Articles > Meditations and Musings > What's a God to Do?

What's a God to Do?

Published by Chapster on 2006/8/12 (3147 reads)
"So, a husband loses a wife, young, vibrant, happy, to cancer. He wonders about the unfairness of it all. Indeed. How often I've sat on the stoop of the ambulance dock and yelled at God in silent tears, silent because I couldn't be tear-stained if called to preside at the farewell of another spouse's beloved."

This quote is from the following article originally published in October of 2000.

Creed


I believe who hath not loved
Hath half the sweetness of his life unproved;
Like one who, with the grape within his grasp,
Drops it with all its crimson juice unpressed,
And all its luscious sweetness left unguessed,
Out from his careless and unheeding clasp.



I believe love, pure and true,
Is to the soul a sweet, immortal dew
That gems life's petals in its hours of dusk.
The waiting angels see and recognize
The rich crown jewel, Love, of Paradise,
When life falls from us like a withered husk.

--by Mary Ashley Townsend


What's a God to Do?

So, a husband loses a wife, young, vibrant, happy, to cancer. He wonders about the unfairness of it all. Indeed. How often I've sat on the stoop of the ambulance dock and yelled at God in silent tears, silent because I couldn't be tear-stained if called to preside at the farewell of another spouse's beloved.

I want to rankle at God, speak my piece. This is right and proper, understandable as far as the eye can see. Nothing can take that away. Nor do I wish to patronize the Griever. I, too, am a member of the club. But, I guess I want to raise a questioning hand. Just a small question, and please, not trying to offer an easy solution.

What is a God to do?

I think back to those times I've stared intimacy in the eyes, watched them glisten, sparkle, and radiate, they spoke volumes in the simplicity of a glance. I remember conversations of such passionate intensity that earthly connections seemed to dwindle, almost to a state of altered consciousness. It's easy to recall the hug that said, "All is well," and a thousand things more. I still feel my final look as my Love boards the plane. I know the look says the truest words of my heart: "Please come back. My world is a shadow without you." There was the hand held out during the difficult times that said, "You are not alone." Then there's the laughter of love: laughter over the simple, the human, even heartaches. It comes easily and grows naturally from the safety of the place, the harbor in which love and intimacy moor their vessels.

Now, to the question, "What is a God to do?" Would we have God withhold the pain and thereby withhold the joy? Or withhold the pain until an unseen later time? That's it, isn't it? The puzzle isn't arranged the way we expected, the way we wanted. In truth, sometimes it seems a cruel hoax.

As I think of my Loves, I know I would not willingly give back one truly intimate and passionate touch, or glance, or word. If it came from the heart it was eternal. They have all led me along a path that otherwise would have been lonely, heartbreaking, and desolate.

I don't understand what's in God's mind when these kinds of decisions are made. It seems as if some Harvard management graduate is making them in some hermetically sealed office, blinds pulled, the computer running, spreadsheets printing, and actuarial tables on the blackboard. But in my mind's eye, the picture I really see is a bearded old man pulling the Venetian blinds at the end of a sixteen hour day, putting on a weathered raincoat and a beat up cap, turning off the lights and opening the front door of a place that looks like a scruffy old real estate office. As he pulls the door to, he pauses for a long instant, leans his tired head on the door and sadly shakes it, rain, dreary drizzle, coming through the worn gutters in rivulets. Finally, he lets go of the doorknob, turns, and begins the long and lonely journey home. Tonight he will not use an umbrella. The rain seems fitting for One who has caused heartache. Tonight he is sad, he mourns the pain of a husband who, at this moment seems not so far away.

Perhaps there was another way. We'll never know. The pain of death is directly proportional to the passion, the love, the intimacy, and the magic that charged the relationship. I'm not sure we can have one without the other (why? Who knows?). It hurts to love. Tomorrow, next week, next month, a husband will be mourning the loss of his wife. He will be asking, "Where were you God?"

And I will sit in a room with another family member and ask silently, "Where were you God?"

... As God walks home in the rain.



Blessings on each of you...

Mike Davis and Barb Remakel

ElderHope, LLC

Tags: suffering   evil   theonomy   God  

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