No, God doesn’t make sense, but first I just wanted to take a minute to thank everyone for the texts, social media comments, emails, and hooking up in person. Turns out marriage isn’t easy for most anyone. Actually, a staggering number of everyone I apparently know.

Not sure why we don’t talk about it. (I have my suspicions of course) But thanks again for opening up.

Now, on to Tiffany. Someone else who opened up.

“Mom, what’s sin?  Does God really hate me?”

Tiffany went silent.  Her mouth snapped shut as her mind was both blank, and running for the hills all at the same time.  It’d be nice for some back up, someone to defer to, another to help out as she tried to navigate her daughter’s heart and the call of God without screwing it up.  

She loves her husband. But, truth is, he can’t help.  He has his own struggles and questions.  Faith isn’t as cut and dry and is certainly anything but simple for him, her, or the family.  They definitely don’t look like any of those perfect happy put together just so families attending your normal, run of the mill Sunday service, or posting perfect (edited) photos on Facebook.  Tiffany’s easy wife life is just a little more complicated.  

“Struggle.”  

When it comes to faith and life.   When God doesn’t make sense.  

One word.  I asked, “What’s the first word that comes to your mind when we talk about faith and life? First thing, no thinking.  No sugarcoating.  No making excuses.”  

Because that’s when the honesty comes.

An honest answer from someone who could have thrown in the towel long ago.  She had the option, and many would look at the circumstances and say, yeah.  I get it.  But, again, can I say this enough?

God doesn’t make sense. 

And to anyone who’d argue that He does, let’s chat, deeply, for a few hours on the patio.  I could use some answers.  I think my questions have merit.   I’ll make the drinks.

But, for whatever reason, for a million reasons, God calls, continuously.  Even after closing (or at least letting slam shut) many doors.  The calls continued for Tiffany.   

“Come back.”

She wasn’t sure why, if He was really calling, He kept pushing her away every chance He got.  Why wasn’t He making things fit, click, come together like she thought they should?  

What does she do with the struggle?  Can she be honest about it?  Does anyone talk openly about this stuff? Can she use it to help others?  Can she ask anyone without being judged?  

Should she be struggling at all?

Or should she push it down, try not to focus on it, dwell in the negative, let it fester, seep, create bitterness while it builds reactions she never intended.  Reactions that are never helpful. 

Tiffany pressed in.  She pressed on.  She’s moving forward.  

Into and through the struggle.   

It starts with fond memories of church, even if that’s not where it ends.  With grandma, every Sunday, until she died when Tiffany was a child.  Then nothing.  No church, no community, no Godly influence.  Her parents had no interest. 

Junior high. They’d agree to drop her off, but she could tell they weren’t happy about it.  So, eventually, she lost interest.  Jesus wept?  Why?  This doesn’t make any sense. God doesn’t make sense.  There’s a clear disconnect here.  Cultural, generational?  She didn’t know.  At least her parents got to stop driving.  

Still, He called.  

Tiffany met a leader during high school in Youth For Christ.  She found life as she dove in. Community, friendships, road trips, retreats, she loved it.  Then, as quickly as it came, God let the door slam.  

A friend admitted having identity issues and they were instantly shunned from the group. Tossed aside like they were nothing, nobody.  Is that really how followers of Christ act?  Is that what the church is? Is this what it’s all about?  She wasn’t sure she could be a part of it.  

God made the decision for her.  The leader moved.  Meetings stopped.  She didn’t have anything to go back to anyway.  

“Back to nothing.”   

God was dead. For ten years.  After high school.  After marriage.  There was no mention of God in the wedding vows. No sappy Bible verses. Faith was never a component. 

God was a distant thing.  Maybe He was still there, maybe, but He sure wasn’t doing anything (she thought) to make Himself known.  Yet she still felt the call.  Continuously.  On her heart, in her mind.  And it wasn’t because of anyone in her family.    

She was alone.  

She’d head to church, her husband coming along because she asked.  Because he felt he had to.  He had a belief.  Something, he just wasn’t sure what, exactly.  Inside she knew he didn’t really want to be there.  She’d head to small group, alone again because that was too vulnerable, too close quarters for him to even pretend. 

The looks, the awkwardness, she hated being the only one without her partner.  So she left.

She understood he had questions.  Their last church attendance ended in finding out the pastor was arrested for embezzlement and stalking. Just more confirmation for her husband.   

Still, Tiffany knew that wasn’t the truth.  That wasn’t where or who God was.  That was who we are, without God.  But how could she expect him to change now, just because she wanted him to?  Just because she was changing?  Was it her job to convince him?  

Yet another blow.    

Easter 2019 her husband decided to go to church with her and the kids.  She was thankful. Maybe this would be a turning point.  

Sitting in service, a glorious day, the church decided to put up a giant picture of a beaten and bloody Jesus on the big screen.   Her girl’s eyes shot wide.  A hand went over a face.  Tiffany could see their minds churning.  Questions.  Fear.  Tears. What was that?  Why?

“Mommy what happened to Him?”  

As they walk out everyone talks about why they can never go back to that “scary” place again.  

Devastated.

She tried to connect to God.  She tried to connect Him to her family.  Over and over again. God doesn’t make sense.  He wasn’t making it easy on anyone.  It wasn’t natural.  

It ends here. Tiffany gave up. Her expectations, who she thought God was, what He wanted her to do. “God, I don’t know where to go here.”

