Blessing

I've been trying to finish this post for some time now. So, an August post in September...better late than never for some Selby family news:


August 22, 2011-
I've been praying for months now...many, many months. This morning, I want to fall to my knees at His feet in quiet, humble, wholehearted thankfulness. I want to run up to Our Father and wrap my arms around Him and thank Him through my joyful tears. How incredibly He continues to remind me that even during the storm and journey of the past year, He is here, He is faithful and He wants to bless us.


Dan and I have been living in a place of quiet and reserved joy (and I'd be lying if I didn't admit to a bit of anxiety) over the past four months. Wanting the freedom to hope and dream, yet fearful of those dreams being shattered again.  Never did we imagine (nor did we doubt) that God would bless us in an immense way in the few days leading up to a difficult time of celebration and mourning for us, Aaron's first birthday. I certainly didn't anticipate, one year ago, that the week of Aaron's first birthday would find us at Children's Hospital again. The ride up the elevator, the smell of the bathroom soap, the third floor waiting area, the pager in our hands; every detail brought back gut-wrenching memories of a year ago. The specific details of this day and the accompanying array of emotions are for another time, another post. As I tried to keep many torturous memories at bay, I focused on today as we were there to see and experience something I had prayed about and only dreamed of... ten fingers, ten toes and the beautiful (perfectly functioning) four-chamber heart of Aaron's little brother or sister! 


Yep, we are expecting Baby Selby #2 in February! The praise and glory to God that I am able to express for this blessing feels completely insufficient compared to the incredible amount of joy and thankfulness in my heart. I only hope know that God could see the smile plastered across my face as the cardiologist gave us the news. 


We continue to pray for the health of our new blessing as it will be a few weeks before we have a full anatomical ultrasound to determine if every detail of baby is healthy. And, although there are some nerves, I can't lie that I'm really looking forward to seeing this active little guy or girl up on the screen again.  We are excited to get to know this new little person and find out if "it" is a wee little he or she. At 17 weeks along (currently), little one is picking up steam in the growing department (or at least the belly is) and I am enjoying feeling his or her amazing 'love taps' which are becoming quite a bit more than the flutters they say to anticipate at this stage. 


It is hard to explain the peace that God has provided during this pregnancy. I am constantly reminded that although we have walked through the storm of the past year and may appear slightly more worn and bearing tattered hearts, we are still in one piece and closer to our Father because of His grace and faithfulness through it all. We continue to pray for Him to protect and guide our hearts in this new mix of joy and grief that we find ourselves. This new little one certainly brings to mind many, many details and memories of his/her big brother and the time we had with him. Fear, anxiety and doubt sneak in at times, but are quickly relinquished when I remember Whose this child is. As with Aaron, we realize what an incredible blessing this is and are grateful beyond words for the undeserved love God continues to pour over us. 

Possibility of Happiness

Last week, a friend sent along an email with the message down below. It was one of those "perfect words...perfect timing...that is exactly what I need to hear... right now" moments. It was someone else articulating the words that I have been grasping for; emotions and feelings that I have not been able to formulate into words lately. 


I have constantly been trying to keep my focus on where who my happiness and hope comes from, all the while still having too many moments of feeling defeated, heavyhearted and frustrated. I bask in the moments of clarity when I feel God taking the weight of worry, anxiety and sadness from my arms. He alone carries my burdens for me and I finally feel like I can breathe...deeply. It is freeing. It is healing. I wish I could figure out how to remain in this state- all the time- because the alternative isn't always pretty. There are many other moments when I want to scream out in anger, put my fist through a wall and have a tantrum about how unfair it is that our son is gone. 


I do know that life is not about fair. I also know that when I take my eyes off of the One who is my hope, it is during these times that frustration, envy, bitterness, anger and constant sorrow have a chance to sneak in and take over. I am okay with the tears and longing for Aaron...they are normal and healing, but the bitterness and anger only eat away at my already broken heart. Quite frequently lately, God has had to redirect my vision and my heart to find hope again. I don't wake up every morning dreading the day, but I do wake up knowing that every day, for the rest of my life, I will  wake up to the reality that our son is not here. That will never change. As far as this life is concerned, it is permanent and relentless. The words below describe so perfectly this place where I have recently been. It's a place where, at times, hope and happiness are both tangible and very present, while other days are devoid of anything resembling these. I know that somewhere in my future they are there... 

