He Is Good. And He Is God. In That Order.

I have been sitting with something for months now.

Not because I lost my faith. But because faith in a hard season looks different than faith in a good one. And I do not think we talk about that enough.

My dad — many of you know him as Grampy — has been fighting a really aggressive esophageal cancer. The last few months have stretched me in ways I did not know I could be stretched. He has always been my rock. A humble, quiet, God-fearing man who never asked for much and always showed up for everyone else.

Watching him grow frail has been one of the hardest things I have ever walked through.

And somewhere in the middle of it all — somewhere between the hospital waiting rooms and the late-night prayers and the moments when I did not have words — I found myself wrestling with God.

Not walking away from Him. Wrestling with Him.

There is a difference.

The Question I Kept Coming Back To

If God is good — why does a good man suffer?

If God is powerful — why does He not just fix it?

I do not think I am the first person to ask these questions. I know I am not. And I do not think God is offended by them. I think He is big enough to hold them.

But what I kept bumping into — in the quiet, in the Word, in the moments I least expected it — was this reordering of something I thought I already knew:

He is good. And He is God. In that order.

I had always understood those two things, but I had them backwards in practice.

I was starting with His sovereignty — with the question of why He allowed this — and getting lost there every time. Because when you start with sovereignty in the middle of suffering, you spiral. You ask why. You demand answers. You measure His goodness by what He does or does not do.

What I have come to understand — slowly, imperfectly, on my knees — is that we have to know He is good before we can trust that He is God. Because if we start with His sovereignty, we will get lost there. But if we start with His goodness — if we anchor there first — then His sovereignty becomes something we can rest in instead of wrestle against.

Choosing to believe that before I know how the story ends has been the hardest and holiest thing I have ever done.

What I Know Today

Today is his 73rd birthday.

Today I got to pick him up and drive him to his 4th chemo appointment. And when I walked in the door this morning — his voice was strong. Stronger than it has been in months. The PA noticed it too.

I do not take that for granted for even a second.

Getting to this day is a miracle. And I mean that in the most literal sense of the word.

I have had the opportunity to build something I am deeply grateful for over the last few years. A business. A community. A way to help women steward the health and strength that matter so much more than we realize.

But none of it — not one bit of it — compares to this morning. Walking into my dad's house and hearing his voice sound like him.

What I Want to Leave You With

We can chase all the things.

But in the end, it comes down to health and faith.

And money cannot buy either.

I say health is wealth probably a hundred times a week. I mean it every single time. But this season has shown me the second half of that truth in a way I could not have learned any other way.

Health is wealth. And faith is the foundation everything else is built on.

If you are in a hard season right now — if you are wrestling — I just want you to know that wrestling is not the opposite of faith. Sometimes it is the deepest expression of it.

Start with His goodness. Anchor there first. And let His sovereignty become something you rest in, not something you have to figure out.

He is good. And He is God. In that order.

Hold onto that. Especially when the circumstances do not look good.

Especially then.

— Amy 🤍

From a nurse's perspective and a daughter's heart.