I've been writing here for seven years, and have written so much of my heart about grief and struggling and hope and waiting and all that comes with it. I sometimes feel like I am becoming a broken record.
But I realized recently that I still need to hear the same things over and over, that I still am learning the same things over and over again.
You're free and that's all I'm trying to say. If you weren't free then Jesus wouldn't be who he says he is.
I never want anyone to feel like there is no freedom to ask God 'why?' or to go to the Father with our questions. We have such great freedom to unashamedly go to our Father in Heaven and sit in his lap and cry our eyes out asking 'why?' There is so much freedom to struggle over and over again with the same things for the rest of our lives.
He loves us. He cares. He is much much more patient and kind than we can imagine.
When Jesus comes back and makes all things right, there may not be a single question on our lips. It may not matter at all why. And the whys may be a part of God's secret things that we can never know.
But... but that doesn't mean that at some point in our lives those questions aren't important to us. Those burning questions of why, the messy struggling in this broken world can pull us into a deeper relationship with God. They can cause us to run to Him and fall into His lap, a sacred place.
The burning we feel from the questions can start to fade, in time. But it is not by someone telling us not to ask, just to 'let go and let God'. It is not after someone tells us that the why is not for us to know. There is great freedom to ask why... to ask anything. It's true, we may never get an answer. We may never feel a peace about the why.
And if there is no answer, no peace about the whys.... in the end, we're still sitting in His lap, talking to our Father and we can find peace and rest in who He is.
I remember the first time I ran to the Lord after Owen's death. It was just over a year later... it was raw and in broken sobs, collapsed on my husband's shoulder. I cried out, begging for reassurance that the Lord had not abandoned me. I had lost another baby, our third, and I was desperate for answers.
Eight years later, I have found no peace in the why of Owen's short life, in the loss of our babies. I still don't understand. I still ask why sometimes. I still cry my eyes out and struggle with the reality of their absence.
But I do have peace. There is rest.
My tears soak through, then stubbornly dry and then fall again... and I look down and realize I've never left His lap.