A Day’s Journey Reflection

“God is good.”

Is He?

Today, I said those words to someone deeply wounded, and she did not respond.

We had been texting back and forth. There seemed to be a tender connection between us. We shared a few “Yays,” funny emojis, and even hearts. Then I wrote the words:

“God is good!” And then there was silence.

No response. No heart. No emoji. Just silence.

I sat with those three words: God is good. And I remembered, and I understood the silence.

I remembered how those words felt after my losses. I remembered how they felt after the death of my son. I remembered how hard it was to hear them when my soul was asking questions my mouth could barely speak. Every milestone his children endure, and he is not here to witness and celebrate with them: his daughter’s wedding, his son’s graduation. Yes, the pain is real, and the silence is loud in heaven.

If God is good, how could He allow my son to die?
If God is good, why do wicked people seem to prosper?
Why do liars, slanderers, and gossipers seem to keep going while the wounded are left trying to breathe?

Yes, these thoughts have crossed my mind as a grieving mother, and honestly, they still do. But I still believe God is good.

However, today I thought about them from another perspective—not only as a grieving mother but also through the eyes of grieving children. A child who lost their father. To a child who felt dismissed, or who was considered a beloved child, as if they didn’t matter.

And Today, when I said, “God is good,” to a grieving child. She was silent. And honestly,  I do not blame her.

Because sometimes pain hears those words differently. For me, those words can still cut from those who say them without wisdom.  

Sometimes “God is good” can sound cruel to someone who is still bleeding. Not because God is not good, but because grief has not yet found the place where His goodness can be seen.

Growing up, three other words silenced me:

“I Love you.”

Those words should have been safe. They should have felt warm. They should have brought comfort. But sometimes they came from people whose actions did not match their words. Their silence, absence, and neglect taught my heart to pause before trusting Love.

So I understand silence. I am not talking about the silence of another wounded soul; if only we can come together and heal in the Presence of God. The silence I am talking about is the silence of those who live by the pattern of never showing reciprocity. Please don’t misinterpret these words. 

I understand what it feels like when true words are spoken, but the wounded heart cannot answer.

Yet I know God is good—not because someone told me, and not because I said the words out loud. I know God is good because He showed me His goodness when everyone else left.

In the silence, when no one called, God was still there.
When no one asked if I was well, God still cared.
When certain people in my life said, “I Love you,” but their silence showed me differently, God’s Love remained true. And in their silence, I heard Him say, tenderly:

“I Love you.”

And maybe that is my prayer Today—not that the wounded answer quickly, or the grieving force themselves to say words before they are ready, but that somewhere in the silence, they hear Him too.

May the Lord of Comfort comfort the children who have lost a parent.

May He comfort the grandchildren whose grief was mishandled, dismissed, or hidden beneath lies.

May He gently reveal His goodness—not as a phrase they are pressured to repeat, but as a presence they come to know.

Because God’s goodness is not fragile. His goodness can sit in silence.
It can wait beside grief. It can hold the unanswered question.
Most importantly, His Love can hold the one who has no words.

Sacred Pause

Have you ever heard true words at a time when your heart could not receive them?

Take a moment and breathe.

You do not have to force a response before your soul is ready. Your silence does not threaten the Lord. He knows the questions beneath it. He knows the ache beneath it. He knows the child inside who still wonders if Love is safe.

Let Him sit with you there.

A Prayer of Repentance and Comfort

Heavenly Father,

I come before You with a tender and honest heart.

Forgive me for the times I have spoken true words without realizing how they might land on a wounded soul. Forgive me for the times I have expected grief to respond quickly, when sometimes grief can only sit in silence.

Lord, I also repent for the times I have doubted Your goodness because pain was louder than peace. I confess that there have been moments when loss, betrayal, silence, and unanswered questions made it hard for me to see You clearly.

But you were there; good in the silence. You were faithful when others left.
You loved me when human Love failed me. You comforted me when no one else knew how.

Lord, I pray for the children who have lost a parent. I pray for the grandchildren who carry grief they did not choose and questions they do not know how to ask. I pray for the wounded ones who cannot yet say, “God is good,” because their pain is still too loud.

Lord, You do not rush them. You comfort them.

Let them hear Your tender voice in the silence. Let them feel Your nearness where people failed them. Let Your Love become safe to them, not merely as words, but as living truth.

And when they cannot answer, thank You because, hold them anyway.

In Jesus’ Name,
Amen.

Soli Deo Gloria