I am weary with my crying out; my throat is parched. My eyes grow dim with waiting for my God.
I admitted to God last night that I was ticked at Him. I don't do this very often. I'm not a personality type prone to anger. I mean, God is ... God. Being angry at Him would just be stupid. Ok. Hello. My name is "Stupid".
Lately, I've felt like the proverbial ship tossed to and fro in the waves. I'm not a public whiner so I won't list the volumes of draining life issues I feel overwhelmed by. Everything from work to family health issues that are rather severe to crazy people to mom-failures to demands I just feel as if I can no longer meet. I load up my Facebook for a reprise from my own flood of "crap, why me?" and am brought to tears by the amount of terminal illness and death that is riddling people close to me. "Crap, why them?"
I'm not an eloquent complainer or ranter. It usually involves a lot of "craps" and "sheeshes" but they're there. Put on my happy face -- I'm an expert at that -- and re-enter the world of insanity complete with the burden that rests heavy on my heart that only a few people know besides myself.
I wasn't created to carry burdens. I wasn't made to do this. My strength is gone and the ONE PERSON WHO CAN FIX IT ... won't.
I'm ticked at God. Blah blah blah. I married a theologian so I've heard EVERY possible explanation for why evil exists in light of a good God. I understand sin. I understand eternal redemption and hope. I know that Heaven will be perfect and Earth is a shadow and I'm not supposed to love life here anyway. Well, yes, super duper. That makes me feel WAY better. 'Cause everyone I know who ever went to Heaven didn't send me a postcard, so it's not like I'm longing to be there. Let's be honest.
So why do I sound bitter? Because the funny thing is ... I'm not. Not really. I'm only saying out loud what I ranted last night. My eyes growing dim with hope. Because sometimes, we feel that way. You see, King David had it right when he wrote the Psalms. He was honest. Sometimes being honest is like ... venting respectably. How many relationships have you forged through the fires of sheer happiness and joy and hallelujahs and absolutely no conflict? Yeah. Me Neither.
When I was done crying into my pillowcase and growling at the Lord while watching my tongue and being poignantly reminded that He is--well--GOD--it was almost as if I heard him say, "shhhhhhhhhhhhh".
I was reminded of my daughter, sobbing, breath hitching, as she waved her hands and tried to wail out the reason why she was mad at my husband. She deserved discipline. Her reaction was akin to a tantrum. I waited. For the inevitable "GET TO YOUR ROOM NOW!" Instead, Nate heard something behind the desperation of her wail. A feeling of being misunderstood, injustice, frustration, the why me we all feel when the world comes crashing down. Instead of raised voice, Nate took her by her arms and tucked her hair behind her 3 year old ear. "Baby Girl," he crooned, "why are you acting like this?"
She stopped wailing. Gulped. Daddy was listening. Her blue eyes grew enormous as tears the size of the Persian Gulf dripped down her cheeks. "I'm just. so. tiiiiiiiiiiiired, Daddy!"
And his arms were there ... his "shhhhhhhh's" ... and she rested on his shoulder with none of her little world's problems solved, all of which Daddy could fix. She just ... rested ... because Daddy was there. Offering no other explanation but "shhhh".
I slept like a rock last night. I awoke to the same world of exacerbated issues and soul heaviness. But I'm not ticked any more. There was rest in the storm.
English Standard Version (ESV)
28 Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
Today? I'm good with that. Sometimes we just need a Father. And I've always been a Daddy's girl.