It’s been said that everything this side of hell is the grace of God.
But burying my child doesn’t feel like grace, it feels like punishment.
Or abandonment.
Or forgetfulness.
I cannot add my voice to the modern Christian chorus of “Everything happens for a reason”.
Is this my tree, set in the midst of my garden? The one about which God says, “Trust Me”?
I am tempted to argue, tempted to try to frame the meaning of my test in terms my human heart can understand.
“God must not love me.”
“He must be hiding something.”
I am faced with the same question that mocked my first mother, “Did God really say?”
And, like Eve, I am tempted to give in to the fear that draws my soul to doubt the wisdom and goodness of God.
Why would He bring me to this place where I am forced to walk obediently in trust and without light?
But these are whispers of the enemy of my soul, luring me away from the only Source of hope and comfort that there is.
And he is skilled at turning my feelings against the truth.
I am powerless to fight the serpent in my own strength, too weak to answer what seem like reasonable questions.
So I throw myself on the mercy of Him Who made me, of Him Who brought me to this point of testing.
In my weakness I rest in His strength.
and finally He said to me, “My grace is enough to cover and sustain you. My power is made perfect in weakness.” So ask me about my thorn, inquire about my weaknesses, and I will gladly go on and on—I would rather stake my claim in these and have the power of the Anointed One at home within me.
2 Corinthians 12:9 VOICE
thelifeididntchoose 