Thinking this morning about old worn-out arguments for atheism and equally worn-out arguments for theism, and asked God if there was something I hadn’t yet heard, something stronger, to help people understand the “problem” of free will v. omnipotence: If God is all-powerful, why does bad stuff happen? *

I can’t say this is His reply, but almost immediately I was reminded of “helicopter parents”, those individuals whose lives are so wrapped up in their children that they hover over them, cosset them, shield and control them to the point of smothering them.

Where I used to work, I watched this play out in families, resulting in children who couldn’t make decisions for themselves, wouldn’t take responsibility for their own actions, and who would do whatever they wished because they knew their parents would clean up the mess, or the children would outright rebel or engage in passive-aggressive behavior in order to have SOME control in their own lives: “They might be mistakes, but they’re MY mistakes. That might be safe, this might be dangerous, but if I fall down, don’t stop me.”

It’s an imperfect correlation to grownups and God, I know, but it’s helping me look at a different facet of the conflict. We SAY an all-powerful Being should protect us from everything, or what’s His power for? A truly good God wouldn’t let people suffer.

That’s bogus, because good parents don’t rescue their children from everything. They don’t take joy in their children’s pain, and they would prevent it if they could, but they know they must let them learn, let them fail, let them feel the pain. Pain, after all, is an excellent teacher.

It’s also an excellent and immediate sign that something’s wrong and must be addressed: Removing one’s hand from a hot stove is an obvious example, but there’s other pain — depression, trauma, rejection, etc. Many years ago, wise words from an older woman pointed me down the right path toward dealing with a deep depression and all the underlying issues that fed it. If I had been “saved” from the pain by a divine helicopter parent, I would never have addressed the problem, and might have gone through life never knowing why I kept making certain decisions or how to deal with my family or with unreasonable bosses.

Although I don’t want to go through those dark days ever again, I am grateful for the lessons learned and the strength gained, which would never have happened if I’d been spared the pain.

And I’m glad God isn’t always “in my face” demanding attention or fussing over me. I’m glad He gives us space to be ourselves and make our own decisions.**

There’s a downside to His meekness in standing aside and letting us headstrong humans flail about and try find our own way or solve our own problems: Sometimes very bad people do very bad things. There are thieves, rapists, murderers, child abusers, terrorists. We can’t stop evil, so we demand God do it. After all, He’s all-powerful, right?

Sometimes He intervenes, sometimes He doesn’t, and we don’t always know why or when or how.

If He doesn’t do as we wish, we become angry and declare He doesn’t exist. If He does exist, He must be evil and fickle. We set up a strawman, and then we set it alight.

Do we know everything about everyone or every event everywhere in the world?

Can we control everyone or every event everywhere in the world?

Do we control ourselves in every situation?

We have little control over the human realm, and yet we think we can know — or, by our demands, even control — the mind of God?

One thing we can know: He walks with us. ***

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* This might be the same for Calvinism v. traditionalism: in one theology, God’s sovereignty means He plans everything; in the other theology, God’s sovereignty means He is more than big enough and powerful enough to allow humanity’s free will.

** If He were always fluttering about and fussing over me, He’d be in a position of weakness, and I’d be the one with all the power. He’d be concerned about pleasing me, rather than me being concerned about living a life that pleases Him. He’d be rescuing me all the time because He’d want to prevent my anger or displeasure, so He could be seen as nice, as my frail definition of good. His focus would be on the temporal and the changeable, not the eternal and enduring, and therefore, although He’d be perceived as good, He wouldn’t actually be good.

*** Although originally composed in 2014, this essay was revised in August 2020, after I was diagnosed with cancer. In June 2026, after treatment and surgeries and followups and scans and bloodwork, and all the medical stuff that surrounds life with cancer, an oncologist finally said I’m cured. Never has Psalm 23 had so much impact on my faith as when Emmanuel walked with me through the valley of the shadow of death.

Elizabeth Easter
original essay 2014
revised essay 2020
revised and published 2026