It’s been nine years to the month when life seemed to just bottom out. Nine years. It’s really hard to believe that nearly a decade has passed. It’s even harder to believe that I find myself here once again.

In June 2013, my family and I received the news we were really hoping to avoid. Not enough of an income meant we would lose our forever home. It was such a horrific blow. That house was the place of so many firsts for us. It was our safe place. Our memory-holder. Our home. And we could no longer call it ours. Earlier in that year, my husband had lost his job and had been unable to secure employment since then. I was working but a therapist makes peanuts so my paycheck couldn’t keep up with the monthly expenses. We were forced to wave the white flag.

I remember going through different waves of emotions. Why was this happening? Where was God? When would it end? We lost several friends during that time whom we believed were true and solid in our lives. But some people don’t like messy. And we were definitely messy during that point. On the other hand, we also discovered some friends we never really knew we had. People who walked with us in our messiness and didn’t mind getting a little dirty along the way. And we saw God. Often.

It was a very difficult time. I can remember literally counting coins in order to pay for things we needed but then out of blue, in the most difficult of moments, God provided. There were times when I wondered if we would ever feel anything other than sadness again and then God would give me a glimpse of the joy I possessed deep within because of Him. It was a long road.

But time goes on. The sun kept shining. The earth kept spinning. And we eventually found our way back to a place of normalcy. We stopped merely surviving and began living again. And we were very thankful to God, giving Him all of the glory for the successful climb out of our deep pit.

Somewhere during this past decade, we lost sight of an important lesson Jesus taught. Just because we’ve already been through a trial, that didn’t exempt us from future trials, no matter how close we walk with Jesus Christ.

In Matthew 5:45, Jesus said, “{God} makes the sun rise on both good and bad people. And he sends rain for the ones who do right and for the ones who do wrong.”

If you are anything like me, that isn’t a verse you spend a lot of time on. I mean, seriously, I’m a good person and do the right thing so God’s sun will shine on me, right? Yes, but so will the rain… and wind… and the thunder and lightning. The bad doesn’t stop just because the good is there. As Jesus said, “In the world, you will have tribulation…”

Unfortunately, I was not prepared for more tribulation in my life.

Last week, my husband’s work contract came to an abrupt end. No warning. No time to make plans. Just an ordinary Wednesday that would become a mass of chaos with one phone call. “And he sends rain for the ones who do right and for the ones who do wrong.”

Blessings surround me.

I see them.

I give thanks for them.

But… I’m angry.

I cannot count the number of times I have said to God, “I love my life. Thank you.” After the turmoil of 2013, life was pretty simple but very good. We were able to buy a home after house-hopping for a few years. It’s a cute little house nestled into some trees on a hillside. We’ve made some renovations and put lots of love into it. It’s become our home and we love it. We’ve managed to take some family trips to the coast. That’s always been my favorite getaway. We go out to eat more than we should and we buy things we definitely don’t need. But it has been a pretty simple life over these past few years.

I am a business owner and really proud of the work I do in the mental health field. Honestly, I give away a lot more than I make. I love my patients and desire to point them to God in the midst of the struggles they are in. My husband poured his heart and soul into his patients. It was a specialized practice focused completely on substance abuse treatment. His passion for it comes from his experiences surviving it. He didn’t just see his patients, he empathized with them. He listened and he gave them hope. Between the two of us, we spent most of the past few years dedicating our lives to serving God by serving his hurting world.

So the question that immediately sprung to my mind upon hearing the news was, “Why God?”

It’s too easy to get into the mindset that the bad stuff can’t touch me because we’ve already had our fair share of it. How completely vain for me to think that. What promise has God ever made that the bad stuff has a limitation? None! And yet, I was walking through life as if I was somehow immune of any further tribulation.

C. S. Lewis said, “There is no such thing as a sum of suffering, for no one suffers it. … If tribulation is a necessary element in redemption, we must anticipate that it will never cease till God sees the world to be either redeemed or no further redeemable.” (The Problem of Pain).

And there it is. Tribulation is necessary and my family is definitely not immune. But dang it, it is hard to live in the constant void of the unknown. It’s difficult to describe what it’s like. There is just a constant feeling of walking a high wire over a bottomless cliff.

“I am worn out from my groaning. All night long I flood my bed with weeping and drench my couch with tears. My eyes grow weak with sorrow; they fail because of all my foes.” Psalm 6:6-7

For several years I cried this lament daily. I felt David’s anguish when he said, “My God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer, by night,I find no rest.” And to be honest, I’m not real thrilled about experiencing that anguish again. Unfortunately, you can’t stop this stuff from coming. And with it comes anger and even some doubt.

I may feel David’s cries of “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” and think, “I should not feel this way! I am losing my faith!”But my lament is in good company with our spiritual fathers and their faith journeys.

In the Scriptures, faith is not simply an intellectual feeling. It is the trusting of my entire being to God. At times, we all will likely experience God’s absence; and right now I certainly feel alone and confused. So doubt creeps in.

But praise be to God, doubt is not opposed to faith; despair is. When the father in Mark 9 brought his son to Jesus for healing, Jesus encouraged the father to have faith. He replied, “I do believe, help my unbelief!” (Mark 9:24). Yes. That is the conflict.

Even Saint Paul tells us he was “perplexed, but not driven to despair” (2 Corinthians 4:8). In despair we give up on our relationship with God. Doubt, on the other hand, is a sign that our faith is alive and kicking; it is part of the rhythm of faith itself.

Lament is not a failure of faith, but an act of faith. We cry out directly to God because deep down we know that our relationship with God counts; it counts to us and it counts to God.

Even if I currently do not experience the closeness of God I want to feel, I believe that God does care. Even if God seems not seem to hear, I believe that God is always within shouting distance. In the Scriptures, God does not say, “Do not fear, I will take away all the pain and struggle.” Rather, He says, “You have no need to fear, since I am with you” (Genesis 26:24; Exodus 3:11-12; Matthew 14:27).

In this light, the “cursing psalms” make sense. They have often been a particular stumbling block. We need to recognize, first, that they are clearly spoken out of great pain and distress. The feelings are really in the psalms, and at times they are really in us.

God, this is the way I feel; I leave it to you. And even though God has never been known to do what I want or when I want it, I know the only way through this tribulation is to let God deal with it.

Although right now I can truly relate to many of the psalms and the anguish they spell out, almost all of the lament psalms end on a sudden turn to praise. We can’t leave that part out. It is only after we lament, after we face and express the pain and negativity and get it all out, that healing can begin. In more theological terms, we can say that it is only by facing and going through the death that we can come to new life, to resurrection.

The structure of lament tells us that it is possible to praise too soon. The psalmist takes the time to let all the pain and anger out before the praise can set in. So, today, I am not really ready to praise. But I will. I always do. He is forever faithful in his mercy and grace.

We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. (2 Corinthians 4:8-10) This will be my praise. This is always my praise.