The Contender

Thursday, October 20, 2011

So, thinking about the last post. Thinking about how sometimes, I am standing at the edge of a precipice ready to fall in. Or maybe jump in?

I would just like to reiterate that I still believe. And I still have faith -- because there is a difference between belief and faith.

On a purely emotional level lack of faith would be too awful -- because then there is no hope of reunion. No life in her. She would be just an accident of nature, like a twisted root or a mutated virus.

Gone. Forever.

But the horror of a forever separation is not the reason I have faith. I have faith because I know what is, is.

I have faith in God’s existence like I have faith there is a sun in the sky. I can remember from my earliest memories knowing He was watching out for me -- He was there.  It has never been some vague, eye in the sky belief. It has been about the sin in the Garden, and His triumph over Death on the cross.

People might take what I say and think, she’s lost her faith. Nothing could be further from the truth.

I just don’t quite trust Him with my heart right now.

Maybe He will see fit to pull the rug out from under me again? I don’t know. I do know I so desperately want to lean somewhere…. But the thought of embracing The One who took my daughter straight out of my arms is hard.

It is almost impossible.

I do it though. I want to be clear about it.

I do it grudgingly. I don’t do it graciously. I don’t come to Him with a servant’s heart. My heart is strangled and ridden with desperation.

Tonight, I think of Jacob- wrestling God and demanding a blessing.

He held onto God, even after God had crippled him in a most devastating way. His name was changed after his encounter.  He was called Israel, which means “contended with God.”

Many Biblical characters are given new names after an intimate encounter with God.

I feel as if I have contended with God. I looked Him in the face and held fast.

I want a new name. Something like “one whose daughter miraculously came back”.

Or maybe even, deep down inside, “one who was able to grow just one more sweet tiny babe in her womb.”

I feel like I want to hold Him by the chin and force him to look me in the eye.

I think some of me feels like Rachel, “give me a child or I shall die."

(And as a side note- then guilt sets in. I HAVE children, while so many baby loss moms have none…. But that’s another post altogether….)

I think we have the idea of the people in that book being somehow different than us. But they weren’t.

They were exactly the same. They were extraordinary in their ordinariness.

We can be like them. We can be humble and bitter and thankful all at once. We can be the entire ball of wax rolled into one.

I am not a one dimensional person. I am passionate and wide awake. I have a river of emotions running through me. I guess right now, I am an Old Testament Christian.

I am Abraham, walking up the side of the mountain, on the journey which will end his child’s life.

I am Jonah, running from what God has given me as my testimony.

I am Rachel, calling out “Give me a child or I shall die.”

I am Jacob, contending with God and not letting go regardless of the devastation.

I’m not perfect.

I was far from perfect before all of this happened, and now I am left with this.



I'm told to read the Psalms.... David had a broken heart, after all.

I read the Psalms. 

I empathize with his sorrowful heart, but his words give me little relief.  I want immediate satisfaction for what ails me. I want it taken care of NOW. The Psalmist didn’t always find things going his way. God had other plans for him, every once in a while. I don't like this.

It's a shock to my system when I must conceptualize that my entreaties may not be answered how I would like them to be. When I must acknowledge, to myself, that she’s NEVER coming back here.


Forever is a long time to grieve someone.

I guess I'm having a difficult time fitting into a mold which expects me to come to this with docility. It doesn’t mean I won’t get there -- it just means I’m not there right now.

I am having a difficult time with the idea that because I have faith, I must always put on a smile and dress in my best clothing. I think (know) God loves me in whatever guise I come to Him in. Whether I am spitting with anger, or bent in sorrow. And I know He is there whether I want Him to be or not.

The difficulty is in meeting Him halfway.

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