In August, I received a phone call at dinner on a hot Friday night. I had missed the call, to which I decided I would call back the next day when I found the time. I reconsidered when the voicemail that was left said that I “needed to know what had happened” and to “call back immediately.”

It took me about 10 minutes to realize what my friend on the other end of the phone was trying to explain.

I was going to have to drive to South Carolina that Sunday.

I was going to have to attend the funeral of one of my closest friends.

Roland was the kind of person people write stories about. He loved life with every bit of his heart and soul, loving his friends and family more, if that was even possible. He loved with open arms on the bad days and made sure to be there with you on the good ones, never failing to miss a Sunday brunch at one in the afternoon even though it was “really just too late for breakfast food” or to celebrate the end of a long summer day in the exact same barstool by the lake each night. That Sunday was spent with all of his closest friends – sharing tears, laughter and stories about the curly-haired boy we loved so much and what a blessing he had been and would continue to be in each of our lives. He will be so missed, and he will remain so loved.

But it was a misdiagnosis. A doctor, who should have known the symptoms of what was about to be a diabetic coma, sent him home with a stomach bug.

A stomach bug.

And so he took a nap to try to sleep off his “stomach bug” off, and he never woke up. He was 20 years old.

God, why?

I asked Him that question a lot that day. In that past month, I had buried four friends and walked through the murder of two of my best friend’s friends with her. Now, on that Sunday, I was going to bury another. I was no longer sad. I was angry. I was angry at the unfairness of it all, of the unfairness of burying seven beloved people in less than four weeks. I was angry at the doctor, who should have known how to keep my sweet, beautiful friend alive, and I was angry at God for taking each of them out of this world. A part of me remained angry at God.

On Oct. 14, I opened up my "Jesus Calling" for the first time since that day.

"BE PREPARED TO SUFFER FOR ME, in My Name. All suffering has meaning in My kingdom. Pain and problems are opportunities to demonstrate your trust in Me. Bearing your circumstance bravely--even thanking Me for them--is one of the highest forms of praise. This sacrifice of thanksgiving rings golden-toned bells of Joy throughout heavenly realms. On earth also, your patient suffering sends out ripples of good tidings in ever-widening circles.

When suffering strikes, remember that I am sovereign and that I can bring good out of everything. Do not try to run from pain or hide from problems. Instead, accept adversity in My Name, offering it up to Me for My purposes. Thus, your suffering gains meaning and draws you closer to Me. Joy emerges from the ashes of adversity through your trust and thankfulness." – James 1:2-4; Psalm 107:22

God, why?

Because He brings us to our knees to show us how mighty He stands. Because The Lord wants us to resolve to give Him everything we have and leave the rest up to Him. Because The Lord wants to bless His children and allow us to know the extent of His blessings by knowing the suffering as well, knowing full well that a diamond cannot form without pressure. Because The Lord wants to be our rock and our fortress, holding us tightly within the fierceness of His love. Because He wants to show us how good He is despite it all. Because He wants us to know that He will send the rain, because without the drought, we couldn't bless the rain and without the rain, we couldn't bless the son.

So God, why? The answer is simply this: because He wants us to appreciate the rain.