These two words are haunting me lately: But God. They are words that make room for a surprise, for the unknown, for something that could never be anticipated. But God.

I think we all love to figure things out. Our minds never stop working the ruts of our problems or the problems we’re expecting down the road. For must of us, it’s like an addiction. At least it has been for me. We survey the facts, and we think we know what to do, or what is going to happen… But rarely do we see that clearly. And rarely do we make enough room for God.

In Acts 2 it says: “This man was handed over to you by God’s deliberate plan and foreknowledge; and you, with the help of wicked men, put him to death by nailing him to the cross. But God raised him from the dead.” But God. When Jesus was put in the tomb, did his disciples think he was anything but absolutely dead? Of course not. I imagine they felt confused, sad, angry, and disappointed. They must have asked themselves: Why did we believe? Why did we leave everything to follow him? I am guessing they felt despair. I know they saw death, and they had no idea what was coming. But God.

When life has delivered its share of disappointment, it’s easy to succumb to cynicism and fatalism. I don’t believe in Pollyanna endings, and in all honesty, though I have a lot of faith in God and his kindness and goodness, hope is not really my thing. It seems a bit naive. And yet I feel God asking me to make a little room. Not for the known. Not for a particular outcome. But to make a little room for the unknown.

But God redeems all things.
But God calls things that are not as though they were.
But God exchanges beauty for ashes.
But God turns mourning into dancing.
But God turns grief into joy.
But God works everything together for good.
But God makes all things beautiful in their time.
But God.

When I feel despair, when I feel hopeless, when I feel lost and like I just don’t know the way, I can breathe and accept what I don’t know. And I can say, “But God.”