Possibilities of Happiness "I would imagine," a friend of mine said to me, sitting cross-legged on the floor, " that you're looking into the future and it's sort of yawning in front of you like a chasm from which there doesn't seem to be any exit." (If my friend sounds like he's using too many ten-dollar words for him to sound believable, know that he's a British Professor of Education. Armed with that knowledge, let's move on.) "You wake up every morning with the agonizing realization that there's no escaping it- you have to go through the entire day now. And when you lay down at night to cry, it's with the knowledge that you'll be doing all this again tomorrow, and the whole affair seems more than you're capable of dealing with." And I just sat there nodding, because - yes - that was exactly what it was like. I'd had people tell me it would get better, that they understood, and such. But here was someone articulating my experience much better than I'd been able. And, as he spoke, his voice cracked a bit. "Nothing helps right now," he continued, "But as long as you're alive, there is some future in which you could, conceivably, be happy. No matter how unlikely is seems now, the possibility for happiness is there. I've despaired, wanted to just fall asleep and never wake up, thought for certain that I'd never be happy again - but I always have been." I knew what he was talking about. He and his wife just adopted a three-year old boy, and sunshine seemed to follow this kid wherever he went. But I had seen the devastating losses and broken promises they'd endured - things that made my current circumstances look like an afternoon stroll.  "But how can I hope?" I asked. "I feel like I've got nothing left." "You don't have to," he said. "Hope doesn't come from you anyhow." "Let all that I am quietly wait before God, for my hope is in him. He alone is my rock and my salvation, my fortress where I will not be shaken" (Psalm 62:5-6).

Someday

As the days get longer and the warmth of the sunshine is stretched well into the evening hours, I miss our son even more. I miss the evening walks as a family that should have been. I miss our first spring days together in the warm sunshine and cool, crisp Colorado air. I miss watching him sleep soundly in our arms. I could go on forever...all of these "should have been moments" that we never got to experience with Aaron... I miss them as if they were a part of our life for as long as I can remember. 


They say that time heals all wounds; that it makes loss easier. I disagree. It doesn't heal the gaping hole that your child's death leaves behind. It doesn't make it easier, it makes it different. The longing, tears and sadness that used to consume every minute and every thought of every day after Aaron died are replaced by the true realization of what we are missing...of who we are missing. The grins, giggles and busyness of a sweet seven month old boy that should be filling our days never will. For some reason, now more than ever, this reality is setting into my heart... and it hurts.


A promise is all that carries me through this hurt. A promise that someday I will see this sweet face again. Of this, I am sure.

(Aaron at 1 day old...I think he would have enjoyed a pacifier from the looks of it. Thank you for the video Steve and Amy!)

Dreaming...

"Imagine a love so strong that saying hello and goodbye at the same time was worth the sorrow"

-Author Unknown

My heart is aching lately. I feel so broken. I miss Aaron. Everywhere I turn, I am reminded of him and of what we are missing. This sorrow isn't always evoked by something in particular, but this time it has been and I know the trigger all too well. I drifted into a dream. A dream of a future family and a healthy baby. I wondered what it is like to have a twenty week ultrasound with the words "four chamber heart" and "completely healthy". Of holding our child for the first time, alive; a child that we would actually get to bring home, love and experience.


...and then reality crept in... waking me up with a slap in the face... breaking my heart.... reminding me...


Just because we've been through what has felt like walking through hell and back over the past several months, we are not promised a perfect road ahead of us. At times it is easy to slip into the mindset that just because we have been through something that feels almost impossible at times, that the rest will be easy. Not true. God is faithful, but He doesn't always promise easy. Certainly, we look to the future with great hope and pray for these things...healthy future children, a family... but we are not naive. Nothing is guaranteed; we are not exempt. I see pregnant women in their often naive bliss (where I once was for a short time, as well) and to be honest, I'm slightly envious. I want that. I don't want to know what the other side looks like, but I do...all too well. I know that on the other side, babies die. Parents have to say goodbye to the tiny life that they have anticipated for months and have only just met. They experience the greatest joy and deepest sorrow almost simultaneously. It's not fair, but they do. 


