Finding a Way Out of the Fog

I thought I'd share my latest summer vacation photos with you. If it seems a little unclear, you're experiencing exactly what I have experienced.

Isn't that just a photo of ... fog?

Yep.

So, you're saying your summer was foggy? Uhmmm, I seem to remember lots of sun and triple-digit temperatures in your location. Were you somewhere else?

Nope. Well, I visited several states in the southeast but they all look the same.

I'm not following you.

Well, the photos might have been better if you had.

Cute. Your jokes are often quite good. If inappropriate. Let's be serious, because I think you are.

I'm just tired and worn out and feel like everything is out of focus. It feels as if I should see something but this ... this fog is all I'm getting. I have another shot of my life this summer. You want to see it?

Yes?

Here ya go.

Wow.

This is a nice clear shot of everything that has happened this summer. You know, the tornado was probably a sign and I just missed it. From that point on, everything has been in disarray. Chaotic.

You've survived and made it home. 

Yes. A week later my brother didn't.

....

Still no response to that, huh?

I'm not required to answer to you for such things. You can ask all day long but there are some things you are not meant to know. 

They say we'll know someday. I don't really believe that.

Why?

Because if we aren't supposed to know it now, it will be pointless to know it then. The outcome is the same and the reasons won't be important then. I suspect we won't even care. The why of it all will be obsolete.

Obsolete?

We'll be so far removed from the events that knowing the why will cease to mean anything. It won't matter then. The value of knowledge decreases over time. It will be history. And we bury history.

So, it isn't obsolete now?

Maybe but it feels important now. Pain has a way of drawing attention to the source. Time has a way of removing urgency. You reach a point where you know that you're never going to understand and never have a definitive answer. It is what it is. I don't even know sometimes if there is a reason for anything. I think there is, but I could be wrong. So, I've learned that the only thing I can do is leave the bodies behind and keep moving in what I think is a forward direction. But it might be backward. That first photo is pretty much what the road ahead looks like, for me anyway.

Through a glass darkly.

Yeah, well, I'll ask Paul when I see him but I don't think he'll care either. What is done is done and can't be undone. Even if the glass clears, it won't change it. The Great Why is meaningless after the fact. Someone once asked me what I'd ask Jesus when I saw Him. I didn't have an answer then and I don't have one now. I can't think of anything I am dying to know. That is not an intentional pun, by the way.

I'm glad to hear it. So you have nothing you want to ask?

Not at this point. Besides, the Bible says there will be a half hour of silence first. After that, there will be a thousand years of worship. I don't see any place in there where we're allowed to ask questions. There are people who believe it is a mortal sin to question God. So if I can't do it here, why would I be able to do it there? I could ask "Why did you take my Mama? Why did you take my husband? Why did you take my brother? All died before they should have. At least, in my opinion. But the truth is, my opinion is worthless in this matter. It doesn't matter what I think or want. They are gone and nothing I can say or do will change it. And asking why in 1000 years won't change it either. I can only hope I'll be able to see them again. That's all I have. That's all I'll ever have, no matter what else happens.

So, you have hope.

I guess if you want to call it that. I have a fervent desire, an endless craving. But I must be broken because the way my brain works, that's not a comfort. The phrase "it begs the question" comes to mind. Did you put that there?

Maybe. You'll have to think about it.

You know, I love God more than anything. And when you love someone that much, their power over you is tremendous. It means that they have the ability to destroy you or create you. It means that you accept their decision regardless of what that decision is. So, asking you why would be taking that power back. I can't do that. I don't mean I haven't asked: "why." I have, but my head and my heart know you will never tell me and it is extremely painful knowledge. That alone is a kind of grief. But I'd rather throw myself onto the rock than to have it fall on me. Your sovereignty is never in question. In that, I have no doubt. I still bow to your decisions. Even when I don't like them. Even when they hurt me.

I think you'll find your way out of the fog.

I hope you're right. I can't stop and wait for it to clear.

#ConversationsWithHim

The Devil in the Dark

How am I supposed to be thankful today? How can I be glad when death can enter the room anytime he wants and take what is not his. Wherever you are, whatever you're doing, whoever you're with, he can simply walk up and crook his finger and destroy everything.

.......

What? No answer? No response? Nothing to say?

......

Why would you create such a creature? A dark, loathsome thing that has no dignity or manners.

He has barged into my life three times and wrecked it. For what? What did it accomplish? I'm not a better person. I'm worse than I was the day before. I'm broken. Irreparably damaged because pieces of me are missing. I can't ever be put back together. I'm walking wounded, bleeding internally.

