I came across Oswald Chambers’ words this morning with my coffee still warm in my hands and my heart just beginning to settle. The reading was titled, “Have You Slandered God?” — and honestly, I wasn’t ready for the question to hit me that hard.

At first glance, I thought, Of course not. I would never slander God. I’m a follower of Jesus. I preach grace and cling to hope. But as I read on, Chambers drew the definition out from beneath the surface: “Slandering God means giving the impression that He is not altogether good.”

And that stopped me cold.

Because I realized I’ve done that—not with loud declarations, but in the quiet places. In the sighs too deep for words. In the moments when prayers went unanswered the way I hoped. When grief lingered longer than it felt like it should. When suffering felt unfair and silence felt cruel.

Without saying it aloud, I’ve sometimes lived like I believed God had let me down. I’ve told others God is trustworthy, but in my private doubts, I’ve questioned His timing, His ways, even His love.

I’ve slandered Him with my suspicion.
I’ve whispered accusations with my disappointment.
I’ve wondered if maybe He forgot me.

And yet—He’s never slandered me.

He has never once turned His face away in disgust.
He has never misrepresented my story.
He has never held my weakness against me.

Instead, He keeps inviting me back. To see Him as He truly is—not as my weary heart sometimes imagines Him to be, but as He has always been:
Faithful.
Merciful.
Present.
Good.

Even when I’m struggling to believe it, He is still good.

This isn’t about shame—it’s about clarity. About confession that heals instead of condemns. Chambers isn’t trying to make us afraid of God’s disappointment; he’s pointing us back to trust. A trust that doesn’t rely on our feelings, but on God’s unchanging character.

So today, I’m asking myself a new question—not just “Have I slandered God?” but “What would it look like to honor Him with my trust today?”

It might mean sitting with my grief, but still calling Him good.
It might mean praying again, even after silence.
It might mean choosing to believe that His “no” or “not yet” is love I don’t yet understand.

Friend, if you’ve been struggling too—if you’ve questioned His goodness in the quiet—this isn’t a reprimand. It’s a hand on your shoulder. A gentle voice saying, “Come back. Remember who He is.”

He can handle our honesty. He meets us in our doubt. But He also wants to remind us that He is not like us. He does not wound and withdraw. He stays. He restores. He redeems.

Let’s be people who speak of His goodness, not just when life is good, but when life is hard and we choose to believe anyway.

Let’s honor Him with our trust.

Even here.
Even now.
Even when.