I realize that I may come across as quite the pessimist in this post... I am not. These thoughts are simply the result of loss, grief and a step into a world which I was once oblivious to. We truly do look to the future with hope, but through a lens that has been permanently altered. I think about a future child and I am instantly taken back to the overwhelming joy of having Aaron and the sudden heartbreak of losing him. I know that God hears us in our brokenness, but the void that Aaron has left has nearly crushed me in the past several months. Can I handle that again if God calls us to walk through it? Can my heart be open and vulnerable to that depth of love once more, and possibly, that depth of heartbreak again? 


This is the uncertainty with which we face the future.  We drift into these dreams, yet in this grief, we find that even our dreams aren't safe from reality. 

Heart Work

It has been a long while since my last post in this little corner of the world. For those of you who still drop by for a read, thank you.  Intentionally lately, I've been quiet.  Although life has been anything but quiet, I've been trying to consciously give myself something I've desperately needed on so many levels...rest. Rest for my heart, for my mind and my body. Unfortunately, it doesn't mean that I've had an opportunity to take a hiatus from the responsibilities of life, but instead of publicly writing and being constantly surrounded by social media, I've spent more time reflecting, praying, focusing on our marriage, working out, (working), sleeping, reading and just being. Rest. This rest has provided me time to grieve privately....to let my emotions linger for a short while...to figure out where I am. Right here. Right now.

This respite from blogging doesn't mean that I'm moving on from Aaron or his absence in our life; it doesn't mean that I no longer miss him. In fact, those statements couldn't be further from the truth. For us, life looks and feels drastically different than it did even two months ago, but I miss him the same. Deep anguish and mourning now come and go rather than being ever-present on a daily or hourly basis; still, I desperately long to hold him and see the 6 month old boy he would be today. To hear his giggles...or his screaming and crying...would be music to my ears. Days of more sorrow than joy and the accompanying meltdowns still manage to make their appearance here and there, and it is in these times that I so selfishly want him here. But, in this rest, God has been fervently working on my heart.

During the past six months, so many of our prayers consisted not only of pleading for God to take our pain away, but simply to be able to feel His presence in our darkness. At times, it was unquestionable, unmistakable, that He alone was holding us up. During other times, I wondered how many more weeks it would be until I'd see His hand reaching down to pull us up for air from the storm in which we were slowly drowning. I look back and can see that God has been faithful, upholding His promise, and that in this rest He has been working on quite the project. He has been slowly...very, very slowly... healing a very broken heart. My own.

In this healing, I feel that He has melded a tiny part of my broken heart back together. Inscribed in this little piece is acceptance. No, not complete, consistent and pure acceptance that our son died, but a peace about this path that we walk. A peace in knowing that Aaron is not and will not suffer through this life which, no matter how many ways you attempt to look at it, would not have been easy, or fair. Acceptance that we prayed for healing...and that God chose the method. I'm learning what it is to ask for God's guidance, accept His answer and follow the path that He lays before us, regardless of the anger, fear, disagreement or heartbreak that may accompany it.  Even several weeks ago, I thought that achieving this feeling of acceptance...of peace and surrender... would forever be impossible. Yet, if even for only a short while, God has brought us to this place and given us a glimpse. He is faithful. 

As I drove home from work tonight, I thought about that night, six months ago, when we looked sweet Aaron in the eyes for the first time and said hello and, shortly after, held him as we said goodbye. While reminiscing, this song came on the radio and tears ran down my face...because of the words and because of the memory. Almost weekly during youth group worship in the many months that I carried Aaron, he heard me sing this, my hands on my belly, feeling him move and loving every minute of it. This song brings back some of my favorite, intimate moments with him... the closest I ever got to holding him and singing to him while he was on this earth. God gave us our beautiful son, and despite the road that he chose for us to walk... He loves us.

Oh, How He Loves Us...

To listen, first pause the music player on the right-hand side of the screen.

Interwoven

Last weekend we were fortunate to get away for a couples retreat through our church. As church volunteers, we were invited to go as 'test subjects' for this first ever couples retreat. We are blessed to be part of an incredible church, so we knew it would be good, but we still weren't quite certain of what to expect. Prior to going though, I was sure of one thing...we needed this. 


This ended up being good times with wonderful friends, laughter until we cried, quiet time with God and quality time with each other. It was gentle conversations as we walked through the woods, nestled in snow. It was reminiscing about where life has taken us in our ten years together and in four short years of marriage. It was tears for our family that "should be" and hope for the family that we pray "will be". It was food for our souls. This was our hearts feeling modestly full for the first time since we said goodbye.This was a little glimpse of healing. 


