{"id":17595,"date":"2026-03-10T14:34:44","date_gmt":"2026-03-10T14:34:44","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/gpbookstore.org\/articles\/uncategorized\/when-she-was-angry-at-god-she-remembered-her-mothers-lesson\/"},"modified":"2026-04-10T06:04:02","modified_gmt":"2026-04-10T06:04:02","slug":"when-she-was-angry-at-god-she-remembered-her-mothers-lesson","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/gpbookstore.org\/articles\/inspiring-stories\/stories-of-faith-and-hope\/when-she-was-angry-at-god-she-remembered-her-mothers-lesson\/","title":{"rendered":"When She Was Angry at God, She Remembered Her Mother\u2019s Lesson"},"content":{"rendered":"

I sat in my parents\u2019 den\u2014in my mama\u2019s old chair\u2014watching my dad wrestling with my almost-two-year-old twins. He would playfully toss one away from him, and then the other would come around and attack him from behind, giggling. It was impossible not to smile. But I was still confused and angry about the string of events that had brought us here. God had some explaining to do!<\/p>\n

Less than two years earlier, against my better judgment and without my doctor\u2019s knowledge, I\u2019d come down to Alabama, where my parents lived, to produce and direct a show that my production company had been commissioned to perform. I was 32 weeks pregnant with the twins, but one thing I\u2019ve learned working in the theater is that when opportunity knocks, you answer.<\/p>\n

My husband, Paul, and I already had two other kids, one-year-old Layna and five-year-old Ethan, and they came with us. We drove straight from our home in Columbus, Ohio. All the while, I was reassuring Paul that it would just be a short visit. I\u2019d do the gig, Mama and Daddy would have a chance to bond with their grandkids<\/a>, and then we\u2019d go home.<\/p>\n

I was in this very spot\u2014in the den\u2014when my water broke. Six hours later, the twins arrived for their surprise birthday. Immediately they were whisked off to the NICU, where they stayed for the next 14 days. Paul had to get back to work, and Ethan needed to get back to school. Even after being released from the hospital, the preemies were too fragile to handle the eight-hour drive to Ohio, so I stayed at my parents\u2019 house with them and little Layna.<\/p>\n

It was a rough separation. I was running on empty. Up all hours to feed the newborns while trying to maintain some sense of normalcy, making calls back and forth to Paul (\u201cHow was work?\u201d) and Ethan (\u201cHow was school?\u201d). At least my parents were able to lend a hand. Mama had been a third-grade teacher, and nobody was better with kids than she was. She never missed a chance at a teachable moment, passing along a life lesson, no matter how young you were.<\/p>\n

Ultimately Paul and I decided to live permanently in Alabama. It seemed the best solution. There was the promise of good work for my production company, Paul would get a new job, and we\u2019d stay with my parents for a month or two until we were able to find our own house.<\/p>\n

I wish! Paul had to take a significant pay cut at his new job. The golden opportunity for my production company collapsed, and we didn\u2019t have the means to buy a new house or even rent one. There we were\u2014all six of us\u2014stuck at my parents\u2019 place. Where was God now?<\/p>\n

Then Mama collapsed. She\u2019d had heart problems, but nothing could have prepared us for what happened early one Tuesday morning. She woke up not feeling well. Daddy went out to warm up the car to take her to the hospital. He left her in the kitchen. The next thing I knew, he was calling to me. Mama was slumped over in a chair, unconscious. I called 911. The paramedics rushed in and worked on her, desperate to revive her. They thought they could hear a heartbeat, but it was just her pacemaker. She was gone.<\/p>\n

I had to do all those things you do when a loved one dies: comfort my father, call my sister, let the church know, post something on social media, make the funeral arrangements, contact Mama\u2019s friends, find musicians to play for the service, make sure it was a funeral<\/a> that would have made Mama proud. I might have looked as if I had everything together, but inside I was a mess.<\/p>\n

And angry. Angry at God, angry that we\u2019d been uprooted, angry that our kids had to have a front-row seat to this tragedy. I couldn\u2019t understand why so much of what we\u2019d planned for our family had fallen apart: the move, the jobs, the loss. I\u2019d often heard people quote the Bible and say, \u201cAll things work together for good to them that love God.\u201d How was any of this working for anybody\u2019s good?<\/p>\n

I rehashed this for the hundredth time, sitting there in Mama\u2019s chair and watching our toddlers play with my dad. And then all at once, I heard her say, \u201cThis is a dot, Danita.\u201d<\/p>\n

I flashed back to a particular afternoon in high school when I was upset\u2014I\u2019d been passed over for a part in a school play. I drove over to Mama\u2019s school and found her in the classroom. I unloaded all my teenage angst. It wasn\u2019t fair. I should have gotten the part. Why me?<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s just a dot, Danita,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d<\/p>\n

She pulled a sheet of paper out of her desk drawer, a worksheet with numbered dots all over it. \u201cWhat is this?\u201d she said, sounding just like the teacher she was.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s dot-to-dot,\u201d I said, wondering what she was getting at.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s it a picture of?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d I couldn\u2019t make sense of the dots. They seemed strewn all over the page in no apparent shape.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s how life is,\u201d she said. \u201cGod places things in our lives, and sometimes they seem confusing or out of order. Most of the time, we have no idea why things happen the way they do.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo\u2026we\u2019re the dots?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, we\u2019re the pencil,\u201d my mother said, handing me one. \u201cThe pencil never knows what the dots make up\u2014it just goes from one dot to the next. But God sees the big picture.\u201d<\/p>\n

I stood there and began to connect the dots. In no time at all, the lines had come together to reveal a fish. What I couldn\u2019t see before had become clear.<\/p>\n

Now, in my parents\u2019 den, I reconsidered what we had been through<\/a>. Maybe it did <\/em>make sense. If I just connected the dots.<\/p>\n

My water breaking here led to us being surrounded by family to help us take care of our premature twins, which convinced us to move back home, where I got to spend precious time with my mother during the last year of her life\u2014and happened to be exactly where I was needed when she died. Dots, all of them. Everything that had seemed so random\u2014even cruel\u2014as it happened had come to create a larger picture, leading to this moment: my father laughing for the first time in weeks as he wrestled with his grandchildren, healing from his grief.<\/p>\n

Right there in my mother\u2019s chair, I stopped viewing all these events as blips of tragedy. I needed to trust God to reveal the beautiful bigger picture. All things could work together in our life for good, dot to dot.<\/p>\n<\/p>\n

For more inspiring stories, subscribe to <\/em>Guideposts<\/strong><\/a> magazine<\/em>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I sat in my parents\u2019 den\u2014in my mama\u2019s old chair\u2014watching my dad wrestling with my almost-two-year-old twins. He would playfully toss one away from him, and then the other would come around and attack him from behind, giggling. It was impossible not to smile. 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