Oh dear Lord, there is so much in this life I cannot seem to understand. I try to wrap my head around it, I try to comprehend the elusive “why,” but I fall short.
I can never seem to understand why cruel people exist on this earth with what appears to be the sole purpose of hurting others. How can people be so evil when they were created by such good? It’s beyond my understanding.
I see crime, hatred, abominations against humanity, some cloaked as if they are not evil. I see these things and I grieve.
I see young lives cut short, and my first impulse is to ask why. Why do good people die? Why do young people with so much life still left to live leave us?
This morning I was listening to a song. The lyrics said things like, “make me broken, so I can be healed” and “make me empty, so I can be filled.”
Tears filled my eyes and began to spill over and track down my cheeks. I imagined the worse kind of brokenness, an empty longing like that experienced at the sudden loss of a child gone before their time. As unexpected tears took over me, causing my breath to catch in my throat, I wondered would I be able to handle that type of brokenness?
I didn’t think I could Lord, and that filled me with a strange guilt, but I couldn’t lie to you. I knew that my ultimate desire in life should be to grow closer to you, but I wasn’t sure I could ask for brokenness and emptiness if it meant that. I didn’t think I could endure that.
I didn’t even want to think about it. And I suppose that’s how we usually deal with such pain when it is so real that it threatens our normalcy and happy little world. We honestly say a prayer for those in mourning, pray for peace and comfort, but then it’s simply too much to go any deeper. So our thoughts are basically forced to think of something else.
But this morning I allowed myself to think about it, to try and place myself in a grieving parent’s shoes. It wasn’t easy, but in the face of someone’s actual pain it seemed so small, so insignificant in comparison to their very real pain.
It hurt Lord. It was another one of those things I just couldn’t understand. It that short time I felt so many emotions, asked so many questions, thanked you for your mercy, and begged you for your protection. But then I was able to stop. Then I was able to look up and see my lovely little girl as she watched TV. I was able to watch her unaware, to breathe in her very real and present beauty.
In my time of questioning and proposed loss I just couldn’t see getting through such tragedy. How could a woman who has trouble leaving for work and saying goodbye to her children in that circumstance fathom a forever goodbye? (Although not really forever. Is it?) It had taken some work, determination, and time to agree to release them to your care when I was absent from the home. In the face of such thoughts of loss, of their death, ones I couldn’t fathom or understand, had I lost all that ground? Had I even given it over to you at all? Maybe it wasn’t a lumped event I could pinpoint, but something I had to repeat. Repeat over and over again, especially when confronted with the frailty of life like this event had done for me.
In my brief encounter with grief I tried to remain anchored with my faith, with the truths I knew in my heart. The things that I knew that I knew.
I knew that you could indeed carry me through any situation even if I couldn’t imagine such a thing. I thought of times past that I had cried out “God please take this!” And you had. I thought of instances I never believed I could get through, yet you got me through them. I thought of all this, and I knew it was true. But I wondered if my faith would be strong in the face of such tragedy. I wondered if I would remember the truth under the weight of my pain.
But then I remembered that none of that mattered. Not really. It didn’t matter if I thought I could. What mattered was that you would. You would get me through the pain. I doubt I would feel that, understand it, or even believe it at the time, but it wouldn’t stop it from being true. I couldn’t imagine how you would do it, but I knew you would, because I know you. I know your love for me. Even when I don’t understand, and even when I question you.
I thought of how short this life is. It seems so long to me, but I reflected back on how quickly the children have grown thus far. It is so fleeting. It’s so minuscule when held beside a comparison called eternity. To have the comforting thought of a future without pain, without the things I cannot understand, it helps. I’m not unrealistic enough to think that would vanquish my grief, but I hold hope that your truth could somehow cushion the blow, that it could help ease some of the pain if I needed it to.
I know that’s certainly my prayer for others, for those who have suffered a loss that I can only imagine.
As I am uncertain as to why I have my children in my lap right now, yet others do not; I am certain of one thing. I’m certain you love us Lord. Despite tears, despite pain, loss, and fists raised to the sky in anguish; you love us. You love us. And there will be a beautiful reunion in your presence. Until that day I pray you keep us all close. Comfort those of us in need. In a desperate need I can only imagine.
Anita Douglas says
I enjoyed this so much! I am a nurse and a mother and I know this kind of pain! I identify with so many of my patient’s I used to be sent in for damage control at my hosptial. The called me rhe “Angel if death” because I sang to older patient’s on night shift who we’re dying and had no family to be at they’re bedside. I didn’t like the name but accepted it because I felt strongly about not letting anyone die alone. I do have one comment about the call light thing. I went into a man’s room continuously every few minutes while he kept telling me he wasn’t pushing the button, did his assessment went to the next room realized I forgot my stethoscope and went back just seconds later and he was gone! He is embedded in my mind forever! How could we not revive him when I was just doing an assessment and he was fine. Some thing’s are up to God not us. Thank you for reminding me if that!
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Thank you for commenting and sharing your story. I enjoyed it. You sound like a wonderful nurse. So many questions I often have, but God always gives me peace. I’m glad you enjoyed the post. Thank you.
Susan says
Actually, I have said dome of those things! And did not regret it, as it was actually thought provoking for the patient/family I said it to, thereby making them just a little more tolerable….
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Thanks for commenting Susan.
Gill Hawk says
As a male that is a Nurse I too have questioned God and his ways. I have had to hold my emotions in check while others in the room have cried, other times I am crying with them My present work is with a 6 Patient Hospice Inpatient unit Prior to that I was in the ER for 11 years. Believe it or not a lot of the same questions from both ends of the spectrum of nursing come up. Dealing with the families during a stressful time is hard but necessary. Every now and then a “God” message just comes out. Having the love, compassion and joy of nursing and a great bunch of people to work with certainly helps.
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Thanks for the comment. I admire what you do. I worked Hospice for a few years, and though some people find the comment odd, it’s actually the most rewarding thing I’ve ever done. God’s peace surpasses all understanding for me.