Last weekend made me stop and think about marriage and grief, and what life looks like when these two are intertwined. Grief marrying marriage. What does a marriage look like not with one spouse grieving and the other holding them up, but under the weight of two deeply grieving individuals? It looks like two people struggling to wade through their own emotions while trying to interpret the others, all the while attempting to keep each other and life afloat.  Widespread belief is that this leads to divorce...that it looks like anger, frustration, resentment, exhaustion... a divided couple. And yes, it is some of these things. It may be resentment that your spouse does not "seem" to be grieving. It may be frustration that they are able to laugh when you can't seem to find a reason to smile that day. It may be counseling sessions and tears over more than just the loss of your child. But, grief interwoven with marriage also looks like love, compassion, devotion, encouragement, unspoken understanding, and the profound bond of sharing one of life's most intimate, yet devastating and desolate moments...together. 


 "Welcoming" grief into our marriage over the past six months hasn't been easy. There have certainly been days when we would not want to have a light shined into our life and marriage for all to see. But, we are making it through and are stronger and closer that ever before because of it all. I know when we look back upon this journey some day, one thing, over all the others, will have carried us through. It is grace. God's grace for us and our grace for each other. Grace for the bad days and downright awful days, for the meltdowns from the tiniest of triggers, and for what seems like grieving too much or grieving too little. Grace for the times of unkind words, lack of compassion and emotional roller coasters.  Grace for being unorganized, exhausted and unlike our normal selves. Grace for this journey...for better or for worse, in good times and bad. Grace. 

Source

Grace...so undeserved, yet so needed. What a beautiful gift. 

His Name in the Sand

Just in time.


As the anniversary of Aaron's death comes and goes each month, it is hard not to relive the events of that night...the trauma and complete heartbreak. The devastation. This month I made a promise not to dwell on that, but instead, to focus on what a blessing it was to have three whole days with him. And, to think of it not as the day that we lost him, but as the day that heaven gained him....the day that his heart was made whole as he woke up to the magnificence of heaven and the glory of his creator. Isn't that the marvelous day that each of use should long for...

Well, his anniversary this month was still difficult, but I smiled as I remembered Aaron in a beautiful way....through a beautiful gift. Although his name had been on the wait list for quite some time for To Write Their Names In The Sand, it came in God's time...perfect timing, of course. Aaron's name was written under a beautiful sunset on the evening of January 28th, his five month anniversary, on the shores of "Christian's Beach" in Australia. It may not seem like much to others, but the acknowledgement of your child and act of remembrance by others is truly cherished. 


His name in the sand is so serene...it brings peace to my heart:  

CarlyMarie provides an amazing ministry to parents who have been touched by child loss and has written almost 10,000 names in the past couple years. Check out her story and inspiration behind To Write Their Names In The Sand here.

5 Months

I began writing a post as a reflection of the past five months...the days since we first said hello to Aaron. As I read it back, it truly was a reflection of the past five months; a reflection of our grief and heartbreak. Yet, as I look back to that single day, August 25th, I decided that the post wasn't appropriate. It doesn't capture the feelings of that day at all. In fact, it was quite the opposite. 


Five months ago, today, was one of the happiest days of our lives. For a brief moment in time, we were able to forget that we were terrified...forget that we had spent the better part of the last year on our knees praying for a miracle...forget that our future as a family was completely uncertain.  Five months ago we heard the most beautiful cry and kissed the sweetest cheeks that were ever known to us. If only for a short few seconds, God graciously lifted our anxiety and fears and in that moment allowed us to experience unreserved pure love and pure joy...that of our son. He was perfect. And today, five months later, he is perfect...healthy and healed...perfect, as God planned.  We only wish that we could experience his healed body here on earth, rather than waiting for our eternity. 


I wonder so many things about you, Aaron Matthew. What you would look like, all the things you would now be doing, your personality? I wonder what you are doing now, what heaven is like, if you understand how much we miss you? Some day, Aaron. I know that we will have all these answers, and more importantly, that we will hold you once again...not nearly soon enough, but some day. Happy five month birthday, son. We miss you and love you more than you'll ever know sweet boy.   Love Always, Mommy & Daddy

...He said to them, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these...  ~Mark 10:14

Thankful in the Storm

Today is bittersweet. 

Happy Thanksgiving Aaron Matthew.

You would be three months old today, sweet boy.

We miss you.

