I stood in front of our church last Sunday with a heart full of tension because I knew we were about to wrestle with a truth that both comforts and frustrates us, the sovereignty of God.

That word sovereignty sounds distant and regal, like something written on a scroll in a medieval castle. But when it crashes into real life, into a cancer diagnosis, a layoff, a closed womb, a closed door- it suddenly feels less like a doctrine and more like a dare. Do you still trust Me?

Let’s be honest…

We love control. We grip our plans with white knuckled intensity and call it responsibility. We script outcomes in our heads and expect God to co-sign. But what do we do when He doesn’t?

Romans 9 doesn’t flinch. Paul puts the hammer down: God has mercy on whom He wants to have mercy, and He hardens whom He wants to harden. That’s offensive. Until suffering shows up and we’re desperate to know someone bigger is driving this thing.

I told our church that sovereignty isn’t a cold machine grinding forward without care. It’s a Father with scarred hands holding the wheel. That doesn’t make the road easy, but it means the destination is sure.

Formerly, I thought God being in control meant He’d stop the bad stuff. Until I realized His control doesn’t always look like comfort. Sometimes it looks like a cross.”

The cross is the clincher, right? If God could take the worst injustice in history and make it the hinge of redemption, then maybe He can take our mess and do something miraculous with it too.

You don’t have to understand the plan. You don’t have to like the path. But you can trust the One writing the story.

He’s not flinching. He’s not guessing. He’s not overwhelmed.

He is God. And He is good.

Even when it doesn’t feel like it.