God is Good--All the Time

The background music is soft as I pull up to the light to turn left on our way to church. My brother and sister sit contentedly beside and behind me, enjoying their Starbucks. My sister's main concern is not spilling coffee on her new white pants. The light turns yellow, and I move to clear the intersection, assuming the incoming van will slow down for the red.

It doesn't.

The sound of the crash consumes my senses as the cars crumple into each other. I open eyes to a haze of steam and powder and think, "We're gonna die." I have the vague sense of not being ready.

Behind me, my sister shrieks to get out of the car, struggling to grasp the door handle. I grab her, thinking she's gone crazy with shock. "No, the car!" she screams at the top of her lungs. "We have to get out of the car!" I realize the car still hums, as if it might explode. She and I clear the vehicle, but my brother takes longer. Later, I find out his door was stuck and he had to kick it open. He commands us to sit on the curb while he calls our dad. The car doesn't explode, and it hits me that we're gonna be okay.

I am conscious that my nose bleeds. Somehow, I remember that's normal, it's just the airbag. I didn't feel the airbag before, but now I do. My face stings, and my arms burn. Beside me, my sister clutches her shoulder and grimaces. Whiplash. My brother is inspecting the car, apparently unscathed. I long for the paramedics and my father.

A bystander suddenly fills my view. "Are you okay?" He kneels down next to me.

"Yes." I say something about it looking worse than it is. "Where's the other driver? Is she okay?" I look past him to see her, evidently in similar condition to us.

"Don't worry about it. Look at me. Take a deep breath."

"How bad do I look?" I say, regaining a little composure.

"There's some blood."

"Ugh." I look down at my brand new dress, and chuckle. It's ruined, covered in my sister's coffee and blood from my nose. "Of course, today of all days!" I look the stranger in the eye. "Today was supposed to be my graduation party!"

...

We say it often in church: God is good, all the time. My sister painted it on a canvas that now graces our bedroom. And I honestly thought I believed it. But at the moment I'm not so sure.

The party was supposed to be perfect. We have spent weeks planning, inviting, brainstorming. We--my whole family and a couple of brilliant ladies from church--spent last night decorating the whole backyard and the house in shabby chic style that my brother insisted on calling "crabby shack." And until this moment, it was perfect.

Too perfect. I knew it couldn't last.

So I am angry at God, for letting me believe that things might be okay and then letting my fears come true. It's hard to believe that God is good when your sister sits in an ambulance feeling like she might throw up from the shock, when another girl has her life interrupted by your bad judgement, and when, on a day that could have been so happy, somebody might have died. Now the statement that once seemed so concrete appears flipped: Is God good, all the time?

...

The paramedics corral us into the ambulance, take down our information, check our vitals. They ask my father if he'd like to take us to the hospital; we decline. We're all okay. After a talk with the police, I sign off on a ticket and we leave. End of story.

Except it's not. I jump in the shower, still hoping to get to church on time, and the tears come. Just a few sobs. Just enough to calm down.

By the time I reach the church, everyone knows and they're all concerned. One woman, a nurse, takes me into the bathroom to check me. I tell her the space between my hips feels tender, probably from the seatbelt. When she tells me she strongly believes I should go to the hospital, the panic rushes in. Dark spots dance in front of my eyes, and I crumple into a chair. Maybe I'm not okay.

All through the service, I worry. Adrenaline fades and the pain begins. The burns and bruises from airbags and seat belts start to show up. My sister sits in front of me with an ice pack on her shoulder. Later, someone sitting behind me says she can see how distracted I am, how quick my breathing is. It's hard to shake off crisis. Is God good?

....

The preparation for the party is finished, and now we are waiting. I rest my head on my grandfather's shoulder, not wanting to go on. Mostly I feel like sleeping off this nightmare and starting over tomorrow. But that's not an option.

"You just gotta go out there and do what you would normally do," my grandpa coaches.

"I'll try," I answer, noncommittal.

"What is it that Yoda says? 'Do or do not; there is no try.'"

I don't want to hear this. "Okay, I will then."

"Good! And we'll be there cheering you on, saying, 'Do, Jessi, do!'"

"Hey, thanks, guys." I smile a little. Maybe I can...

....

The pain is close, a dull ache beneath my paisley dress. But suddenly here come hugs and congratulations and a shower of love and presence. They are here! Dozens of people fill the backyard, dining room, and kitchen. They roast s'mores and eat hotdogs and enjoy every chocolate delight imaginable (the result of sending my generous grandfather and teenage brother to the store). Everyone exclaims over the gorgeous decorations. Groups of young boys and girls run free in the field behind the house. Youth group kids relax at tables. My beautiful girlfriends laugh together, reveling in each other's company. All around me, people love each other. It is my biggest dream, unfolding before my eyes.

Almost without my realizing it, the pain lessens.

I dish out letters to a few girls who had significant events this week. One, after reading hers, hugs me tight. "I'm really glad you didn't die today."

The most-asked question is not, "What are your plans next year?" It's "How are you doing?" So many people care.

My grandfather comes up beside me. "How do you feel now?"

"Better." I smile now, really smile. "You were right."

The pain is almost gone, and the only medicine I've taken is lots of loving on. Love. Love healed my pain.

And Who is Love?

The bitterness lingers a little, but I see the truth. God gives and God takes away. Faith believes that in all things, God is love. His plan, all this giving and taking away, must be love--car accidents and graduation parties alike. In the hard and the bitter and the angry of my heart, I believe. I believe that God is good, all the time.

And all the time, God is good.