Tim was out of work for more than a year. He was hit with the first wave of mass layoffs attributed to “restructuring”, now presumably because AI is handling all the work, but really because companies are sending tech jobs to India in droves. He didn’t see it coming, didn’t predict the almost overnight shift in the job market, didn’t expect that his experience and expertise would be passed over again and again in favor of hiring someone younger, or who better fit a quota. A white man nearing fifty doesn’t check any of those boxes.

So he interviewed. Got strung along for 7 weeks of interviews for one company, then rejected with no explanation. We prayed. At first, I thought God must just have something better. I thought Tim shouldn’t settle for less than he lost, because that was barely enough to live on as it was. I thought God was going to show himself faithful. Eventually, though, as weeks turned to months, then to a year with nothing more than occasional work helping with a friend’s house project, we both just felt like something – anything – was better than nothing. So he lowered his standards a little, applying to jobs with lower pay, requiring less experience, on-site rather than remote. And we were ready to pack everything up and move if we had to. Actually, I not-so-secretly hoped that moving might be a necessity. Instead, he got a job, on-site, for less pay, requiring less experience, 30 minutes from home.

I cried. A lot. Not happy tears. Not tears of relief. Angry, disappointed tears. Tears of loss – how is it that the gain of a job just seemed to result in more loss? I know many people would say I should be thankful. Thankful that God had provided for us well enough that we were able to go for more than a year with almost no income. Thankful that Tim at least found a job that wasn’t stocking shelves. Thankful for the sixteen years that he was able to work from home. But all I could think of was my nine year old who suddenly wasn’t going to have his dad around, and of Tim sitting at a desk all day, not able to get up and move around as frequently as his middle-aged body prefers, and of my own random health issues that leave me under the weather and needing help more often than is convenient. And the list could be a mile long of all the reasons this job feels like a paltry excuse for provision, from a God who supposedly fills our needs abundantly…”now if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is, and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will He not much more clothe you, o you of little faith?” It turns out, no.

I don’t like that that’s the true answer in my life. I don’t understand how that’s the answer. Others like to point out that we aren’t “in need”, we have our basic necessities provided for. But that’s hardly evidence of God providing for us. I don’t think that saying He’s the God of just barely enough has much of a flattering ring to it. And I’m tired of hearing that, someday, we will see how God worked it for good. So far? None of life’s hard circumstances have resulted in good down the road. Standing on principles, giving when it hurts, health problems and house problems and car problems…all have left us alone, exhausted and with less than we started with.

Yes, I know that there are intangibles that are worth more than any material security. Our kids love Jesus…and they love us. Our marriage is strong. We aren’t facing any health crises. But the continual loss of so many things look a lot like God has forgotten us. And any explanation about God’s goodness in the midst of it sounds a lot like trying to gaslight ourselves into believing that less-than-mediocre is somehow God-glorifying.

Don’t mistake what I’m looking for as being founded in some kind of “health and wealth” gospel that treats God like a genie in a bottle. In reality, many of the circumstances that I see as hardship would be truly fine if I could see a point. If God was using us, if we had any ministry opportunity, if there was a clear direction – something we have pleaded with Him for for years – the struggles would make sense, the cost would be understandable. But we don’t, and it isn’t.

I’m tired of worrying what someone might think of what I’m saying here. I know, contrary as it might sound, that my faith is secure. I think it’s okay to say I don’t understand, though. I think it’s okay to be angry. Not ideal, but okay. God knows His understanding is higher than mine. I may not like what He’s doing, and I might try to reason my way through, and I might try to convince Him that He’s wrong. But even so, I’ll take my lot, I’ll let go of that which is being taken from me, and I’ll keep reaching out for Him.

And in the meantime, my daily – sometimes hourly – prayer will be Jesus, please come back, because life just feels too hard.