So, Am I Lord? Do You See Me Shaking My Fist?

Though I am surrounded by troubles, you will bring me safely through them. You will clench your fist against my angry enemies! Your power will save me. The Lord will work out his plans for my life—for your loving-kindness, Lord, continues forever. Don’t abandon me—for you made me. (Psalm 138:7-8; TLB)

Tell me, Lord, am I a hypocrite today?

Ten days ago, you asked me to inspire 120 caregivers and share with them the answer to the question, “Where is God in Alzheimer’s.” But now I’m shaking my fist toward Heaven and asking, “Where are You now.”

As stated in Psalm 138, I want to believe that You bring us safely through our troubles and that Your loving-kindness continues forever. But like David’s words in Psalm 138, I also clench my fist in anger. I grieve, and I’m angry today. And I’m clenching.

Where were you, Lord, when my friends unexpectedly lost their toddler child to Heaven yesterday? They’re grieving, Lord, and I feel helpless to make their pain go away. I think about their losses—first day of kindergarten, first lost tooth, the toothless grin, a driver’s license, prom, graduation, a career, and grandchildren. Yes, You have blessed them with two other beautiful children, as some might horrendously suggest. They will always have three children, and now one is missing. Forever.

So where were You? And am I a hypocrite because I don’t know?

At the caregiving conference, I told caregivers to look in the mirror and see Your love reflected in the image—that they are God’s love to the ones receiving their care. Your love is reflected through them. But what can I tell my friends? I am weeping, and I don’t know what to tell them.

I acknowledge that I grieve the long goodbye of Alzheimer’s as I watch Mom become more like my child than my mama. I grieve that she may never hold in her hands the book I’m writing about her. I grieve the near total loss of my number one fan. And I grieve because I can’t make it better like she did for me when I scraped my knee or broke my toe or sprained my ankles. But this is nothing like what my friends are facing.

Is Your love being reflected in their tears? Is Your love being reflected in their sleepless nights or reflected in the mourning they’ll share between them all over again on all the birthdays and Christmases that will never be shared with their missing child?

Today I thought about the baby I never got to hold in my arms in 1987. For ten weeks, I held my baby in my body, until the cramping and bleeding violently stole a part of my future from me. I know I was somehow blessed by seeing that little something that looked like a tadpole with two black dots for eyes. The day before, I unknowingly held my baby in a tissue, just assuming it was just something that happened in pregnancy.

But that’s still not even close to what my friends are being called to walk through.

As I ponder further, I sense You whispering to me a reminder of how many times You allowed me to minister to others through my loss, including my friends who knew a week in advance that the full-term child they would bear was anencephalic and would not survive delivery, or my former sister-in-law who lost her child at a women’s retreat as I was pregnant with my second son.

I want to believe that You were there, too, in the emergency room with my friends, grieving with them, and I want to believe that You gently held their child in Your arms upon entrance into Heaven. Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of Heaven belongs to such as these” (NIV). I know their precious child is with You. You are the “I AM” and You have promised that their child is now with You.

I will believe that Your reflection of love will be radiant when they are called upon to walk this journey with someone else experiencing a similar, painful loss. Perhaps their tragedy will save the lives of other children.

So, Lord, I guess You and I have come full circle tonight. Whatever losses we face here on Earth, You accompany us in our grief. We are brought closer to You as we mourn and pray. And sometimes we don’t see You and that’s when you carry us the most.

Carry my friends. Carry the caregivers. Fill us with Your abundant grace so we can see You. Allow us to regift Your grace to those we love and to those who You put in our paths and need it the most.

Thanks, Lord, for not telling me I’m a hypocrite. You know our pain because You felt it on the road to Calvary. Not only did You feel it, but You carried it so that I wouldn’t have to, not only to eternity, but also through the most painful parts of my life.

You are with my friends, and their child is with You. You are with me, and my mom will be with You soon.

I’ll let You be the one to clench Your fist against my enemies, even when my worst enemy sometimes is grief. You promise to wash our tears away one day.

For today, I’ll hold on to that.

Written April 22, 2016; originally posted April 23, 2016.

©2016 Regifted Grace Ministry LLC