Good Old Fashioned Q&A with God
I have recently had an unquenchable thirst for knowledge...but not simply any knowledge will do. This isn't that kind of thirst where I simply grab a new psych book or learn how to cook German food. The thirst I have had recently is of a spiritual nature. So, I did the spiritual equivalent--in addition to Sunday morning church, I've begun delving into the Bible again for the first time in years, reading blogs, listening to podcasts of Sundays before I came, stuff like that. I really like the church that I've found (Focal Point Church meets every Sunday @ 10:00 a.m. at the Cinema Cafe in Greenbrier Mall, just so you all know), as the Pastor seems down to earth and willing to speak the truth without much regard to how people will 'feel' when it's all said and done. I respect both John and Tally in this regard, but Tally especially seems to have the mindset of "Hey man, I love you and all, but truth is truth. Period."
So, to make a long story short (or shortER, at least), I recently heard a talk on widows. As I sat there trying to concentrate on what was being conveyed, my mind travelled down the same path as it always does when words like "widow" and "single parent household" are introduced. Specifically, I wondered why. Why, why, why. That's that one question that never seems to have a good enough answer, isn't it? Don't believe me? Have a conversation with a three or four year old.
"Daddy, look!"
"I see, it's a bunny! There he goes!"
"He ran away!"
"Yup, he sure did!"
"Why?"
"Well, I guess he's scared."
"Why?"
"Well, uh, bunnies aren't really used to people."
"Why?"
"Um, well, because bunnies live in the forest, and uh, we live in houses."
"Why?"
"Um...well...because..."
"Because why?"
You get the point. So here I am in listening to what a real widow is. A godly woman. Someone who has shown us what godly should be. A kind and helpful woman. And it was like a checklist for my mom. Now, perhaps I'm a bit biased. I mean, she is my mom and all. But she is an amazing woman that has always done the best she could with what she was given. She always tried to help people, and has been taken advantage of because of it in some cases. She showed my sister and I by example what a godly woman truly is. She was never perfect, but the mistakes she made were never rationalized or hidden. She faced them, and us, the next day. My mother is a good person.
So, I'm listening to this description of a godly widow, and, as is my tendency, I turned my mental head and glared over my shoulder at God. 'She's everything you said a widow should be. She's done everything incredibly well. She's sacrificed over and over. So why have you left her alone?!' I know that my mom gets lonely, because you see, my dad died fifteen years ago. March is still hard. Christmas still sucks. Nothing will ever be the same for us, but especially for her. My dad was her other half. Not only did he get taken, but he got to suffer, and we all got to watch him die slowly, painfully, but no one saw it like my mom. My mom the nurse, watching the person that completed her die and being able to do nothing about it. You see, I understand that now. I could never really comprehend that one until I got married and fell in love. I've only been married for a small fraction of the time they were together, and I couldn't bear to lose Andy. And as my relationship with him grew, I've felt the guilt of being happily with him while she is left alone. She didn't make me feel that way, it simply was. And I know that she had dated a bit and it almost always ended up with her getting stomped on.
