When the Smoke Clears
Trusting God After Trauma
by Eileen VandenBerg
Fingers interlaced around my knees, I sat on the rough, low-quality, barely padded carpet of the corner bedroom. Darkness surrounded me, and quiet sobs convulsed my body. Two of my girls slept peacefully—their contented chests rising and falling—in the beds just a few feet away.
Why did this happen? Why are we here? What good could come from this immensely painful trial? I don’t want to be here!
These questions and many more scrolled across my brain like a marquee, each one leaving me more distraught than the previous one. I was hiding in a dark bedroom, the only place that felt safe to uncloak and process my well-masked discontent and doubts. While my belief in God’s existence was solid, I struggled to understand how he could still be trusted in light of this difficult trial.
The Unthinkable Happened
Two months before, our home had burned to the ground—a home we had built ourselves and planned to stay in forever. Shortly after midnight on the night of the fire, my husband, Andrew, heard what sounded like rain. Although the forecast did not call for rain, I heard him get up to investigate, thinking he was overreacting. After hearing his faint yell, I jumped out of bed to see what was wrong. I ran through the garage and outside, where my husband was frantically scrambling to find the garden hose. My eyes immediately darted up.
I stared at the roof of our home, temporarily stunned in horror as I watched flames shoot out from the roofline. I jerked back to reality and raced inside to find my phone so I could alert the fire department and evacuate our seven children who were, just minutes before, sleeping peacefully in their beds.
God, in his almighty grace, allowed the lives of all nine of us—and even the family dog—to be spared that night. Nevertheless, the fire was a traumatic experience for each of us, and we began working through the pain and loss in our own unique ways. Overnight, our sense of security, our belongings, and our family’s dwelling place were gone.
The room I was crouched in was the corner bedroom of a double-wide trailer. We had bought and set up the trailer as a temporary house while we rebuilt our home. This provision was truly a mercy from the Lord, and it was miraculous that we were able to live in it just mere weeks after the fire.
But I hated what this house represented. I hated that we were there, unsure when we could move past this fire and start living again. I hated that we were stuck in this in-between stage.
Feeling Stuck
I imagine the apostle Paul felt stuck, too.
In 2 Corinthians 12:7-9, Paul describes his “thorn in the flesh,” and we know from Scripture that the Lord chose not to remove it. Instead, Jesus told him, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (v. 9). Despite pleading with him numerous times to take that thorn away, Paul continued his work as a useful vessel for the Lord. Paul describes how he yielded: “For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities” (v. 10). Did Paul have some virtue that isn’t available to me? Was his ability to persevere—contented, under dire circumstances—something only an apostle could achieve?
For nineteen months, we lived in that double-wide, and as busy as I was, life was dragging. I felt discontented and frustrated. And I longed to fast-forward the calendar to a time when we would feel settled, to a season I thought would certainly be better than where the Lord had us. I scarcely paid attention to the tender moments happening in that little home: the laughter from my children, my husband’s jokes, the silliness, and the sweetness. I was so focused on moving forward that I refused to appreciate the sacred moments right before me.
What can Paul teach us about contentment and faith, despite the thorn? He responded to his trials in faith, reflecting his deep relationship with and trust in the Lord. Pondering these things, I was convicted. In contrast to Paul, I had a lot of work to do. Content with calamities? If a house fire isn’t a calamity, I don’t know what is. And content? I embodied the very definition of the opposite. The Lord was giving me an opportunity to rest contented in my faith, knowing he is sovereign over my circumstances.
Paul’s exclamation in Philippians four comes from a life of both trial and thanksgiving—he “learned” contentment. It’s not the absence of the trial, but rather walking in the Spirit through the trial that gives us strength. Not just to barely hold on, but to be content. Paul stated, “For I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound…I can do all things through him who strengthens me” (Philippians 4:11–13).
Truly being content in my situation was not out of reach for me. It was not some arbitrary achievement only available to New Testament apostles. Rather, it was a skill that I could learn, just like Paul. Instead of simply wallowing in my self-pity and despair, I could find contentment in God’s strength.
An Unexpected Gift
During our nineteen months in that double-wide, I rushed from one town to another, juggling decisions about the new house. I felt frenzied. Frustrated. Weary from the process. One day, I cued up a Risen Motherhood podcast episode. The title mentioned moving boxes, and I thought, I’m not moving, but I’ll listen anyway.
Instead of wallowing in self-pity and despair, we can find contentment in God’s strength.
As I raced down the highway—my head flooded with to-do lists and regrets—these words pierced my thoughts:
“This was not unplanned chaos in our lives or throw-away time. God was in control and had a plan for us. Part of his plan for us was to be in transition. Even though it didn’t feel good, we could trust that he could provide grace for us and grow us.”*
Tears overflowed from my eyes as I squinted to see the road ahead. I realized I had been wasting this time. I couldn’t see any reason for this difficult season, and I wanted it over now. It was not an accident that the Lord had prompted me to turn on a podcast I was sure didn’t apply to me.
Even in my weakness, the Lord was meeting me, and he was gently reminding me that he was sovereign over my circumstances. These difficult months of chaos, following a substantial, traumatic event, were neither a surprise nor an accident to him. Despite my pleading with God to fast-forward through this hard season to some respite, he was using this time to invite me to dwell more deeply in his sufficient grace.
Looking Ahead
My struggle to believe the Lord had my good in view and my refusal to reveal that to anyone around me had me hiding in that corner bedroom. I cried out to him where no one else could see. I didn’t want anyone to know how much I was struggling to be content. But I was missing the point. Contentment wasn’t going to come from my circumstances, but rather from my resting fully in the sovereignty of a gracious Father. And he always works things out—even hard things—for my good and his glory.
I wish I could go back to the Eileen who lived in that double-wide. I would encourage her to dwell in the moment she was in. I would gently remind her that while it seems something better is on the horizon, she is refusing to embrace the moments in front of her because she is not dwelling in God’s peace and grace for that time.
Our gracious Father works out even hard things for our good and his glory.
I can’t go back, but I can look forward. Through the wisdom shaped by living through adversity, I can trust that the Lord grows us through every circumstance he allows. Even the painful trials have sculpted me into a different person, one who understands a little better each time how, “I can do all things through him who strengthens me” (Philippians 4:13).
*Emily A. Jansen and Laura Wifler, co-hosts, Risen Motherhood, episode 144, “Boxes & Moving Trucks: Enduring Transitions with Grace,” November 6, 2019, 22 min., 43 sec., https://www.risenmotherhood.com/podcast-episodes/ep-144-boxes-moving-trucks-enduring-transitions-with-grace. (Available through May 1, 2026.)
Eileen VandenBerg is a wife, mom, and writer living in West Michigan with her husband and seven children. @vandenberg.eileen
Scripture quotations are from the English Standard Version of the Bible.
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