For the zillionth time since our daughter died, another friend asked, “Aren’t you angry with God?”
My heart murmured, take a number and stand in line, but an automatic smile lifted the corners of my lips. I folded my hands and imagined angels singing over my grateful attitude to accept what God allowed. “How could I be angry?’ I answered. “My daughter knew Jesus. She’s with Him. No. I’m not angry with God.”
And for the better part of two years, I recited that platitude, never once questioning the legitimacy or origin of my attitude or wondering about the lump that seemed to swell each day in my heart, like a mound of sticky, rising yeast dough.
‘Til that night!
That night when those secondary losses swept like a raging tornado and ripped apart the self-constructed shelter inside me. I stood gaping at the shattered glass on the floor and the tea dripping down the wall, horrified by the words that had exploded out of my mouth—YOU COULD HAVE STOPPED THIS, BUT YOU DIDN’T!
And the glass dome shrouding the mound of anger inside me lay in fragments on the floor along with the shattered glass of tea. And I sobbed.
“I am feeble and utterly crushed; I groan in anguish of heart…for I am about to fall, and my pain is ever with me” (Psalm 38:8, 17 NAS).
Lightning didn’t zing through the ceiling and fry me for admitting my anger with God—rather it was like the popping release and relief of a core from an angry boil.
I slumped to my knees, drained of the pent-up wrath, and cried for forgiveness for the sin my Lord and my God already knew I’d harbored—for two years.
But, you know what? My anger didn’t change God’s love. Nor did my attitudes and those platitudes cause Him to be done with me. Though I attempted to conceal the rage in my heart, He knew—He knew all along. He knows my every thought, but I hadn’t been honest with Him or with myself. I sought to disguise, hide, and bury those thoughts.
But like a good Father, God didn’t leave me in my misery. Because, His love is greater than all my fears, pains, and yes, even my deep anger—at Him.
As I look back, I’m sure He sent those friends to ask me that aren’t you angry with God question to bring me to the point of acknowledging my festering fury, so He could comfort, help, and heal my soul. But I was determined to clutch onto every fragment of our daughter, thinking if I released the anguish she would be extinguished from my heart forever.
Grief always brings us to the crossroads where we must choose to accept what God ordains or allow ourselves to saddle our lives with bitterness. Oh, we don’t realize what’s happening when Satan slurs those if onlys or why murmurings. So, we store the pain like a treasured jewel in the depth of our hearts. Afraid if we turn lose we’ll loose our loved one forever. After all, pain is better than nothing, right? But when you knot your fists and try to hold on, rehearsing every memory, clinging to everything that bears their name, it’s going to hurt when God has to pry your fingers lose.
God numbers our days before we’re born. The hairs of our head are numbered by Him too. And we belong to Him—body, soul, and spirit. And we must learn to trust Him—even in the gut-wrenching pain and separation of death. And like in every other moment of life, we must come to the point of whispering goodbye.
Not long after that night I sat in the counselor’s office and she asked, “Have you told your daughter good-bye?”
The safety valve on my heart’s pressure gauge jiggled hard. “I’ve got to go!” I stood, but my legs couldn’t carry me out her office fast enough. I reached the car gasping, before the hurricane in my heart slammed me sideways. Tell her goodbye? This woman was supposed to help me, not inflict more pain. But the truth of the matter was, she’d hit the bulls-eye. I couldn’t accept truth.
Tell her goodbye? Tears choked in my throat. I don’t have to say—I’ll see her again!
But as I stood at the kitchen sink, struggling to get supper ready, staring out the window reliving happier times—His still small voice spoke. When Michelle came home from college, you always told her goodbye and waved as she backed out the driveway and returned to school, didn’t you? When you flew to visit her, you told her goodbye at the airport before you boarded the plane, didn’t you?
By this time even I got the message. But she’s gone, Father. I can’t say … tears rushed out my eyes … go…goodbye! But in that moment, I knew I must. And then there was another great release in my heart as God’s comfort swirled in to fill the raw, empty cavern saying goodbye carved.
Was it painful? Oh my, yes. But God didn’t leave me to face this emotional upheaval alone. He carried me every step of the way…one moment, one day at a time…and He still does when I become overwhelmed during special days.
But, do you know the great thing about finally saying goodbye? Knowing the next words we speak to each other will be shouts of joy and love, knowing we’ll never have to say goodbye again!
Do you find yourself shoved in the corner with seemingly no way out of this valley of the shadow of death? Look up and admit what God already knows. You’re angry—with Him. He stands with arms open wide to take your pain, soothe your broken heart, and welcome you home—because you’re His child and He loves you!
“We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ” (2 Corinthians 10:5 NAS).
MOVING THE ANCIENT BOUNDARIES 