And If Not, Is He Still Good?

Last year, I bought a shirt from one of my favorite vendors at the Daffodil Festival in Gloucester County.  The shirt was honestly my second choice, but they were sold-out of my first choice.  I felt compelled to find an alternative, so I selected a pretty teal cotton v-neck.

In cursive script across the front, the second-choice shirt proclaims "And if not, He is still good."

The message resonated with me, but it also stung a little.

Lately, the words have kinetically reversed into a question that I find myself asking...
And if not, is He still good?

Friday night, the weight of the question broke me.  It happens sometimes.  Some days the question stays at the hem and barely interferes with my ability to function, but other days doubts find the loose bits, and I unravel.  

I felt the questions tugging all day.  I stayed busy and filled my hours with work and avoidance.  Unfortunately, my evasive attempts were futile.

After running several errands, I took Denver to the Dog Park. I managed to make it halfway home... but then it was too much.  Sitting in the Food Lion parking lot, hidden from plain view, I succumbed to the wicked what ifs. Denver sat quietly in the backseat, taking in my tears and my self-pitiful soliloquy.

I am privileged, and from the context of my blessings, there is a lot of room for deceptive theologies. In my life, hard work has generally been rewarded with realized aspirations.  I know the fallaciousness of this ideology, but it certainly makes faith easier.
When I can control the outcomes, faith becomes a pretty t-shirt with a frayed and vulnerable hem.

It feels difficult to admit an unrequited longing. As if the absence of this realized dream reflects an insufficient faith.  We love the stories about miracles, the stories of overcoming, but what about the stories that remain unfinished?  What if the dream is never realized?  What if we experience only loss? What if we leave Egypt but never get to see the Promised Land?  If not, is He still good?

After crying and lamenting in the Food Lion parking lot for an hour, I drove home.  Glenn met me at the door with a silent and knowing embrace.  I felt God's response-
I am still good.

Later that evening, Glenn and I went to dinner.  It was past 8, and our fridge was empty. We selected a restaurant near home. When we prepared to pay for our entrees, the waitress indicated that we were receiving dessert in addition to our meals, as a gift from the older couple in the booth adjacent from our own-
I am still good.

I know the answer to the question.  A part of me has known it all along.
If not, He is still good.

His goodness is not dependent on my dreams, nor is it dependent on my frayed t-shirt faith. 

God is good-
in the moments of overwhelming confusion and disappointment,
in the moments of overwhelming joy and celebration,
in the moments of disillusionment,
in the moments of contentment,
God is good.

You hem me in, behind and before.
If I ascend to heaven, you are there
If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there
[If I cry in a Food Lion parking lot,] 
Even there your hand shall find me
Your right hand will hold me.
For you formed my inmost parts;
you knitted me together in my mother's womb.
I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Your eyes regard my unformed substance.
In your book are written
the days that were formed for me
before they were realized.
How precious to me are your thoughts,
How vast the sum of them!
If I would count them, they outnumber the grains of sand.
I awake, and you are still with me.
-Psalm 139