THE LULU CHRONICLES
Dearest Father God,
My heart is full of thanksgiving and sorrow. How can that be? How can the two co-exist? How can anyone find peace with such carryings on? I’m going to be perfectly honest, I do not get You. I have no clue how You work. You are a mystery. Yet, amidst all this mixture of emotions I have never felt closer to You. How can that be?
I want to be mad at You. I want to blame You for my pain. Blaming You would be so easy, so simple. Blaming You excuses everything and everyone else... even myself. You allowed cancer. You could have stopped the cancer. You could have healed my husband and a thousand others like him. You could have; I have no doubt of Your limitless power. “Let there be light,” You said and immediately the sun, moon and stars burst from the void and darkness was no more. From mere dust You created life. You groaned and the earth split. Yet, You chose to bridle that power when I begged You for Your mercy. Your capacity to sit by and watch those You love in agony staggers me. How do You do it? How can You hear the cries and not be moved or swayed?
The day the flesh was ripped from Your own Son, how did You remain so still? When He cried out to You, how were You able to bridle Your silence? With each penetrating nail, how were You able to do nothing?
I do not understand You. I cannot fathom a love that is so disciplined, so steadfast, and committed to one purpose. As fire, stones, and arrows fly, as disease and death ravish, You stand unwavering. Your stoic binding of power, while it has frustrated me, it has also knocked me to my knees. You have made a believer out of me. Heaven must be worth all of it. Death, pain, disease, war, and sorrow will not deter You from beckoning us all to a home prepared by Your own hands. Am I right? Is it worth it? The sorrow I mean?
I have no choice. I have to believe that it is. Help me hold on.
Father, I leave my grief in Your hands. And, with thanksgiving I bow before You and lay my weary heart at Your feet. I do not understand the power and yearning of Divine Love, but I thank You for it all the same. Beloved God, forgive my disrespect. Forgive the boldness that mourning sparks. I know Your power. I trust Your Grand Plan. Salvation calls for obedience and patience. But, Father, why does it have to hurt so much?
As Jesus cried in the garden, so do I. You hear my words as they pour from me. I feel Your Presence in the quiet. I am not alone.