My first year living in Nashville was one of the hardest seasons of my life. It was like being caught in a storm that just wouldn’t let up. The winds of physical illness and financial strain sought to pull me under, while loneliness poured down like cold, unrelenting rain, soaking every corner of my life.

I found myself staring up at the storm-darkened sky, asking the question so many skeptics and believers alike have asked. If God is loving and good, why does He allow evil? Why does God allow His children to walk through so much hardship?

I didn’t realize that my craving to obtain full knowledge of “good and evil” was the same temptation that first slithered into the lush Garden of Eden. It was this same temptation that curled around Eve’s heart, coaxing her fingers toward the forbidden fruit — the desire to grasp full knowledge of good and evil and, in doing so, to reach beyond her humanity and be like God.

“‘You will not certainly die,’ the serpent said to the woman. ‘For God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.’ When the woman saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom, she took some and ate it. She also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate it. Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they realized they were naked; so they sewed fig leaves together and made coverings for themselves.”
Genesis 3:4-7 NIV

But control was never meant to be humanity’s comfort; and knowledge was never meant to be its anchor.  

Yet, still, I reached for control and knowledge as if they could steady me, as if knowing why would somehow bring calm and shift the course of the storms in my life. Somewhere along the way, I swallowed the lie whole, believing that if I could just understand, if I could make sense of it all, the burden might feel lighter.

But God never asked us to bear the weight of understanding. He only asked us to trust in the One who does. True peace isn’t in searching for answers to problems I have no power to solve. It’s found in surrender — resting in the hands of the One who holds every variable, even when I can’t solve the why. 

Sometimes, God’s greatest blessing is not revealing why. And that’s a strange kind of grace, isn’t it? Because you and I are not all-powerful, and having knowledge without the ability to change things would only leave us feeling even more helpless. 

The real gift isn’t in knowing why, but in knowing Who. 

Still, I’m learning — it is okay. It’s okay to bring the raw, tangled questions and unsanitized ache before God’s throne of grace, where mercy isn’t measured by logic. It’s okay to wrestle in prayer with fists clenched tight and tear-streaked cheeks, pouring out doubts to the God who spoke galaxies into existence and called light from the void.

So, like the Psalmist, I remind my own soul that God does not subtract His presence nor does He ration His affections when the disappointments pile high. He does not flinch when my faith feels fragile, and He never turns His face when my prayers sound more like pleading than praise. He multiplies His grace. He draws near, still.   

Can you, on some level, relate to this? Do you find yourself grasping to understand the full complexities of good and evil — trying to hold what was never meant for human hands? And, have you noticed? In doing so, we only step further away from the peace that comes from trusting He who is infinite in wisdom and power.

So, here’s a holy resolve. Even if God never reveals the why, we can choose to remember that our relationship with God isn’t hinged on perfect knowledge but fully on faith and trust in His sovereign character.

Instead of reaching for control, I want to reach for the hand that has always been reaching for me, even through life’s storms . . . and even when I don’t understand the why’s.

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