But for me it is good to be near God;
I have made the Lord God my refuge,
that I may tell of all your works. (Psalm 73:28, ESV)
The question never seems to come up in a good moment. It comes at bedtime, or mid-meltdown, or in the car after a birthday party. From the neurotypical sibling: “Why does he get away with everything?” From the child with the diagnosis: “Why is everything harder for me?” Different children, same question underneath—why is life unfair?
And both of them are right. It is.
Our instinct is to fix the feeling. We reach for “life isn’t fair, buddy.” We feel the emptiness of what we’re saying as we say it. The pat answer is dismissal masquerading as wisdom. Or we start explaining the accommodations, the needs, the reasons, which teaches our child that their complaint requires our defense and excuses.
Scripture models neither one.
Psalm 73 is a man saying that the wicked prosper and faithfulness feels pointless. “All in vain have I kept my heart clean,” (vs 13) Asaph writes. “But as for me, my feet had almost stumbled, my steps had nearly slipped. For I was envious of the arrogant when I saw the prosperity of the wicked” (vss 2-3).
This is a song the faithful sang. Have you ever thought about that? Does it blow your mind? It does mine—maybe they liked country music??? Just kidding. Their songs were raw, real, and filled with the struggles they faced in an unfair world. That tells us something we need to know before our children ask their question: God is not offended by the observation that life is unfair. He made it part of Scripture throughout the entire Bible.
Watch how the psalm turns, though because it never turns on an answer. Asaph doesn’t get an explanation for the unfairness. He goes into the sanctuary, and what changes is nearness, not information: “Nevertheless, I am continually with you; you hold my right hand” (vs 23). The unfairness isn’t explained. It’s outlasted by presence. I love that so much. God is not our puppet who fixes everything we wish He would. Instead, He is our constant companion who comforts and strengthens us when life in unfair.
This is the truth we owe our kids. Not a lecture on why God allows suffering—they didn’t ask for a seminary or Sunday School answer, and delivering one usually means we panicked. We owe them two things. Agreement: yes, it’s unfair, you’re seeing clearly, and I’m not going to pretend otherwise. And presence: God sees it too, and He’s here, and so am I.
The stakes are higher than one bedtime conversation. A child whose complaint is received honestly will bring us the next one—and will keep bringing them to God. A child whose complaint gets corrected learns to stop asking. And a child who stops asking us usually stops asking Him. For the siblings in our homes especially—the ones whose unfairness is chronic, visible, and mostly unspoken—making room for the question is not a detour from discipleship. It is discipleship.
So the practice this week is one sentence, said first, before any explaining: “You’re right. It isn’t fair.” Then stay. Presence answered Asaph. It will do more for our children than our best explanation ever could.
These conversations go better when they don’t start mid-meltdown. My welcome bundle includes table talk prompts built to open the hard questions early—along with story prompt cards and my 100+ books list—free when you join the mailing list: SIGNUP LINK