Over the past few weeks, I have had more than one person tell me how grounded I am, how in spite of this autoimmune disorder, I have not said "why me?" or complained or shown anger at God.
I know they mean it as a compliment and so I have smiled and nodded and said thanks but the truth is there are sometimes whole days that pass (and more) where I don't (because of my living situation) see or talk to another human being.
And so the truth is though people may look at me and think I'm strong, I have had my moments. I've been angry. I've cried. I cried this week when I found out that a friend of mine had had surgery and I had found out after the fact because my illness has isolated me so much.
And yes, in one form or another, I have asked the question "why me?"
And there is nothing wrong with that.
There is nothing wrong with grieving, with mourning over what we have lost, both in the present and the future. It is natural and human and the emotions associated with it are a necessary part of the process.
Because we are human. We do suffer.
We spend--especially during Easter, a great amount of time on the physical agony and pain of Jesus, but the fact is that he struggled with terrible emotional pain too. He cried out. He plead with God. He needed both time alone and time with friends. He suffered.
I almost didn't make it to church this morning. I woke up fine, but within minutes after eating breakfast felt very dizzy and nauseated. It was hard to walk and even though I spend many mornings like this and even though I know it always passes, when you're right in the middle of feeling horrible, it's hard to remember that things get better.
I forced myself to church, partly--well mostly--so I could continue this project of 365 days of Hope. I had an idea of what picture I wanted to take and that was the first thing I did when I entered the sanctuary--I took a picture of the altar and the cross hanging high above it.
But you'll notice that's not the picture I've included for today. Because after I took the picture of the altar, I wandered outside and noticed that the small flowering tree behind the bench actually had flowers this week. I think it was just last week I had noticed that the tree looked like an angry child had shaken it to death. Petals lay on the ground, curling up as they withered.
And yet this week, the tree looked fine, as if it had never been touched. The flowers were back in full bloom, beautiful and wet from the morning dew. (Humidity in Florida does have its perks.)
God promises us that we are far more special to Him than the trees and the birds and because He always provides for them, why should we ever doubt that He will provide for us.
I thought that tree was lost for the year when I saw it a week ago.
And I was wrong. It had been renewed, reborn, saved.
I wait patiently for my own renewal.
I know they mean it as a compliment and so I have smiled and nodded and said thanks but the truth is there are sometimes whole days that pass (and more) where I don't (because of my living situation) see or talk to another human being.
And so the truth is though people may look at me and think I'm strong, I have had my moments. I've been angry. I've cried. I cried this week when I found out that a friend of mine had had surgery and I had found out after the fact because my illness has isolated me so much.
And yes, in one form or another, I have asked the question "why me?"
And there is nothing wrong with that.
There is nothing wrong with grieving, with mourning over what we have lost, both in the present and the future. It is natural and human and the emotions associated with it are a necessary part of the process.
Because we are human. We do suffer.
We spend--especially during Easter, a great amount of time on the physical agony and pain of Jesus, but the fact is that he struggled with terrible emotional pain too. He cried out. He plead with God. He needed both time alone and time with friends. He suffered.
I almost didn't make it to church this morning. I woke up fine, but within minutes after eating breakfast felt very dizzy and nauseated. It was hard to walk and even though I spend many mornings like this and even though I know it always passes, when you're right in the middle of feeling horrible, it's hard to remember that things get better.
I forced myself to church, partly--well mostly--so I could continue this project of 365 days of Hope. I had an idea of what picture I wanted to take and that was the first thing I did when I entered the sanctuary--I took a picture of the altar and the cross hanging high above it.
But you'll notice that's not the picture I've included for today. Because after I took the picture of the altar, I wandered outside and noticed that the small flowering tree behind the bench actually had flowers this week. I think it was just last week I had noticed that the tree looked like an angry child had shaken it to death. Petals lay on the ground, curling up as they withered.
And yet this week, the tree looked fine, as if it had never been touched. The flowers were back in full bloom, beautiful and wet from the morning dew. (Humidity in Florida does have its perks.)
God promises us that we are far more special to Him than the trees and the birds and because He always provides for them, why should we ever doubt that He will provide for us.
I thought that tree was lost for the year when I saw it a week ago.
And I was wrong. It had been renewed, reborn, saved.
I wait patiently for my own renewal.
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