Jarred into the new morning by the pit in my stomach, I remembered the source of my anxiety with dread: goodbye. In a few hours, I would hear my pastor’s last sermon, say goodbye to my best friend, and begin the grieving process of losing my church. Racial riots in my city were the backdrop for the day; scenes of a burned and looted shopping district scrolled through the morning news. Layers of angst and sorrow bound my heart as I cried out to God, “How can any of this be your plan?”

Naming core truths in the midst of my circumstances came naturally enough: God is my Redeemer, He gives me everything I need, I will never be alone. Yet a tantrum still rose within me as the losses felt unbearable. My plans to stay at my church for life and grow old with my best friend would dissolve in teary hugs, painful reminiscing, and visions of their Vanagon leaving the church parking lot for the final time.

I felt anchorless, adrift, and alone. I wanted God to fix everything. I did not want to find the good. And I certainly did not feel protected.

Then I remembered a plan I had had for my career that came to a similarly abrupt end. Looking back, I can clearly see not only God’s hand in it, but more specifically, His protection.

While He has never protected me from loss, I will never know all that He saves me from in my losses.