Today should be our first family holiday...one with a three month old in tow. Instead, it is our first family holiday without him. Today, on a bittersweet day of giving thanks, I know this much...

photo credit

I am blessed.

In the midst of this storm, I am blessed.

Through the best times and worst times of life, I am blessed. 

Although our son is gone, I am blessed. 

I thank God daily, for I am blessed... 

...with family

who have loved us as Christ loved. How do you ever repay those who have become the hands and feet of God to you? Those who did our laundry, cooked our meals and kept our life afloat when we merely had the energy to open our eyes, take a breath and climb out of bed each day. Those who rearranged their lives, made themselves available every minute of every day and planned a memorial service for a grandson, nephew and son without being asked because even the smallest decisions seemed insurmountable to us under the weight of grief. For getting involved in the "mess" of our lives and loving us when we are unlovable. To our family... thank you seems such an understatement to show our appreciation and gratitude for all that you have done...there aren't enough words to thank you for loving us, caring for us and walking with us through the best and worst days of our lives. We love you.

...with friends

who have also been there with us through the best and worst days of our lives. To those of you who encouraged and prayed us through our pregnancy, rejoiced with us after Aaron's birth and wept with us as we said goodbye. To those who have sat with us as we've cried,  who have listened to stories of Aaron for the umpteenth time over coffee and who have managed to bring laughter and joy back into our lives when a simple smile seemed impossible. For the meals, the flowers, the listening, the talking, the cups of coffee, the encouraging text messages and e-mails...thank you.  Thank you for standing by our side as we weather this storm. We love you all.

...with a new Perspective

that has changed my life. I would give anything to have Aaron back, anything. Through his loss, I have gained a new perspective that has changed me to the core of my innermost being. I may not be a better person or parent than someone else, but because of his brief life, I will be a better person and a better parent in my life. He has taught me that life is short and delicate, to truly appreciate the small things, to love without reservation, to enjoy more and worry less, to give without a second thought, to not take people for granted, to show kindness, love and respect to everyone...you never know what storm they may be weathering. I am thankful that I have learned these things that others may never truly understand until there has been a change in their perspective.

...with a loving Heavenly Father

who gave His one and only son to die on the cross for us, so that we may have eternal life. So that we can have hope that we will, one day, see our Aaron Matthew again. Thank you Father. 

...with the basics of life

that every human being should have, but many do not. I have a roof over my head to keep me dry and safe from the weather, food on my table to keep me nourished and healthy, and clothes on my body to keep me warm. For this, I am thankful. 

 Father, thank you for all of your blessings in my life. Thank you for my son, his life and the chance to know him. Thank you for your love and grace. I will continue to praise you in all that you've done and all that you do. Thank you for your beautiful son. I love you. Amen.

Happy three month birthday Aaron Matthew. I miss you little one, more than words can say.

Goodness & Faith

Better pull up a chair and grab a cup of coffee...this post ended up being a long one...


Today has been a rougher morning and I'm not sure why. Our Sundays usually begin with church, but not today (as we are going tonight), so maybe that has something to do with it. I walked into Aaron's room this morning with hopes of finishing a couple more little things and it hit me. All of a sudden, the pain and the fact that he was gone was once again very fresh, very real and very raw. I find it odd that during some days the pain is so great that we feel as if we said goodbye just yesterday and other days it feels that it has been so much longer than the past two months. This morning, it felt to me as if we are still waiting for him to come home, all the while knowing that he never will. I can't tell you how much I look forward to the day that we will be together with him again.

On that note, there is something else I've struggled with over the past several weeks. I've heard and seen the phrase "God is good all the time, and all the time God is good" many, many times since Aaron passed away and to be honest,  it ties my stomach in knots when I hear it. I get frustrated. I want to scream and cry. At times, my response would be "that's easy for you to say, your son didn't just die." Now, I'm not having a pity party, but it feels similar to times when I've been having a rough day dealing with Aaron's death and I happen to run into the 'always happy, overly joyful, I just found a leprechaun and a pot of gold today' type of person who says "come on, smile. Nothing about your day can be that bad."  All I want to say is "let me tell you what today the last two months of my life have been like..." It is these same feelings I've had when I hear that phrase "God is good all the time, and all the time God is good". 

If you read my last post, or many of my previous posts for that matter, you may wonder if I've had a change of heart. I hope that you don't get offended and stop reading. Please, continue on as I stumble through some reflecting that I've done over this...

