A few years ago, one of my aunts passed away, and I, my husband (Tim), youngest son (Quentin), and newly married daughter (Kelley) were planning to drive to my hometown for her funeral. Our family vehicle was a nine-year-old, rusted, gas-guzzling minivan that needed over a thousand dollars of repairs.

Understandably, my ever-cautious husband preferred to make the trip in my daughter’s brand-new compact car. About three days before departure, he kindly asked her if we could drive her car to the funeral. To our disappointment, she politely said, “No.”

My husband then took the van to a mechanic to have some things checked before we put it on the highway for the 280-mile day trip.

The day before our scheduled departure, as my family enjoyed cake and ice cream around our dining room table for my birthday, Tim made a last-ditch effort and asked Kelley again if we could use her car. She replied, “No, I think we should use the van.”

Once again, we felt let down, but respected her decision because it was her car. She could do whatever she wanted with it.

We instructed Kelley to arrive at our house before 9:00 a.m. so we could be on the road by then. She complained that it was too early, so we suggested she spend the night with us. She declined that as well. We understood—after all, she had a husband.

The next morning, as Tim and I were getting ready in our upstairs bedroom, we heard the front door open downstairs and footsteps in the living room. We assumed it was Kelley and mentioned that to each other as we hurried to finish getting ready.

Our bedroom door was open, but I was standing near the back side of it and could not see anyone approaching. I heard a voice say, “You all aren’t ready yet?” I assumed it was Kelley, but the voice didn’t sound like her.

Confused, I turned toward the door expecting to see Kelley, but to my utter surprise, it was my daughter Christen—who lived in New Jersey! I screamed in shock, wrapped my arms around her, and cried.

Christen was the only one of our five children who did not live near us, so we didn’t have the blessing of seeing her often.

Kelley then entered the room and said, “This is why I couldn’t spend the night. I had to pick her up at the airport last night. And this is why I couldn’t let you use my car—there wouldn’t have been enough room for all of us.”

Out of that experience, I learned a valuable lesson about answers to prayer.

There are times when we pray and ask God for things—things that seem good. Using our daughter’s brand-new car seemed better than using our old, problem-ridden van. It was less risky and certainly less expensive. It seemed like a good thing to ask.

But sometimes God says, “No.” And sometimes that “no” is hard to accept. We wonder, “Why would God say no?” Maybe He doesn’t love me. Maybe He doesn’t care. Maybe He just wants me to suffer.

Kelley loves us and cares deeply, but she said no because she knew something better was going to happen—and we would need the space in the van. She knew that once we saw Christen, driving the van would not matter at all.

Our daughter was coming home, and we would gladly do whatever was necessary—even drive the van—to accommodate her.

The same is true with God. He does love us. He does care. But He knows and sees what we do not. He knows what we are asking for is good, but He also knows something better is on the way.

And of course, we made it safely to our destination and safely back home again.

God, help us trust You. Help us believe that Your thoughts toward us are thoughts of peace and not of evil, and that You desire to give us a hope and a future. Oh, for grace to trust You more.