THE GOODEST GOD
The sun was barely peeking her head through my bedroom window when the echoes of Credo’s footsteps faded into the distance. I rolled from his side of the bed to mine, hoping that if I kept my eyes closed long enough, my body might finally gift me a little sleep. Disappointed, I wandered from the bed to the couch, doom-scrolling for a while before eventually landing on the Bible app to listen to Psalms. The 24th chapter seemed like a good place to start—one moment, the writer was offering praise, the next, weeping, begging God not to leave Him. Honestly, that’s felt like my life for the past year: one minute marveling at God’s favor, the next crying about what He’s allowed, and now pleading with Him to change seasons because this one is exhausting.
I couldn’t tell you when I finally drifted off, but a scene flashed before my eyes. There was a silhouette—a tall, slender figure, completely black, faceless—standing with me in a dimensionless, opaque space. My voice broke the silence first, echoing, and then my knees hit the ground before His feet.
“WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME? WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME? WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME?” I screamed. He was motionless. There was no expression, just me—screaming and weeping and asking and waiting.
When I woke up, I was confused. I wouldn’t say I felt forsaken. Chemo is over, I didn’t die, and I just celebrated Resurrection Sunday and my anniversary. God has been good—He is still being good. So “forsaken” isn’t a word I would have chosen to describe myself. Still, there I was, my voice reverberating in some kind of agony, accusing God of leaving me. I could have sworn we’d moved past this part already, and the fact that I was here again—still unsure of His heart toward me—felt even more exhausting.
The next day, standing in the shower, I found myself without words or any real sense of my own heart. I couldn’t tell you if it was shame or embarrassment that kept me silent, but I just didn’t know how to approach Him. I felt like a kid again, outside my parents’ room, scared to knock because they might not let me in. Right as I was turning on my heels to leave His presence, His voice echoed:
“You need to believe that I am good and that I have good things for you.”
He didn’t say anything else after that, but somehow, I understood what I’d still been missing about Him. His goodness isn’t measured by the degree of my pleasure or enjoyment. Even when His allowances are painful, they don’t signal a lack of care or presence. He is good, and what He chooses is good—which means that every action, or even what feels like inaction, is ultimately better and beneficial for me.
“The LORD is our protector and glorious king, blessing us with kindness and honor. He does not refuse any good thing to those who do what is right.” psalms 84:11 [gnt]
My brother-in-law once said, If God was willing to sacrifice Jesus—His beloved and only Son—what did I think He was going to do with me? We laughed and changed the subject, but now, those words have a different meaning. God, out of His great love and desire for us to know Him, allowed His Son, whom He deeply loved, to endure the most gruesome and painful death. What God allowed, even then, was good and beneficial for me, and heartbreaking for someone else. For Jesus, it was painful, humiliating, and deeply costly, but His commitment to God’s purpose outweighed any other emotion He might have felt.
So, I guess it all comes back to God’s heart for you and me. The lengths He goes to reveal Himself to each of us are masterful, poetic, and deeply personal. Our lives—and the lives of those around us—are uniquely synchronized, each season and circumstance arranged by His hand. In one life, He illustrates kindness; in another, sovereignty; for some, grace and mercy; for others, justice.
When we consider Jesus, God allowed Him to be murdered so that we all could know Him. And now, I find myself wondering: what might God allow to die, to be crushed, or to bruise in or around me, so that someone else might come to know Him? Because that is, quite literally, what life is about. Knowing Him and becoming like Him, so that someone else can know Him and become like Him too.
Still, the difference between Jesus and me—well, there are several—but the one I want to highlight is love. Scripture tells us that if we love God, we will keep His commandments (John 14:15). Jesus is the only person who ever walked the earth and perfectly kept God’s commandments. He was obedient unto death, humbling Himself before people out of deep love and commitment to His Father. Fully God and fully man, He suffered the most shameful and gruesome death to fulfill His Father’s perfect plan. It didn’t matter what God asked of Him—He was rejected and ridiculed by His peers, denied and betrayed by those who were supposed to love Him—and He endured it all in obedience to His Father.
Jesus had to believe that God was good to suffer the way He did. He had to trust that God was a good Father. He had to believe that what awaited Him in heaven was far better, to lay down His life so completely.
His obedience—born from love, love grown from knowledge, and knowledge developed through suffering—reveals the depth of His devotion to His Father and His Father’s plan.
“And He said to them, ‘Why did you seek Me? Did you not know that I must be about My Father’s business?’” luke 2:49 [nkjv]
Hebrews 5:8 states, “Although He was a Son, He learned obedience from what He suffered.”
It seems like such a simple verse, but it’s packed.
Obedience is learned. Obedience is a display of love and trust. It is also a complete surrender of choice and free will in exchange for reliance and commitment to God’s will. You don’t magically become obedient.
Obedience requires humility and an understanding of God’s goodness.
Suffering teaches us God’s character, which then causes us to be obedient. Abraham learned God’s sovereignty and faithfulness through his suffering (self-inflicted and testing). Naomi learned of God’s restoration after the death of her son and husband. Job learned of God’s majesty and wisdom through the extreme death and loss. Paul learned of God’s grace through the thorn in His side. First we suffer, next we learn, then we love, and finally we obey.
Hosea 4:6 reminds us that “My people are destroyed for lack of knowledge…” and when Jesus was on the cross, He said, “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.” Reminding us that
Our knowledge of God is displayed in our everyday choices. If the Pharisees knew Jesus was the Messiah, they would not have murdered Him. If Abraham knew God’s timing was perfect, He wouldn’t have slept with Hagar.
Our lack of knowledge promotes disobedience. If I knew God was a provider, I wouldn’t make money an idol. If I knew God worked all things out for my good, I wouldn’t step out of His will to do my own thing.
Lack of knowledge leads to death.
“The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom, And the knowledge of the Holy One is understanding” Proverbs 9:10 [nkjv]
Most of my poor decisions are simply a reflection of how little I truly know God. If I understood what He thinks of me—if I really grasped His heart toward me—how different would I be? To read that He is a provider and believe it. To hear Him say He’s a good father and trust it. To understand that there is nothing that can separate me from His love and grasp it. What freedom and what joy I could know or you could know, if we could just believe.
But how can we believe He is a provider without ever being in need?
How can we know that joy comes in the morning if we never weep through the night?
How can we know He is a comforter if we are never in pain?
Suffering is how we know Him and then love Him, and then obey Him. And maybe that’s the invitation hidden in all our hardest seasons: to let suffering draw us closer to Him, until knowing Him is enough.