Because of my faith and the relationship that I have with God, I am honestly unsure why I've had this negative attitude and response to this saying/phrase, so I spent some time reflecting on it yesterday. One thing I am sure of is that with all of my heart and every ounce of my being, all  I've ever wanted to be other than a wife is a mother. I enjoy my career as a physical therapist and I always strive to do my best at whatever I do, but it doesn't hold a candle to my desire to have a child, have a family and be a wife and mother. Yes, I am still a mother; I have a son, but right now, I have no one to mother. I want him back... I want him here... I want him, and only him, in my arms. In conversations with God, I've asked "If you are good, why did you take our child, our son; a child who was so deeply and desperately wanted and loved from the moment we knew we were expecting? Why?" I know I will never have an answer; not on earth or in this lifetime anyway.

Through this journey, I've realized that it is alright for me to have frustrations and questions for God; it actually keeps me talking to Him...a lot. I've also come to the realization that it is human nature for us to define His goodness with how closely His plan lines up with our wants and desires. It would be easy for me to say that God is unloving and that He is not good all the time because He took our only child from us or did not stop our son from being taken from us... however you'd like to look at it. He is the great physician; His hands perform miracles everyday; yet, we didn't get one on that night that we hit our knees and begged and pleaded and cried out to Him to save our son. We never got to change a diaper, feed him, snuggle him, hear him scream and cry or bring him home.  From the minute he was born, he was poked and prodded, sedated and cut open. And although I pumped religiously every two to three hours because it was the only way I knew to help him, he was never fed...not a single drop. I walk through life carrying this weight and knowing that we signed the consent forms; and after it was all said and done, his poor body endured being cut open again, only so doctors and science could "try to figure out and learn from what went wrong". The only time I ever got to hold my son, his body was lifeless and cold...he was already gone. However, we carry these burdens knowing that we listened to the doctors and that our intentions were rooted in nothing but love and hope so that he could have a chance at life. Had we known the outcome, I wouldn't have done any of it. His short time on earth would have been spent in our arms, surrounded by his family and knowing and feeling that he was so very loved. I hated watching Aaron suffer and feeling so helpless in doing so. Honestly, I do have trouble seeing the goodness in all of this.

As I have spent some time reflecting, praying and reading the bible, I realize that maybe, just maybe, what we are walking through right now is good. Maybe this...the tears, the frustration, the deep sorrow, the anger, the longing for our son...maybe all of this is a small part of God's goodness. Maybe it is all part of the bigger picture that we cannot see. Maybe those three days of suffering would have turned into years...years of frequent hospitalization, surgeries, constant struggles and poor quality of life...years of wondering if each day would be our last day with Aaron. Cardiac kids are fragile. At some point, he would have required a transplant and we would be left wondering if he would receive a heart. The future holds so many unknowns. I have no doubt that God could see what his life would or could have been and maybe he made His decision. It wasn't a decision defined by our wants and desires or that lined up with our plans, but maybe He couldn't bear to watch His child suffer. Honestly, in that, I can see His goodness.

I journaled everything above prior to going to church tonight. As I've said before, the ways in which God speaks to us at times amazes me. Our pastor preached on Saul (Paul) in Acts 9 tonight and one thing he said really spoke to me...

  "The bible teaches that God does not do evil things or bad things to people. We could argue all night long about whether God caused that or allowed that...at some point, you have to throw that question out the window. The truth is that something happened; something big, something life-changing and it knocked me flat. Is that tragedy in my life that brought me or someone else back to God a good thing or bad thing? It's still a bad thing. How about this...it was a bad thing and God redeemed it. God used it. God refuses to waste the mess in our lives. God took a bad thing and used it for good; just like He promised those who love Him." 

I gained a lot of clarity through the sermon tonight, even though it wasn't speaking to exactly what we have been going through. The tragedies  that happen to us in life can't be classified as good simply because they brought us or someone else closer to God, but God is Good. He uses these situations and "the mess" of our lives for good and although He never said that life would be easy, He said that we wouldn't go through it alone. He is always there. He is ever present...holding our hand, walking through it with us and redeeming it for good and for His glory. We must throw the "whys?" out the window and trust in Him. We must have this thing called faith.

So, with trust and faith that God is using this storm, this tragedy, this mess in our life right now, I can say, with confidence, that "God is good all the time, and all the time God is good".