Michele has written her story,
and my story,
and likely, your story...
because living after loss,
is the human story.
It is no secret, that sending our last "foster" child back home to his drug-addicted parents, crushed my soul. It's like the loss of a child, but he's not deceased, just gone from my life as if he were. I was, and in many ways still am, in so much pain. To say that I was angry at God, put it mildly. I quit church. I quit Bible study. I quit Christian music. I quit Him.
I knew He was there, but, gosh... to warrant the loss of a precious 3 year-old, I certainly must have done something to anger the heavens. For decades, I believed that I was a "good Christian." So, if I was, why this loss of faith? The answer, I suppose, spiritual weakness -- and then comes the guilt. Therein I become like a dog chasing his tail. Constant motion, but nothing productive.
In Relentless, Michele shares her story of loss, and subsequent feeling of lost relationship with God. Her open and honest discourse of that discord is a healing balm to my soul. She writes of her doubts and struggles. She grapples with her faith, and finds that all the while, our God has been in Relentless pursuit of her.
The peace offered by this short excerpt is almost palpable.
"[F]rom a place of relative distance, the well-intentioned simply see the miracle of life that is you. They see how suffering could’ve swallowed you whole. And how, somehow, it didn’t. For that reason, they don’t see reason to mourn; they see cause for celebration.
Still, for the person who suffers, for the one who endures the unthinkable, grief requires a reckoning. The only way to arrive at honest celebration is to simultaneously allow yourself honest lamentation. Those who suffer will tell you without hesitation: to live after loss comes at steep cost."
"Yes, there is a deep loneliness in suffering. Whether it’s a terminal disease, a chronic illness, the loss of a child, or the irreparable severing of a relationship, suffering brings with it an otherness. Perhaps that is both the burden and the gift. For in this lonely place we learn how to keep company with others who find themselves there.
It’s easy to assume that life comes back once the crisis is past. But life never comes back. New life can grow, and I see evidence of that fact. But new life can grow only as it is watered by grief’s tears.
I’m going to tell you something, and you won’t like it any more than I do. But we both need to hear it.
God’s presence is where the pain is."
That little gem right there. "God's presence is where the pain is." That's a stepping stone for my healing heart.