What Doesn’t Kill You Gives You a Story

Mercy in the Madness

Hello!

Before we jump into today’s post … welcome! My name is Tanner. I am an author, spoken word poet, and speaker. Every week I share a few hopeful poems, prayers, and reflections. If you enjoy the words I share, I’d love to have you support this ministry at the monthly, annual, or founding member level.

I’m in a bookstore somewhere outside of St. Louis, typing this on my phone.

I don’t know what else to do right now.

I’m at a loss.

Just two hours ago, I was wondering if I was going to die. That’s not me being dramatic. I was sitting in a rental car at a red light while a tornado tore through the intersection around me.

Let me backup.

I landed in St. Louis a little after midnight. My flight was supposed to arrive at 10 PM, but storms kept us grounded in Chicago. It seems like storms are showing up everywhere these days.

I made it to the hotel in the early morning, caught a few hours of sleep, then set off to share poetry and read All the Things I Say to God at a couple of Christian schools.

Most of the day was spent with elementary students, though I also got to speak with some middle schoolers. I never turn down a chance to talk with middle schoolers. They’re going through so much, and it never seems to let up.

I read them a few poems, told some stories, and tried to bring a little light into the heaviness they’re carrying.

Because that’s what I remember most about middle school.
The heaviness.

Sure, there was puberty, the awkwardness, the acne, the smells that lingered in every hallway. But underneath all of that, there was something deeper.
A weight.
The quiet kind that settles into your chest before you even know how to name it.

So, yes—heaviness.

“Why did you become a writer?” an eighth grader asked.

I told her that I’ve always had a lot of thoughts and feelings, and that writing helps me make sense of what’s going on inside my head and heart.

That’s probably why I’m writing this now.

At some point during my response, I said something like, “Life is hard and heavy, unpredictable, but also beautiful. Writing helps me hold onto hope and see God’s faithfulness.”

After the school visits, I drove to one of my favorite coffee shops—Kaldi’s on DeMun, near Forest Park. I lived in St. Louis for a year after graduating college in 2012. This was the coffee shop where I decided to pursue writing full time. On weekends, I’d come here to write, eating a blueberry muffin and sipping black coffee while dreaming about being a writer. That little corner shop holds a special place in my heart.

I pulled out a copy of All the Things I Say to God to take a photo. It felt like a way to remember God’s faithfulness through all the years of ups and downs, seasons and storms. I thought about posting it with a caption like, “2012 Tanner would be so proud.” Because he would be.

God is teaching me a lot these last few months, mostly about His faithfulness. It hasn’t been an easy season. And I know you could probably say the same. Some days I feel like I am back in middle school. Uncertain, awkward, full of questions I don’t know how to ask.

Like I’m walking through the hallway of life, clutching a backpack that feels too heavy, wondering if anyone else is carrying the same weight. I keep trying to show up, to offer what I have, even when I feel small, even when the ground beneath me feels unsteady. And somehow, in the middle of it all, God keeps showing up too. Not with all the answers, but with just enough grace to help me take the next step.

I’ve been thinking a lot about Noah’s Ark. Yes, it’s a hard story—floods, extinction, and a boat full of animals, but to me, it’s also a story of hope. A story where mercy meets the madness. A reminder that storms come and go, but God’s faithfulness remains.

Just like I told those students: life is hard and heavy, unpredictable and beautiful.

God is in the mess.
God is in the uncertainty.
God is in the storm.

My friend, Ryan, walked in right before I could take the photo. We sat by the big window, sipping coffee and talking about writing and God. We always seem to be talking about writing and God. The coffee tasted just like it did in 2012, maybe even a little sweeter.

We watched the sky grow dark. Then we said goodbye and headed our separate ways, hoping to leave the storm behind.

I’m always hoping to leave the storm behind.

But just a few minutes down the road, traffic came to a halt. The wind picked up. Rain pounded the windshield. I gripped the steering wheel and held on as the car shook. I felt the wheels lift slightly from the ground. Lightning flashed. Trees cracked. Limbs fell onto nearby cars. I didn’t even realize the back passenger window had shattered until hail began hitting the back of my head.

All I could think about was Sarah, Judah, and Pancake.

I put my head down and let the storm come. I waited with God. I didn’t wonder where He was—I knew. He was right there with me.

Because God is in the madness.
God is in uncertainty.
God is in the storm.

For a moment, I thought it might be the end. It was a terrible thought. I prayed out loud:

“God, this cannot be the end. Please. Amen.”

A few minutes later, the storm moved on.

Mercy met the madness.

I stepped out of the car to check the damage. I wasn’t angry about the broken window or the headache of dealing with insurance. "What doesn’t kill you gives you a story," I thought, standing there in a puddle, stunned.

A woman called out from a nearby house.

“You okay, man?”

I shrugged. “I’m okay.”

She squinted at me. “Are you really okay?”

I shouted back: “Yes. No. I don’t know. I’m alive.”

Which is the truth.

And that’s all I could say.

Life is hard and heavy, unpredictable and beautiful.

God is in the mess.
God is in the uncertainty.
God is in the storm.

God is in the broken windows and the tornado skies.
God is in the unsure answers and the quiet bookstore.

God is in the kid who asks why you write and the moment you pray for mercy to meet the madness.

I am okay.
I am not okay.
I don’t know.

But tonight, for all I’m wondering about, I’m not wondering where God is.

I know where He is.

Right here with me.

Always right here with me.

With Hope,
Tanner

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All the Things I Say to God

I recently released my first children’s book, All the Things I Say to God: Learning to Pray Anytime, Anywhere.

All the Things I Say to God explores the profound world of prayer and shows children that heartfelt conversations with God can occur anywhere, anytime, and about anything.

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