I started writing #griefstories as a way to process my pain and hopefully help others going through their own. Questioning God in the Midst of Grief is normal – it’s what we do with those questions that makes all the difference. I wanted to share this portion of my journey because I think it’s something we can all relate to.
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When my dad was diagnosed, I couldn’t comprehend it. It just didn’t make sense in my head. It was almost like getting a “does not compute” error. We knew it could be cancer but were still hopeful for a miracle and then all of a sudden it was Stage IV lung cancer and he was starting chemo that day.
I remember being in public when mom called to tell us. My brother and I were at a community event surrounded by people we’d known our entire lives. I remember feeling like we had to keep a brave face but wanting to break down and throw up all at once.
I lived with a knot in my stomach and fear underlying everything I did for the next month. Should I go to work or go to the hospital? Should I go to this event or go spend time with Dad? What if we get a call in the middle of the night? Each time he was re-admitted to the ICU, my world shattered a little more.
I felt like I wasn’t supposed to be afraid – all the verses I read told me my God was able. But I felt like deep down I knew. I knew I was going to lose my Dad from this earth. I didn’t know how to bring those two things into balance – how do I believe God is good and keeps His promises and also know my Dad is dying? How do I keep believing and praying for healing when I know God may not heal him. How does a good God allow His servant to suffer like that?
I don’t remember much about the month of August except for feeling like a shell, emotionally and physically drained and numb. I knew I needed to soak in the moments I still had with Dad – and I did. But I also just remember hospital sounds and smells, late nights sobbing in my car in front of our house with sweet Logan asleep in his carseat, his fast food dinner in his lap. There were people who brought food and sent cards and somehow I went to work and took care of Logan – but mostly I remember feeling like my whole world was being ripped to shreds. My heart smashed to pieces and the fabric of my faith yanked taut until I thought it may tear as well.
I believe my God is good. I believe my God is able to heal. I believe He could have.
But He did not.
He promises to protect His loved ones and save those who follow Him but it felt as though He did not. I believe that the ultimate reward for followers of Jesus is hearing “Well done, my good and faithful servant.” And yet, “he’s in a better place” still feels like a slap in the face. And “God DID heal him” feels almost like a Christian band aid.
The thing about pain and loss is that they present us with a choice.
To either cling to our Lord or to reject Him. To lean into faith or to step away.
Often, we realize that our beliefs were rather shallow – we didn’t hold them as truth to our very core. And when we are in the midst of the fire, they are either burned up or refined.
I’m learning it is okay to question, to be angry, to wonder why a good God would allow His servant to suffer.
But I’m also learning not to stop there.
To also say “BUT I TRUST YOU LORD” and to take what I know about God to my core. It’s the only way to walk through the deep pain. To truly believe there is a God who loved me so much that He sent His own Son to suffer for me – so that He could hurt alongside me. So that He could show me that He can and will bring light out of even the darkest days. So that I could commune with Him and lean on Him, free of the chains of my sin.
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I started writing these #griefstories as a way to process my pain and to hopefully bring some sort of empathy and hope to those who are also walking through grief. If you have experienced loss and want to share your story, please get in contact with me. I would love to pray alongside you and share your story with this community if you’d like.