This is the post for Belle. The one she asked me to write — more than once.
The one she said people needed. The one she said people were asking about. The one she said would help. The one she said she couldn’t do, but the one she knew I could. I like to think that deep down, she knew I eventually would.
This is the post I’ve been scared to write.
This is the post for Belle. The one that stops running from the fact that suffering doesn’t just hurt us physically. Or emotionally. Or mentally.
This is the post that admits that all suffering hits us spiritually. It hits so hard that we don’t know what to do. It rocks our faith. It shakes us to the core.
This is the post that says there’s no escaping it. We must face God when we suffer.
This is the post that acknowledges that some people get it right away. They lift their hands in praise and pray to God for relief. They feel God is near. They know peace. No matter the outcome, they’re okay with it because it’s in God’s hands.
This is the post that acknowledges that some people aren’t like that. Instead, they get mad. Out of brokenness, fingers quickly point and blame. When diets, genetics, lifestyles and ignorance don’t hold, God stands next in line. It becomes His fault. And walls go up:
Why? How could He? It’s so unfair. What a liar. He said He was good. He can’t be trusted. He’s not worthy. Nobody is worthy. Nobody understands.
This is the post that says those walls are real. I know from first-hand experience. And unfortunately, they grow rather study. They’ll stand the test of time, and like any well-made heirloom, they will get passed down. That is unless we let an unraveling begin.
This is the post that I can finally write, even though Belle passed away months ago.
It’s the one that says yes, life’s not fair and it doesn’t make sense. For any of us. This is the post that agrees that suffering is painful and that survivorship is confusing, heart-wrenching, devastating and soul stinging.
But this is also the post that testifies that even in the darkness and brokenness, and even with sky-high walls of grievances against Him, God is good. This is the post that says there is hope. This is the post that says keep going.
Keep venting. Keep crying. Keep anguishing. Keep grieving. Keep praying. Keep talking. Keep hugging. Keep longing. Keep asking. Keep humbling. Keep seeking.
This is the post Belle asked me to write.
Danielle,
As always, you touch my heart. Keep writing. I believe your words have divine inspiration. I will share this with my 46-year-old sister who lost her husband after a short marriage. <3 to you, my friend.
This is a post — beyond survivorship’s ‘soul-stinging’ —that is nothing if not soul-stirring.
I was agnostic before, during and after I lost my child to cancer. I did, we all did, recognize that this illness was unfair and undeserved, but I haven’t pointed fingers of blame at any of those things, including at God. Nor did I start believing. Your post will resonate with many, I’m sure, but I’m brave enough to state that this kind of claim is insulting and hurtful to those of us who are not those “some people” who “get it right away.” But you’ve put us in a category of “other people” who maybe aren’t even as understandable or adequate as those “other people” who didn’t get it right away and blamed all the worldly things and God. You usually don’t even know we’re here because we usually, politely, allow these exaltations and remain silent, feeling the hurt and exclusion privately. Why does it hurt? Because it is a judgement, but perhaps worse, an assumed nonexistence. I won’t be hurt if you remove my comment, but I won’t be surprised either.
Hi, appreciate your thoughts and feedback. I most definitely understand and could only write this after I went through many seasons of processing this myself. This is my truth, but I understand it’s not everyone’s truth. I’m deeply sorry for your loss.