We had been sitting in standstill traffic for over an hour, waiting for a bike race to clear the two-lane road we were traveling.

I rubbed my pregnant belly and glanced back at our two young daughters. They were handling the delay to a much-anticipated vacation surprisingly well.

The previous two years had been a whirlwind. My husband, Brad, and I had moved across the country with our 1-year-old daughter to plant a church in Philadelphia.

Our second daughter was born exactly six months before we launched City Life Philly (Assemblies of God).

A week after celebrating the church’s first anniversary in September 2012, we closed on a home purchase.

Amid unpacking boxes, caring for two toddlers, and preparing for the arrival of a new baby, I had been counting down the days until we left for a beach vacation with our extended family.

My dad was driving, and the traffic jam provided an opportunity for us to talk about everything from parenting to football. Somewhere between discussing the church’s anniversary and belting out a song for the girls, my dad looked at me with a huge smile on his face.

Dad expressed his excitement for the week ahead and gratitude to God for this time together.

Perhaps I was just feeling overwhelmed and exhausted, but I felt a nagging sense of dread and fear.

When I mentioned this, Dad responded confidently, “Leah, bad things are going to happen in this world, but God’s goodness will always prevail.”

My image of God 
as a good 
Heavenly Father 
was shattered. The 
faith I’d held my 
entire life suddenly 
felt hollow.

In that moment, it was as if God spoke calm to the storm in my spirit.

That’s right, I thought. God’s goodness will prevail. I can rest in that.

I had no idea how crucial this truth would be to me just hours later.

The next morning, my dad was swimming in the surf when a powerful wave hit him. The force slammed him to the ocean floor, breaking his neck.

Rescuers resuscitated him on the beach, but my dad never regained consciousness. After 10 days in the hospital, Dad died. I was devastated.

Giving birth to a son a few weeks later was a bright spot in this dark season. But it also meant I had little capacity to process my grief beyond feelings of shock and denial.

My recovery approach involved distracting myself with mothering and ministry. Even as I smiled and greeted people at church, I hoped no one noticed the suffocating pain and anxiety I tried desperately to hide.

It wasn’t until about eight months after my father’s death that I was able to admit I wasn’t OK. I struggled to enjoy even simple moments with my husband and children, wondering whether tragedy would someday taint those memories as well. I lay awake at night imagining what terrible thing might happen next to our family or church.

Worst of all, my image of God as a good Heavenly Father was shattered. The faith I’d held my entire life suddenly felt hollow.

Denying my pain did not make it go away. Instead, it kept me from regaining joy, peace and hope. I needed help.

I sought professional counseling and began confronting internal issues I could no longer ignore. I also turned to trusted friends, who walked with me as I took steps toward healing.

Rather than extinguishing my faith, facing tough questions allowed me to identify and embrace each stage of grief.

While experiencing aspects of God’s mercy I had never before encountered, I began to see this process as a gift. Not only did it strengthen my faith, but it also equipped me for pastoral ministry.

When people in my congregation are suffering, I don’t offer platitudes or encourage them to move on quickly. I simply sit with them in their pain, sharing the burden as others have done for me.

Over the past 24 years of serving in full-time ministry, I have also had the privilege and joy of celebrating with many who experienced divine healing.

The question of why some are healed while others, like my dad, don’t receive physical restoration this side of heaven has been one of the most difficult aspects of my journey.

Yet through such wrestling, God continually points me to His resurrection hope. The older I get, the more convinced I am that God truly redeems our brokenness for His glory and our good.

The words of my earthly dad and promises of my Heavenly Father remind me God’s goodness will always prevail.

This article appears in the Winter 2026 issue of Influence magazine.