Last Sunday was the five-month anniversary of the hellish morning that destroyed the life I used to know. Gabriel and I visited a church we plan to attend if we officially move to Chicago. I realized during the service that it was Advent season. I have been excited about the holidays for months, and I usually love Advent. So I was surprised to find it had started without my notice. Advent has always been an exciting season, full of amazing sermons, praying for newness and waiting to celebrate Jesus’ birth. People use the phrase ‘pregnant with expectation’ to describe the church during Advent season, but I am opposed on principle to using the word ‘pregnant’ to describe anything but a woman carrying a child.
The pastor preached on ‘singing like Mary did’ in hard times. He talked about everyone being ‘pregnant with glory’ (I assure you—that’s not how pregnancy feels), and many inspiring Nelson Mandela references were made about achieving the impossible when God is with us.
Emmanuel. God with us. We sing that word during the Christmas season and Christians believe that God is always with us. He sees us always. He hears us always. Emmanuel. God is with us. It’s what Christmas is about. As I listened to this wonderfully hopeful sermon about being with God in unbelievable circumstances, I kept thinking Man, that really applies to me…I’m even pregnant like Mary...but I felt numb. It was as if my body was in that sanctuary, drinking that subpar church coffee, hearing those words, while I was really a million miles away. The memory of my own voice echoed through my mind. I screamed for God on July 8 when I was grabbed, hit, thrown to the ground and torn apart. I screamed His name. Begged to be saved.
When I recall the exact events of what happened on July 8, people remark that I’m lucky to be alive. I know I could have died in that gangway. Maybe I would have, without God intervening. But I don’t feel like I was rescued. It doesn’t feel like I was saved. The life I knew and the world I knew were killed that morning, and I’m left feeling abandoned by a God who promised to be with me always.
It has been hard to pray. Gabriel prays for me at night before we sleep when I ask him too, because I can’t. We felt encouraged by friends in Chicago, but the last two nights we were there ended with panic, sadness and a warm bath to calm down. There was an uneasiness that kept me glued to Gabriel’s side, afraid to be alone. Is this uneasiness to be expected? Or does it mean we shouldn’t move back right away? So we prayed. We prayed and asked God what we should do. I cried. Gabriel held me. We called my sister Becca and prayed with she and her husband, Teddy, and still we don’t know. We prayed some more and waited and listened, hoping for an answer.
The promises that God can heal anything, and that he has good plans for my life have kept me from breaking when darkness threatens. But the continual silence and fear is cracking through what faith I’ve held onto. I have to trust in God, because without him this is hopeless. But when I try to pray, I remembering screaming for him and getting no reply. Was this part of the plan? If I’m really his daughter, then why did he let this happen? Did he hear me? See me? I cannot move forward without faith that he will heal this and he has good for me. But it is nearly impossible to trust, when I already feel forgotten.
Very powerful. Thank you! What integrity you show to wrestle with the raw questions to which you have no answers in the context of continuing to trust in the care and goodness of God, rejecting the superficial answers that people so often offer to paper over the wounds.
ReplyDeleteMy counselor tells me that while I have experienced much healing and continue to heal, I will always have some trigger sensitivity to some situations, and I've come to accept that as okay. I am so grateful for my healing journey, yet am able to acknowledged that I still have some wounded places without beating up on myself. And, as promised, God has redeemed and is redeeming the greatest tragedy of my life to open up the door to the most rewarding, fruitful season of ministry of my life (2 Cor. 1:6). Yes, my wounds continue to limit my physical and emotional energy, but I see God using the fruit of my healing journey, even with my physical and emotional limitations, to produce fruit in the lives of others at a deeper level than would have been possible without it.
Keep being real. Keep trusting.
(BTW, I'm pretty sure you don't remember me, but I was a part of Community of the Servant in OKC with your parents.)
Im keeping this simple. On earth there are two piles....Good and Evil. Unfortunately, Evil is allowed flourish here on planet Earth...and
ReplyDeletewe all get run over by it. Have faith that God us more saddened by
what was allowed to happen to you than you'll ever know. It won't help you at this very moment...but your reward truly is in Heaven....as hard as that is to hear.
I Love being happy....but sometimes I have to settle for breathing deep and not breaking into a sobbing mess.
What happened to you is not of God. It's not a test... It was a random act of violence...one that you will overcome.
Even Jesus experienced those feelings as the worst of this broken world was dished out on Him..."My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?" No answer is given, only an invitation to trust that His loving kindness endures forever. I choose to believe that he allows the horrors of this world to continue because he has the ability to put all the broken pieces back together again in the end. I love your courage and honesty and continue to pray for healing and grace. Thank you for sharing your journey, Emily!
ReplyDeleteHey sweet gal, I came across this after reading your post and feel blessed to be the one to share it.
ReplyDeletehttp://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans+8&version=MSG
Vv. 26-28 are particularly interesting, but you may find the whole chapter a redemptive read whenever you've got the time.
Peace and trust,
A