I used to believe that God is good, meaning that he gives me what I want. Maybe not right away, of course — I was taught that at a young age — but certainly in time, he will give me what I want. I suppose really, I thought God was nice. 

I used to think that pain and suffering must be a result of sin, somehow. I wouldn’t have verbally affirmed that notion, but somewhere deep in my heart, I believed it.

I was, and surely in some ways still am, an “American Christian.” God bless America, and if he doesn’t, well, then I guess we did something wrong.

My dad died when I was a teenager. Death didn’t fit into my faith framework, especially since my dad was a godly man. My family prayed for healing, and we believed he would live, but God didn’t give us what we wanted.

Somehow, I had missed all the parts in the Bible where people — even righteous people — endured great pain and loss. Job, Abraham, Moses, David, Esther, Paul, and, oh yeah, Jesus!

Suddenly, I had to wrestle with God, or straight-up dump him. I chose the former, which can only be explained supernaturally. It took several years to get answers. Heck, it took several years before I found the right questions to ask! But in my pursuit, and through pain, God began to reveal more of himself to me.

I still believe that God is good, but I’ve learned that goodness is not the same thing as niceness. I’m glad I don’t believe in a nice god anymore; I believe in a good one.