So now my soul is stirring, my mind is racing, and the old familiar creeps in. Anger, hot and liquid, at the injustices placed on those I love. I feel almost relieved as that anger seeps through me. That wall that I'd been taking apart bit by tiny bit each week as I'd began to seek God again starts being shoveled back into place. She's everything you wanted her to be, and look where that got her. Another shovelful of debris tossed on the rubble of my wall. She deserves to have companionship, she deserves to be happy! Shovel. Shovel. She doesn't deserve to be hurt! Why do you let her get hurt like that?! Shovel. And while we're on the subject, is it just a family thing? Do you just get a kick out of taking away everyone I love? Shovel. My dad, my grandad, my grandma, my brother, now you're after everyone else! Shovel. Shovel. She's diabetic now. Think you're funny huh? And my dad's brother, the last bit of him I've really got left, he'll be gone soon too, he's so sick. And he isn't even saved! Shovel. Shovel. Shovel. And my aunt, she's been sick for a while now; my best friend is diabetic and she's got lupus, and my husband, too! Shovel. Didn't I say that the one thing I didn't want to do was tell my kids that 'Daddy died today'? Shovel. But oh, that's right, I don't have to worry about that, do I? YOU made me this way! If you aren't going to let me have kids, then why make me want to be a mother so desperately? Shovel, shovel, shovel, shovel. But oh, everyone else gets kids! The girl at work that said 'whoops, I'm pregnant!' She's a kid! Oh, and the other girl who is debating 'keeping it'. But I'm not good enough?! Shovel. The wall is almost back up. That's fine. This is stupid. I don't need you. I don't need anyone. I've made it this far. Shovel, shovel. But I just want you to know-this is YOUR fault. I hate you. I HATE YOU! Pause. Mentally, I stagger. Pebbles roll down my hastily rebuilt wall. I want to scream. I hate you? No. No, no, no... not you. You saved me. But you took everything. Not everything. Look at all I have! Look at all you've taken. I throw the shovel to the side. More pebbles roll down the wall. I can't do this right now. In my mind, I picture God's face. I can't quite see the details, but there are tears on his cheeks and anguish on his face. Later. I'll deal with it later. I turn away. I push the image out of my head. Later.
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A couple of days later, my mom calls. The conversation is winding down and I ask if she's still going to church. Yes, she says. My end of the line gets a bit quiet. "You know what bothers me most about God, mom?" I ask. "What?" she says. And I tell her. I tell her she doesn't deserve to be alone. She deserves to have someone. She deserves to be happy. I'm crying, hurting for my mom. I'm expecting her to be crying, too. But when she speaks, it is to comfort me. And she says to me, "Oh, honey. I'm not alone. I have my oldest daughter living right next door. You're probably going to be moving out here for a few months. My grandbabies meet me at my door every morning just because they wanted to say hi and give me a kiss before they go to school. I have friends at church, I love my job, I have great co-workers now." And then, God said, Here's your answer. This is 'why'. My mom said, "I used to want a companion, I wanted to have someone to share this with. But when I finally prayed to just be content with what He wanted for me, I was. You see, I tried to make some men fit into that hole that I had, even when they weren't good for me. When I was finally able to pray that if I wasn't supposed to be with someone, that God would make me content, and not have this desire, then he did. I'm happy. I'm happy with everything just the way it is."
I still don't have all the answers. But I can say that for the first time, when I asked God "why", he said "That's why, Dummy." My wall is not very strong anymore. It was too hastily built with too weak a material. Large chunks are falling off daily. Maybe one of these days I'll be ready to rebuild something in its place.
So, to make a long story short (or shortER, at least), I recently heard a talk on widows. As I sat there trying to concentrate on what was being conveyed, my mind travelled down the same path as it always does when words like "widow" and "single parent household" are introduced. Specifically, I wondered why. Why, why, why. That's that one question that never seems to have a good enough answer, isn't it? Don't believe me? Have a conversation with a three or four year old.
"Daddy, look!"
"I see, it's a bunny! There he goes!"
"He ran away!"
"Yup, he sure did!"
"Why?"
"Well, I guess he's scared."
"Why?"
"Well, uh, bunnies aren't really used to people."
"Why?"
"Um, well, because bunnies live in the forest, and uh, we live in houses."
"Why?"
"Um...well...because..."
"Because why?"
You get the point. So here I am in listening to what a real widow is. A godly woman. Someone who has shown us what godly should be. A kind and helpful woman. And it was like a checklist for my mom. Now, perhaps I'm a bit biased. I mean, she is my mom and all. But she is an amazing woman that has always done the best she could with what she was given. She always tried to help people, and has been taken advantage of because of it in some cases. She showed my sister and I by example what a godly woman truly is. She was never perfect, but the mistakes she made were never rationalized or hidden. She faced them, and us, the next day. My mother is a good person.
