I don’t know whether to cry or scream. Stay busy or sleep the day away. Restless is not an accurate description of the way I feel. I don’t know what would be?
My heart aches. Literally, my chest physically hurts. My understanding is so limited, so human.
My friend is in need of a miracle.
I believe in the God of miracles.
Yet, He is silent.
Lord, help my unbelief. Disprove my doubts. Show the doctors with human hands who the Ultimate Physician really is.
I look at the work of your hands. The way you have created life in seemingly lifeless places. I want to beg you to breathe life back into Elliot’s frail body. Knowing full well that your will is not my will and that Jesus taught us to approach the throne of grace with the words, “Thy will be done.” on our tongue.
But Father, I want to pound my fists in rage at the injustice as well as lifting my hands in praise for your faithfulness. I am in a strange place that is neither familiar nor foreign. Where fear meets faith…I suppose.
What am I supposed to do with this storm of emotion?! My fear tells me to sit with my back in the corner so that I feel surrounded by stability. How foolish of me for even thinking that walls capable of crumbling could provide me with security.
God, I know where my security lies and yet my faith is lacking. It’s not necessarily the realism of mortality that is so distressing. It is the little ones she would leave behind. It is the man of her dreams and the children they made together. It is those of us left…back here…on this earth of loss and tragedy. A place where understanding may never come.
These are the times we feel the gnawing in our gut and the longing in our soul. It is a homesickness of sorts. Not for this world. For Heaven.
“Help me. Please. Father. Abba. Please help me.”