Did I say it was a terrible day? The sun shines and the birds sing, and the boiling cauldron we've been in has simmered down a bit. But the shadow cast by that beast does not retreat. No, he leaves his stench everywhere. Sachets of it that burst open as they rot and envelope you in a stinking cloying cloud when you least expect it that chokes you, burns your eyes, and wrings your insides until you want to scream. To what end?

And he cares not who he strikes. Tiny babies and old men. Young men and old women. Beautiful girls and ugly crones. It doesn't matter. I often wonder if the destruction he leaves in his wake gives him pleasure.

Despite what Touched by an Angel would have you believe, death is not an attractive man in a lovely suit holding your hand while you die. He isn't kind, loving, or gracious. He's the uninvited guest at the table. The stalker peering through the windows or around the corner. He's the unconcerned onlooker who watches you as you drown but never moves to rescue you.

Death is not a gentleman. He is the Devil in the dark.

And you created him. Through Him, all things were made, and without Him, nothing was made that has been made. 

There is no comfort for the lives he destroys. Time doesn't heal these wounds. We struggle to keep them covered until the next attack.


Note:
(This blog is, and has always been, my conversations with God. Sometimes they're direct talks, meaning, I am actually talking and leaving a response to my comments that I feel inspired to leave. You can believe they're my own comments if you like. Other times, I simply write about what is in my heart. Today, my heart is wounded and hurting.

My belief is that God always understands where we are coming from. He isn't confused. We might be confused, but He isn't. And when I need to tell him how bad my situation is, He is not intimidated by my anger, frustration, and pain. So, if this post offended you, I'm sorry you're offended. You can talk to Him if you'd like but don't pray for me if you are offended. You aren't serving the same loving, understanding, and patient God that I am. I don't need prayers to strange gods on my behalf.)

#ConversationswithHim

Blue Sky Promises

I am so hungry.

Well, there sure is a lot of food on that table. Where do you want to start?

It isn't real.

So, what is the real problem here? You're hungry. What are you hungry for?

That's just it. I don't know. I've wracked my brain trying to figure out what is wrong and . . . it eludes me.

I've had several calls from you. 

Well, at least now I know you got them.

Now, let's not be flip.

I'm just trying to let you know how I feel.

I got that message, too.

There is this enormous gaping hole I can't fill. And it seems to grow larger every day. I think . . . I think that . . .

That?

I think I'm overreacting and no one really cares, anyway. It's been a pretty rotten day. I slept badly last night and didn't get enough sleep. I got up and had coffee and I fell asleep reading my Bible. I was so tired. I must have slept badly in the chair. A storm moved in and I woke up feeling as if a truck had hit me. I've not been well since.

...

What? No advice? Nothing?

What do you want me to say?

What do I want you to say? Really? I don't even know what I want. Do you expect me to know what you want? In fact, I think that's the problem. What exactly do you expect from me? I'm pretty much useless. I can't do anything I wanted to do. I'm so isolated that I could be on an island and no one would even know. I was in the kitchen and Sarah asked me who I was talking to! I don't even know anymore when I talk out loud to myself or am talking in my head. What do I want you to say? Well, anything would be nice. Or maybe it wouldn't. If it isn't nice, I don't think I want to know. I've had enough of the other stuff.

You're tired. 

I am more than tired. I'm wasted. Hollow. Vacant. Void. Empty. Deserted. Abandoned.

You're not deserted or abandoned. 

Look around here, please. I want to go home and it doesn't even exist anymore except in my head.

You're homesick?

... I don't know. No. It is deeper than that. I want to go back and do one thing differently so that everything will be different. I want what is lost. I want what can't ever be. I want things the way they were before they went wrong.

I see. That's a terrible place to be. An impossible place.

I want to fix all the broken things. And they're all broken. Everything is broken. Even me. And I don't think, no, I know that none of it can be fixed.

You probably ought to think about a new name for this blog. It isn't what it used to be.

Wow. Well, neither am I.

You can't go back. The road only goes forward. You can choose to sit down and stay here. But ... it is a pretty drab spot. Lots of gloomy clouds, darkness hovering just over that hill, and I can't stay here with you. If you stay, you will be alone. 

I know. There is nothing left back there. I watched it burn.

I promise you, there are green pastures ahead. Cool streams. Blue skies. You'll get thru the dark. 

Don't tell me to be patient, please.

I won't. I heard the joke.

#ConversationsWithHim








Note: the joke is "I had patients. They all died."