I find myself sitting in the lobby at church and listening to a song about how Jesus won’t fail me. I have a hard time with this concept.
Honestly y’all, I am working through not being angry at God, not being disappointed. It’s hard.
My kids suffered so much and have lost their faith. I hear from one that God is sleeping. Or abandon them. Or must not exist.
In truth, some of that stems from the abuse they withstood. Some of it stems from the hurt they experienced from the church itself.
They wonder where God was during those dark times. They wonder why God’s people, who were supposed to love, didn’t, but judged instead.
I have cried a river of tears, nay, an ocean. It has done no good. The pain they’ve experienced has caused a lifetime of severe mental illness that we will battle until I die.
The term is theodicy. And perhaps for some situations, I can make some resemblence of sense, but I don’t understand.
With regard to my children, I don’t want to understand… I want God to fix it. I want him to exact the vengeance his word talks about… you know, harming a child equals a millstone around the neck and thrown into the sea.
No. While I struggle and fight, the inflictors live lives of plenty. They don’t worry or even consider the damage they’ve caused… and I’m somehow supposed to be ok?
Hardly.
Im tired in my soul.
Where were you God? Where were you? Your word says that there’s no place we can go where you’re not, and yet… this is disproven.
Find us God. We live in the darkness of the bottom of the valley. If you need me, that’s where I’ll be.
Dreaming in Paisley 