One of the more difficult things to achieve, as a woman of faith, is consistent encouraging uplifting attitude when everything around you seems to be falling apart.
The death of Rick Warren’s son has sent me hurling head long into the pit of despair.
I hate the sorrow of this world! I hate that we suffer.
I want to scream, “Why God? Isn’t it hard enough just getting through some days as a Christian, but you allow us to bury our children in the valley?”
I’m tired of burying children. We have buried so many of my children’s friends, and cousins. Why are some taken so early while others remain?
I need fresh air!
Stepping outside, the creek now languishing of water, forms islands of mud and green, spring fungus that the tadpoles find delicious. The sun is beginning to warm winter’s cold ground, and I hear that sweet still soft voice, singing over this war weary soul.
A song without words, but a song my spirit knows well. A song without melody, yet it causes my body to release its heavy yoke, and release tears.
Christ cried when Lazarus died. He knew that Lazarus would rise again in just a few minutes, yet he cried. Perhaps, I am feeling what he felt – grief. I am feeling the pain and sorrow, of a world where sin touches all areas of life, like cancer rampant through the lymphoid system.
And I am Martha, “Lord if you had just _________, then this would not have happened!”
Oh, how many things could we place into that blank?
Maybe I have this whole Christian life thing all wrong. I know God wants to do good for us. But the whole point of being here is not to have a beautiful life. The whole point of being here is to glorify God.
Is there any greater testimony than to trust Him, to love Him, to worship Him as we return our children to Him; children, who were never meant to be ours forever. Children we have the privilege of knowing and loving for a measured time.
Blessing the Lord, and shining Christ is easy when the skies are blue and the birds sing and the little frogs croak in the creek; but when life is difficult, like now, the praise is a song placed on the alter of Hope, in the land of Faith.
It is a sacrifice of praise. Joy lifted up on hands of sorrow.
There is no pain in heaven, only plans to give you a hope and a future.
So today, this sojourner whose attitude and yoke is much lighter, picks up her cross, and humming a tune that is begins in heaven, carries on.
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