He spoke, through her husband’s aunt.  “Come back.”  Finally! Tiffany had someone to go with.  To sit with.  To meet people and gain community.  She enjoyed every Sunday.  She enjoyed learning, exploring her faith.  Connecting to God.  The girls started going back with her, asking questions, and attending youth activities.

Nightly prayers, enjoying What is the bible with Buck Denver.  They were on a roll.  She felt less alone, even if her husband wasn’t where she’d like him to be.  She knew it wasn’t her responsibility to change him. 

Then, God blew it all up.  

The door slammed, again. Covid. 

Churches shut down.  Watching service from home with kids?  Seriously.  That doesn’t work.  She was alone again watching from her phone.  Community gone.  Family time gone.  Help leading her girls in faith, finished.  

God doesn’t make sense.  Where are You?  Are You trying to kill my faith?  Are You trying to drive me away?  Are You there at all?  We’ve been trying here.  I’ve really been trying here.  I thought this was progress.  

Dry.  Everything was dry.  Like Arizona desert mid day and high sun toast. Faith, family, life.  Covid.  She was wandering in the sand and had no idea where she was even trying to go.

But, as churches reopen, they return.  Slowly.  Her girls begin to focus again, to explore their faith.  Tiffany jumps back in with both feet.  Serving, interacting, not just consuming.  He wasn’t just calling now, God was driving.  Her.  Authentic connection. Her thoughts, her feelings, her desires.  Something was clicking.  

On a night when God didn’t make sense to her daughter, she asked.  “Mom, what is sin?  Why does God hate me because I’ve sinned?”  Questions from a nine year old.  How should she navigate that? How can she navigate faith questions and discussion with her daughters as they grow, alone? Can she do this, alone?  

“Mom, why doesn’t daddy go to church?” 

It’s becoming so much.  Is she making headway?  Progress?  Is she screwing it up?

A beacon of hope, in Santa Clause.

Finally, last year.   A sense something is working.  He is leading.  God speaks, plain as day.  

Christmas music playing, waiting in line, tis’ the season.   It’s time to sit on Santa’s lap.  What would you like for Christmas little girls?  

“Without hesitation BOTH girls asked for bibles. Bibles!”

Santa actually got out of his chair and came over to my husband and I.  He didn’t speak to my husband, he looked at and hugged me, addressed me specifically, as my husband was standing right there. He embraced so tight.  ‘’You are doing something very right young lady. These are very special girls you have here.”   

It was the perfect Christmas present.  Exactly what she needed.

The voice of God.

Now she watches her daughter’s find comfort in God’s words when they’re anxious.  

Matthew 17:20 – Having faith, even as small as a mustard seed, can give you the strength to face anything.

The future. 

She won’t sugar coat it. It’s never certain or sure.   Clearly, it’s been a rollercoaster.

God doesn’t make sense.  But is He supposed to?  And even as I slowly waded back into my Bible, just like Tiffany, I can’t help but have the same thoughts wash over me each time.  

The same thoughts I think she, her girls, and even her husband may think or feel.

No, this doesn’t make sense. A lot of it. Most of it? Especially in our day and age. To new generations. But there is something here.  Something amazing.  Something limitless that transcends all we know and the time we have.  Something that the people who wrote these words and stories tried to capture as best they could, because, for them as well, God didn’t make sense.  

What they were seeing, experiencing, it didn’t go as anyone thought it would, or should.  

So they wrote, explored, and tried to explain it to and for others who hopefully would see the sheer amazement they were experiencing.  The impact.  The chaos.

The new.

And if it did make sense? I’m not sure I’d have any interest. A God that makes sense, that we can explain, distill, box in and use logic to describe the why and all? (And boy do we try) That doesn’t seem like God at all. Seems like a creation of man. And we already have enough of those.

And while Tiffany isn’t sure where all this will lead, how it will turn out, or where she, her daughters, her husband, or even all and everyone together are headed, she’s excited to find out.  

She’s experiencing something amazing, authentic connection, and maybe she can’t explain it exactly, or get everyone on the same page when and how she wants, but the truth is, she doesn’t need to.  It’s not on her.  

It’s on Him.  

And He is faithful to call, to seek, to draw and clarify, in His time.  

Tiffany would love to shout out  Eastpointe Christian Church – Blacklick.  A place of community, life, and direction, led by the One who called her back over and over and over again.  

Even if the doors kept shutting for reasons she’ll never understand this side of life, she doesn’t need to.  

She just needs to feel that special hug from God, through Santa.  

“You’re doing something very right, young lady.”

She’s becoming more comfortable, in His mystery.

Is God saying something to you? Is He offering life, peace, through Santa?

Through someone?

Cheers, 

C

Enjoy the interviews? I’m told they help in two ways. Providing a connection, timeline, and picture to the call and directing of God, and sorting out some personal things deep in the soul.

Interested? I’d love to interview you. It’s easy, I promise. Just get on my email list here then grab a copy of the book so you know the truth about who’s interviewing you.

That’s it. Hit me up at Chad.Campese@gmail.com. It’s that simple.

Written by: Chad Campese

Chad Campese is a father, husband, police officer, blogger, and author of the book Confession of a Christian Fraud.  He holds a BA in Christian Counseling and psychology, is heavily involved in peer support and recovery when it comes to first responders, and is an expert in living his life and faith as a fraud. These days he simply relies on the leading of the Spirit as he tries to slowly and purposefully take life one day at a time.