So, I'm listening to this description of a godly widow, and, as is my tendency, I turned my mental head and glared over my shoulder at God. 'She's everything you said a widow should be. She's done everything incredibly well. She's sacrificed over and over. So why have you left her alone?!' I know that my mom gets lonely, because you see, my dad died fifteen years ago. March is still hard. Christmas still sucks. Nothing will ever be the same for us, but especially for her. My dad was her other half. Not only did he get taken, but he got to suffer, and we all got to watch him die slowly, painfully, but no one saw it like my mom. My mom the nurse, watching the person that completed her die and being able to do nothing about it. You see, I understand that now. I could never really comprehend that one until I got married and fell in love. I've only been married for a small fraction of the time they were together, and I couldn't bear to lose Andy. And as my relationship with him grew, I've felt the guilt of being happily with him while she is left alone. She didn't make me feel that way, it simply was. And I know that she had dated a bit and it almost always ended up with her getting stomped on.
So now my soul is stirring, my mind is racing, and the old familiar creeps in. Anger, hot and liquid, at the injustices placed on those I love. I feel almost relieved as that anger seeps through me. That wall that I'd been taking apart bit by tiny bit each week as I'd began to seek God again starts being shoveled back into place. She's everything you wanted her to be, and look where that got her. Another shovelful of debris tossed on the rubble of my wall. She deserves to have companionship, she deserves to be happy! Shovel. Shovel. She doesn't deserve to be hurt! Why do you let her get hurt like that?! Shovel. And while we're on the subject, is it just a family thing? Do you just get a kick out of taking away everyone I love? Shovel. My dad, my grandad, my grandma, my brother, now you're after everyone else! Shovel. Shovel. She's diabetic now. Think you're funny huh? And my dad's brother, the last bit of him I've really got left, he'll be gone soon too, he's so sick. And he isn't even saved! Shovel. Shovel. Shovel. And my aunt, she's been sick for a while now; my best friend is diabetic and she's got lupus, and my husband, too! Shovel. Didn't I say that the one thing I didn't want to do was tell my kids that 'Daddy died today'? Shovel. But oh, that's right, I don't have to worry about that, do I? YOU made me this way! If you aren't going to let me have kids, then why make me want to be a mother so desperately? Shovel, shovel, shovel, shovel. But oh, everyone else gets kids! The girl at work that said 'whoops, I'm pregnant!' She's a kid! Oh, and the other girl who is debating 'keeping it'. But I'm not good enough?! Shovel. The wall is almost back up. That's fine. This is stupid. I don't need you. I don't need anyone. I've made it this far. Shovel, shovel. But I just want you to know-this is YOUR fault. I hate you. I HATE YOU! Pause. Mentally, I stagger. Pebbles roll down my hastily rebuilt wall. I want to scream. I hate you? No. No, no, no... not you. You saved me. But you took everything. Not everything. Look at all I have! Look at all you've taken. I throw the shovel to the side. More pebbles roll down the wall. I can't do this right now. In my mind, I picture God's face. I can't quite see the details, but there are tears on his cheeks and anguish on his face. Later. I'll deal with it later. I turn away. I push the image out of my head. Later.
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A couple of days later, my mom calls. The conversation is winding down and I ask if she's still going to church. Yes, she says. My end of the line gets a bit quiet. "You know what bothers me most about God, mom?" I ask. "What?" she says. And I tell her. I tell her she doesn't deserve to be alone. She deserves to have someone. She deserves to be happy. I'm crying, hurting for my mom. I'm expecting her to be crying, too. But when she speaks, it is to comfort me. And she says to me, "Oh, honey. I'm not alone. I have my oldest daughter living right next door. You're probably going to be moving out here for a few months. My grandbabies meet me at my door every morning just because they wanted to say hi and give me a kiss before they go to school. I have friends at church, I love my job, I have great co-workers now." And then, God said, Here's your answer. This is 'why'. My mom said, "I used to want a companion, I wanted to have someone to share this with. But when I finally prayed to just be content with what He wanted for me, I was. You see, I tried to make some men fit into that hole that I had, even when they weren't good for me. When I was finally able to pray that if I wasn't supposed to be with someone, that God would make me content, and not have this desire, then he did. I'm happy. I'm happy with everything just the way it is."
I still don't have all the answers. But I can say that for the first time, when I asked God "why", he said "That's why, Dummy." My wall is not very strong anymore. It was too hastily built with too weak a material. Large chunks are falling off daily. Maybe one of these days I'll be ready to rebuild something in its place.
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