If you’ve ever felt betrayed by God, this powerful testimony will resonate. Read about one daughter’s journey to survival-grade faith after the death of her father.

{Guest post: for more on this writer, see bio at the end. For additional insight into this family’s faith journey, see this post inspired by the family’s matriarch.}

I thought my faith was strong.  I was raised “in the church.”  My parents were strong Christians.  I went to church every Sunday morning, Sunday night, and Wednesday night.  Most of my time was spent at church activities, summer camps, and mission trips.  I was a strong Christian.  Or so I thought.

Then my dad died.

August 9, 2007 was the worst day of my life.  My dad had come out of back surgery two days prior and was recovering fine.  Then he got sepsis, all of his organs shut down, and he was gone within 24 hours.  At 49 years old.

This was a total shock.  My whole life he had suffered from chronic illness: debilitating migraines, ulcerative colitis, and the most recent, herniated disks in his spine.  My dad was ALWAYS in and out of the hospital.  I was used to it.  He would get sick, go the hospital, get well and come home.  Not once did I not expect him to get better.  That’s just what happened.

So, when we all had to leave the hospital knowing he was not coming with us, that was the worst feeling in the world.  And I was angry.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen

As a Christian, I knew the right thing to do was rely on God.  He is, after all, the God of peace.  

But I couldn’t even pray.  

My dad was a good man.  He had plans.  He was not done with his work, in fact, he was just getting started.  He had a passion for teaching people about creation and science and the Bible and was preparing to work with John Clayton to help in his ministry.  

I learned, very quickly, that my faith was not what I thought it was.  And it was a very lonely place.  The one source of strength that I had learned about and believed in my whole life, was not comforting me.  Actually, as I learned later, I was not allowing it to happen.

I don’t remember the exact date, but I remember the moment that helped me come around.  It was March of 2008, and I had just “met” my now husband online and we were hitting it off, and I had also reconnected with one of my best friends from high school who I had not seen or talked to in years.  I was driving home, thinking about those good things that were happening in my life and at that moment, felt God speak to me.  Not audibly, and this was the first time I had ever had an experience like this, but I knew in my heart that He was speaking to me.  I felt him say, “I love you and I will take care of you.  I’ve been here the whole time, waiting for you to trust me.”

Betrayed by God?

I immediately realized that God was not the problem.  I was.  

I had shut him out of my life but He didn’t leave.  He was there all along, still blessing me, waiting for me to realize that He is still good.  It was a breakthrough that allowed me to finally open up about what I was going through.  

It was still a couple of months before I was open to grief counseling with a minister at church (something I highly recommend!), but my eyes and heart were finally opened to accepting the love God had been wanting to pour over me all along.

It didn’t fix everything, and I am still learning things about myself that I may have subconsciously believed after the loss of my dad.  I had a revelation recently that helped me understand more why I was so mad; why I felt upset when someone led a prayer asking God to heal someone who was sick – He didn’t heal my dad, a great man, so why would he choose to heal this other person over my dad?

I realized that I felt that God took my dad.  I felt betrayed by God.  

My dad did not choose this.  My family did not want this. My dad did nothing wrong, and now we are left with immense pain, hurt, and confusion.  

God did not take my dad

Yes, God “called” him home; it was his time.

But God did not yank him from us to be cruel or because He wanted to be mean.  

He brought a faithful, tired servant home and cured him of all of his ailments.  He is no longer suffering from headaches, backaches, or the complications of not having a colon.  He is 100% healed and resting where we all long to be.  He is not gone.  

He lives on through my family, and my kids and husband will know him through our stories, home videos, and the hymns that he recorded of himself singing four-part harmony.  My 2-year-old will request to listen to “Papa Dennis” in the car, and it warms my heart every time.  I will see him again and my kids and husband will get to meet him, and we will all be together one day.

Learning to trust again

I’ve learned that no matter what we are going through, God is there. It’s our choice to open ourselves up to Him or not.  

It will be painful, but He wants us to tell him how we feel.  Yell and scream if we have to.  Cry.  That is the only way to heal.  Talk to Him, read his word, and eventually, the feelings follow the truth.  It is a process.  

They say time heals all wounds.  I disagree.  My wounds are still there, and I believe, always will be.  But they won’t hurt constantly as long as I let God take over.  He is sovereign and has a greater plan than I could ever imagine, and it is my job to trust in that and lean not on my own understanding! (Proverbs 3:5)  

Praise God from whom all blessings flow!

About the Guest Writer:

Amy is a pastor’s wife, mom to two crazy kids, and a teacher in North Texas.  She dabbles in blogging about life and how God is working on her at beingtheclay.com.  She also has a passion for helping people free their homes and bodies of toxins as a Young Living Essential Oils distributor.

Note: For more insight into this family’s journey, see this post inspired by Amy’s grandmother (the mother who lost her 49-year-old son):
How to find dry ground when you’re drowning in a sea of questions

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