Here is where I am right now. It seems like every time I pick up the phone, read an email or meet someone for coffee I find that individual is experiencing a raw tragedy. Not the removed "my neighbor's grandmother has heart failure" that you do pray for because it is a shitty way to end your life, but these things my friends are going through are close to home and intensely painful. And I can't help but say it- UNFAIR.
I know as a good Christian and a Presbyterian that I am supposed to use these opportunities to give and receive grace, but I am struggling to find a silver lining or anything good at all in these situations. And I am angry. And fearful, because if these things can happen to my best friend they can happen to me. If someone's child can be kidnapped and murdered- so can mine. If someone's husband can contract bacterial meningitis and be fighting for his life- so can mine. If someone's daughter can be bravely gaining ground on a life-threatening condition and then have a stroke and be going home on hospice- so can mine. If someone's home can catch on fire and they have seconds only to grab their children and lose everything else- so can mine. These are dark and unimaginable life circumstances- and while I pray for these individuals (all of whom are in my life) I grab my own children and husband and never want to let them out of my sight- as if somehow my fragile arms can protect them.
And so in my own head I am screaming- where is God? And I admit to Him, because I do not think He is afraid of hearing it, that I would rather have my children safe and sound than experience His grace in a powerful way. And then my old sin of fear strangles me with the idea that my questioning His goodness means that He will need to teach me a lesson. And I wonder if tragedy did strike our family, would I still love Him and call Him Father?
Again, I am using this blog to put my real thoughts into the void. Pray for me. Pray for the people I mentioned who are walking through the valley of the shadow of death. I know in my head that these things are not the result of God looking the other way, but the result of sin in the world. And I know in my head that God grieves more then I do watching His human children suffer. I know that. In my head. But my arms never want to know the emptiness of losing a child and I never want the other side of my bed to be empty from the loss of Grant. This is my dark place.