God is Not Scared of Your Questions

I stood at the window. My hand on my swollen stomach. Tears trickled down my face as I held the phone to my ear. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know why I called her, but I felt something familiar…

Grief? No.

Shock? Probably. But it wasn’t just that.

Disappointment. That’s what it was. A deep aching, hurting, disappointing feeling, but it was familiar. Like I had felt all of this before but not on this level. A thought came into my mind and seared itself into my memory, “I never thought something that good could happen to me anyway”.

I was resigned. I went from hearing myself scream “no!” as I fell to the floor, fumbling with my phone in an attempt to call my husband, to complete resignation.

He was gone. There was nothing I could do. I let him go.

I sit here pondering. Why did the death of my son feel so familiar? Why? And the answer comes to me. I’m used to not getting what I want. It’s been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. I watched as my friends several years younger than me got married. I remember trying desperately to get the same approval from my parents as I saw some of my siblings getting.

I hoped that they would finally see who I was, that they would finally approve. I was disappointed. I hoped that something would change. I was disappointed. I hoped that they would finally see me, understand me, fight for me. I was disappointed.

What do we do in the face of grievous disappointment, or any disappointment? Do we give up? Do we fight? Do we throw a fit? Or do we resign?

There was a time when I would have fought. I would have said it wasn’t fair. I would have asked, “why?”. But today, I didn’t. I knew there was no point. I didn’t understand how it could happen, but I didn’t feel the need to fight. It just was what it was.

Had He finally broke me? Was His plan all along to beat me into submission, to break my will? This also felt familiar. I had been beaten into submission before. I had been broken down before.

He showed me how strong I was.

I found peace in the middle of a horrendous storm.

I finally saw myself for who I really was.

A strong, whole, unwavering person. Through all of it, my faith has remained strong, My marriage hasn’t fallen apart. I have been angry, bitter, depressed, hopeless at times, but I haven’t given up. I haven’t been destroyed.

How other people saw it was of no importance. They couldn’t possibly understand everything that had happened try as they might. He repeatedly told me,

“I asked you to walk this, not them. Quit worrying about what they might say or think of you. Let me work in you what I need to work in you. Nothing else matters”.

And it doesn’t.

And the disappointment? When we’ve been wronged so many times in our lives by people we’ve trusted, it becomes natural to doubt. It becomes like second nature to put our guards up and expect that no one wants good for us. Sometimes the things that He allows don’t make sense. They feel like something else we’ve experienced.

Sometimes it feels a lot like… Like He does us dirty.

Maybe you’ve been taught that you should never say something like that about God. That you shouldn’t even think such a thing of God… But the problem with that is, or rather, the problems with that are, one, God already knows what we think, and He knows the doubts we have, and two, if we don’t speak them out, how will He ever show us otherwise? Or worse, if we never admit them to ourselves how can WE ask that He show us otherwise?

And the third? If God is our Father, wouldn’t He take supreme pleasure in answering the questions that plague our minds?

Wouldn’t any good father take that kind of pleasure in showing love to his children?

So I ask for answers to the things that I can’t understand. God, what did you want? Did you want to break me?

Because God, there is a part of me that feels like that strong-willed rambunctious child that required extreme discipline before I could learn my lesson.

And God, sometimes I feel shame. Shame that makes me want to drop my head and never lift it up again.

Like maybe, you love the others more than me. You know, the ones that have the babies sitting in their laps, the ones that are surrounded by their beautiful, happy families.

One more thing God, thank you that I can bring all of these questions to you and that you never shame me or belittle me for letting doubts cloud my vision sometimes.