One of the fun things we enjoy as a family is renting a DVD, popping some popcorn, and enjoying a good movie together. After watching the movie, we rate it as to whether it bombed, was average, or was so good as to be declared a “Herring Classic.” If you were to ask my kids to describe my taste in movies, they would tell you that I am a “happy ending” guy. The hero always wins, he rides off into the sunset with the beautiful girl, and they live happily ever after.

In the early years of raising my family, I had life neatly mapped out. Everything would go as planned. Everyone would follow the script. There would be no heartbreaks, no tragedies, and few tears. We would all live happily ever after. For the longest time, our life went according to the script that I had written. We had six children—perfectly balanced with three boys and three girls; three had blond hair; and three had brown hair. We were healthy, wealthy, and wise. Okay…maybe just healthy.

Then, suddenly, I found out I wasn’t in control of the script as much as I had imagined. Major surgeries, serious accidents, cancers, and deaths invaded our ordered world, and I found myself dealing with things that I would never have penned into our life had the choice been left up to me.

As I write this article, I am just eight days removed from standing over a little casket and burying my grandchild. McKinley Anne Adams was born prematurely to my youngest daughter, Georgia, and her husband, Chad. She lived an hour and a half, and left this world having received more love in that short time than many children do in their entire lifetime. This is the second time that we have buried a grandchild, and as I stood in the cemetery on that cold November morning, I felt such a familiar sadness. What language is there that can adequately frame the sorrow of parents who have to bury their own child? It does not exist.

I do not say any of this to garner sympathy or to sound morose. This is just a reminder that life doesn’t always turn out as planned. In fact, it never really does. At some point, we find ourselves dealing with things we did not anticipate. I am not insinuating that everyone will bury a grandchild or face cancer—we all have different stories. My point is that we all have to determine what we are going to do when our life goes off script.

It’s what we do with the unscripted parts of life that will determine whether we become a casualty of sorrow and heartbreak or whether we get past the things we will never get over. It’s not about learning to cope; it’s about finding comfort. The world has its superficial solutions that are intended to help us cope in time of sorrow. The world can numb you, but it cannot heal you. Doesn’t it make sense that the greater the pain, the greater the need for help that is supernatural?

Jesus referred to the Holy Spirit as “The Comforter.” That means that we, as believers, have the Source of comfort living within us. He ministers to us internally, far deeper than the slogans and clichés that we so often associate with comfort. He speaks God’s Word to us in the silence of our suffering, and He gives a peace that passes all understanding. Without Him, we grope for answers and reach for anything that will momentarily assuage the pain. With Him we can learn to live with questions for which, in this life, there are no answers, and we can rest in a Heavenly Father who understands what we do not.

There are long-term consequences for those who look to the coping mechanisms of this world rather than the comforting ministry of the Holy Spirit. You probably know people who have become defined by their sorrow and pain. The sad thing is that they often isolate themselves from the very people who love them the most. That leads to disconnect from family and church. You also know people who have faced great tragedy, and yet decided, with God’s help, that they would not allow themselves to be defined by it. They shine as lights among us.

Someone once said that “Time is the great healer.” Not so. Time may give us a different perspective, but it can also add seniority to our suffering. Were it not for the God of all comfort, we would all be bitter and disillusioned. Healing is a process, and the process begins with God and His Word. I know where my grandkids are right now and that I will see them again. That’s where happily ever after begins for me.