My boss let me go yesterday. This was two weeks after I told her I was pregnant.

Have I mentioned that I don’t believe in coincidences?

I’ll have to be careful for now what I post on the matter–and then, in a matter of time, possibly unload a crazy amount of truth-telling and story-spilling on your asses–but for now I will deal in generalities and vague references. Neither of which are my love languages. I am holding a lot of things in, and that is not my preference, but you know what’s fun about being a writer? The writer can be sneaky with the real story, cloak it in different names and dates and locations, and still tell it. And you can bet your ass this story will be told.

But for now, let’s talk about Harry Potter and Friday Night Lights, shall we?

Two phenomenal, redemptive, awe-inspiring stories told over the years of my life when I needed reminding of what faith is and why it matters. I will be forever thankful for heroes in football pads and Ray-Bans and wheelchairs; for warriors in cargo pants and striped scarves. For a coach whose greatest victories are prefaced by a wounded player and a lost job; for a mother who bore the curse of death so her son could live. These are the tales that embody the paradox of gospel faith; in the rubble lies hope. There is no great story without a shattering of what went before; there is no great love without ultimate sacrifice. Justice is often delayed and enters through a side door, quietly, without anyone hearing it over all the noise or anyone seeing it through all the darkness. But when it shows up…man, does it ever do the job. You may have been checking your watch, tapping your foot, cursing its absence, but justice–and love–they know what it means to be on time.

I have learned the hard way, through justice delivered to my own doorstep, that failure is not what I thought it was. The trappings of success recognized by this world, the money and materials and acclaim, may in some ways make life easier (let’s not kid ourselves about that) but they do not provide warmth or company; and since when is easier better? Tell me your favorite story and let’s find the part where the hero coasted through without difficulty, without facing a battle. Good luck with that. Failure doesn’t look like loss; it doesn’t even look like death, because both of these have been defeated in all the greatest stories.

Failure is what happens when you’ve looked out for only yourself for so long, at the expense of all others, that there are no others left. It’s just you–all that ever has been is all that ever will be.

At the end of it all, the only things that matter are the things we do on behalf of others. And I can say that as one who has had everything done on her behalf; it just took me awhile to reach that point of letting go of everything I had done, of holding it up and expecting it to prove my worth, to justify me and be enough. And I gracefully, mercifully, reached that point by meeting head-on what the world calls failure. So now, when news like yesterday’s hits, I have somewhere to go and something deeper to expect. I get to know that the termination notice, the head-on paralyzing collision, the death blast from the devil’s wand–these are not the final act.

Enter redemption/justice/grace/Dumbledore, stage left.

“Are you worried?” I was asked yesterday, and had the nerve to feel indignant at the question. Then I was humbled by a reminder of a similar situation three years ago, when I was single and broke and told the practice was splitting and my services would no longer be required, and I was not so calm then. I headed south on Third Avenue through the darkness and cold November New York air, and I called my people, among them my future husband. I freaked out. I glared accusingly upward. Not cool, my eyes said. We had a deal.

My deal was falling apart, true. His was not. It was being kept. Not in spite of loss and shock and brokenness, but through it. And it’s not lost on me now, how it’s easier to stay calm when I have The Husband and he’s kicking ass at work and we have a budget that is not rocked unsteady by an extra toilet paper roll or pack of gum. But. I’d like to think that, since I had to go through there to get here, I am a bit further along. And so, when I’m asked if I’m worried and I feel indignant, thinking, What the hell is the point of believing if I live worried?, that this is not just a sign of time or change of circumstances, but of growth. Of faith. Of a path walked side by side, of suspicions squashed and promises kept, of self-brokered deals giving way to heavenly-breathed covenants. Of the thought of worry being insulting not just to him now, but to me too.

Of the tables being turned, and the response to an overturned plan being laughter…and the prayer, turning the banal into the divine: Thank you.