Everything Happens for a Reason: And Other Lies I've Loved

by Kate Bowler

What if being people of “the gospel” meant that we are simply people with good news? God is here. We are loved. It is enough.

I don’t know how to die, but I know how to press this crushing grief into hope, hope for them. It doesn’t sound much like goodbye. It sounds more like this: Fare thee well, my loves.

But he knows God was there because he felt peace, indescribable peace, and it changed him forever. He ends the letter with a shrug: “I have no idea how this works, but I wish this for you as you move forward.”

“I know exactly how it feels,” I say finally, finding it hard to take my eyes off the boys. “It feels like I’m hungry and I’ll never be full again.”

If I were to invent a sin to describe what that was—for how I lived—I would not say it was simply that I didn’t stop to smell the roses. It was the sin of arrogance, of becoming impervious to life itself. I failed to love what was present and decided to love what was possible instead. I must learn to live in ordinary time, but I don’t know how.

“Don’t skip to the end,” he said, gently. “Don’t skip to the end.”

YOU ARE MY BUCKET LIST

My well-laid plans are no longer my foundation.