It's just Me Abby

I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I broke down in the front seat of my car. I had just been followed for the last 15 minutes in uptown, New Orleans, by an enraged woman.

It was my fault, really. An honest mistake. I was multitasking which is not a strength of mine.

Let me tell you the story of what happened days before summer break.

I had just dropped all four of my children off at two different school campuses and was now racing back to the first campus to help chaperone a field trip. I had five minutes to get there before the class began their trek to the city bus stop, but it would take me at least ten. My son’s teacher was on speaker phone asking me where I was as I rolled to a stop sign and began to turn left onto a one way street. I didn’t see the car already there and pulled right in front of her. She must have slammed on her breaks because we never collided. I finally noticed her when I heard the horn. She was livid. I mouthed I was sorry and continued on.

She tailed me for the first four minutes with her hand laying heavy on the horn. I had enough of that so I decided to change routes. I turned down a new street.

She turned, too, hand still on the horn.

I sped up. She sped up.

I turned. She turned.

I tried dodging her, but I couldn’t shake her.

I finally pulled up to the front of the school. It sits in a neighborhood where there’s only street parking available. I didn’t know what this woman was going to do, but I couldn’t afford to stay in my car any longer. I dialed the teacher on my cell, jump out of my car and start running towards the bus stop where the class was waiting to board.

The angry woman stopped her car, rolled down her window, and started railing. I had never been called so many terrible things in one long stream of sentences my entire life. “I’m sorry!” I called out and kept running. Luckily I was running in the opposite direction she was currently headed. Thank goodness she gave up and drove off.

The teacher picked up my phone call. It was too late. They had boarded the bus five minutes ago.

I was dejected. I turned around and started walking back to my car.

“You Idiot!” Shouted a voice that caught me unawares. The irate woman had circled back around to affront me with another stream of offenses.

That’s enough, I thought.

“Now hold on” I called to her and began walking towards her car. She spat out one last threat and sped off before I reached her window.

I walked back to my car, climbed in, and cried.

Life handed me a heap of lemons before 9am on that day.

God, why? I didn’t need this or deserve this! I am good, and I’m kind, and all for you!

A week ago I received a terrible phone call. One of my dearest friend’s young daughter was found unconscious from drowning. My husband and I begged God’s mercy for a miracle as medics tried to revive her.

But she didn’t make it.

Oh God, oh God, why? Where were you? My friend is so faithful in loving and serving you, she doesn’t deserve this!

Life handed her an awful lump of permanent heartache and sorrow.

Truth be told, my frustration is rising even as I type this.

I am so good. I really am. Honestly. I’ve never veered, but a fraction of an inch, from the straight and narrow. Sure I make mistakes, I’m not perfect. I have weaknesses and unhealthy tendencies, but they’re not major. I’m quite good! I’ll even be humble about it, I’m good•ish!

My brain computes goodness as cause and effect. Goodness is the outcome of a positive action. I become good if I act rightly.

I do what’s right, therefore I am good.

But my logic doesn’t stop there. It takes a bold step. Goodness merits compensation. But if goodness deserves a reward, then I must follow the logic that sin merits punishment.

We know that Christ died for our sin so the penalty of sin has already been paid in full with love.

There still remains, though, the consequences of our sin. But as you already know my sins are relatively minor so consequences should be inconsequential.

And now we’ve gotten to my arrogant error. The standard of goodness I adhere to is my own.

I compare my goodness to everyone one else and feel pleased with what I see. I am very unaware of how charitable I am to myself.

If I were to hold my goodness up to the goodness of God, I should be deeply ashamed.

“We are all infected and impure with sin. When we display our righteous deeds, they are nothing but filthy rags.” Isaiah 64:6

Even my goodest good is flawed by sin and insufficient in comparison to a holy God who is untemptable by any evil. My good•ishness deserves no reward.

As I watched the live stream of the memorial service for my friend’s daughter I was moved by two things.

Her husband took the stage, and with tears in his eyes acknowledged two great realities: unimaginable grief and the unchanging goodness of God. I listened to this father testify that our good God had good purposes even in his daughter’s death.

Secondly, I watched my beautiful friend, clothed with strength and dignity and arms wrapped around her four sons singing, “For my Savior loves me so, he will hold me fast.”

As she’s such a dear friend of mine, I’ve been privy to some of the pain she’s already experienced in life. Some very significant with the loss of her daughter topping it all. But she sat through that service, heart battered and crushed, yet head held high because her faith was deeply rooted and secured in the love and goodness of God.

The goodness of God truly is good. Even in suffering.

Suffering is a crushing witness to the horrors of sin. But Jesus knows all about that. Even after pleading with God to remove this cup from him, he accepted the path of suffering and willingly endured unjust torture and crucifixion, trusting that his heavenly Father was still good.

Salvation is found in Jesus’ suffering. Sanctification is found in ours. God’s goodness is found in both.

If Jesus could trust that, I certainly can.