God, Do We Really Have to Do This Now?

Yesterday, a good friend asked how I was doing. Not just a polite question you respond to with “Fine, and you?” but a genuine inquiry. And I was glad he asked, because things have been a bit tough at home lately. My oldest son, Laurens, has autism, and right now I’m having a hard time understanding his behavior. There are moments when the emotional tension becomes too much for him, when he exhibits extremely rigid behavior, and when I don’t know what to do anymore. At times like that, it seems impossible to guide him, and I just feel like a failing father.

It was a huge relief to be able to talk about it. A friend who’s willing to listen is a real blessing at a time like that. But he also asked a good question—one I get asked quite often. Do you ever have those days when you think, “What did I ever do to deserve this?”

Days like these are just part of life

I have the privilege of serving as a bishop. I have a calling in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. And yet—or perhaps precisely because of that—there are days when I think: Does this really have to be happening? Can’t it be a little easier? There are moments when it’s too hard for me, when I say in prayer—sometimes even in a cry—please, I just can’t take it anymore. What did I do to deserve this? Does this really have to be happening now?

I think we all have days like that, and that’s not unusual. In fact, I think it’s exactly part of what the plan of salvation teaches us. We’re here to learn. We’re here to grow. And that’s not possible without the necessary setbacks.

It’s not as if our Heavenly Father throws all kinds of things our way just to make things difficult. No, I don’t believe that. His goal is for us to reach the end, and He is there to help us. But He won’t just take away the setbacks, because He knows we need them to grow.

In 1 Corinthians 10:13, we read that God will not let us be tempted beyond what we can bear, but that along with the temptation, He also provides a way out so that we can endure it. I find that to be one of the most comforting promises in Scripture. Not because it takes away the burden, but because it tells us that there is always a way to bear it.

But it doesn't always feel that way

I want to be honest about this. Reading this promise is one thing. Feeling it in the moment is something else entirely. There are times when adversity doesn’t help you grow, but simply knocks you down hard and causes pain. When you don’t feel that there’s “an opportunity for growth” in it, but only darkness. I think we should never underestimate that. It’s precisely in moments like these that our faith is put to the test—not when everything is going smoothly.

For me, that doubt isn’t so much about whether I still believe. That foundation is solid. It’s more about the question of why this is necessary. I’m doing my very best as a father. I look for solutions, and sometimes I can’t find them. I feel like a failure. And then that question comes up again, the same one I asked at the beginning: what did I do to deserve this? Why do I have to go through this of all things, even though I’m doing my very best?

That’s not a question I can easily brush off with “it’s for your own growth.” In the moment, that answer often feels too small for the pain it’s supposed to explain. What keeps me going then aren’t grand insights, but established habits. The habit of praying. Of pouring out my heart, even when I don’t immediately know what to say—and certainly not why. That ritual brings me back on track a little bit each time. It doesn’t take the question away. But it gives me just enough strength to keep going, even without already knowing the answer.

And I'm convinced that's exactly what can make the difference. Not between facing setbacks or not—they're bound to happen anyway. But between letting them get the better of you or just managing to keep going.

What I'm Praying for Laurens Now

That’s what I’m doing with Laurens now, too. In the moment, when he gets stuck and I get stuck with him, I often don’t know what to say. It feels hopeless, and I feel like I’m failing. But afterward, in prayer, it’s much more along the lines of: Heavenly Father, give me the insight to understand him better. Give me the insight to handle it better. Because that’s what I need to become a better person.

The plan of salvation teaches us that growth serves a purpose: that we will one day return to our Heavenly Father, and that there we will take on leadership roles in the kingdom of heaven. Or as we say: we are blessed to become kings and priests, not merely to be followers.

But anyone who wants to fulfill those duties on a heavenly level must have learned a great deal and be able to handle many different situations. That’s why I’m better able to cope with setbacks, even though that doesn’t change the fact that sometimes it just seems too difficult. That’s the strength I find in my faith—in knowing that Heavenly Father is there to help.

A God of Inclusion

I know that Heavenly Father is a God of inclusion, not of exclusion. He will do everything He can to keep us close to Him.

When you know that He isn't lurking to catch you making mistakes, but is standing right around the corner to catch you, that gives you tremendous strength. A supernatural strength.

When people ask me how faith can still be of help in today's society, this is my answer. We don't need to look any further than this.

A small miracle this week

And this week I felt that again, in a way that even surprised me. I was stuck. The tension surrounding Laurens had paralyzed me, and I couldn’t see a way out. I was basically just treading water. And then it was that very conversation with my good friend that provided the solution. Not because he solved the problem, but because I was able to get it off my chest.

And what struck me even more: right at that moment, while I was feeling down myself, I was able to serve. To be active as a bishop, to help someone else. And because of that, my own misery was put aside for a moment. Relieving that tension—through serving and through that conversation—gave me the strength to look at things differently again. To start looking for new ways to deal with Laurens.

I don’t think the solution is always a sudden intervention, something that just falls out of the blue. Very often, it lies in the little things. Our Heavenly Father knows very well what we need. But we have to be open to it. Even—or especially—when we’re in a low point, we have to dare to recognize that there are things happening in our lives that truly help us. And when we see them, we have to seize them with both hands.

I hope that everyone who is going through a hard time can still feel God’s love somewhere. Sometimes it comes in the form of a friend who asks, “How are you doing?” And I hope that I, too, can often be that person—the angel God sends in answer to the prayers of someone who, on that day, is also thinking, “Does this have to happen now?”