the answers.

And that has become enough for me.