It’s 10:45 on Sunday morning. Most weeks at this time you can find me in one of two places: the children’s wing or the sanctuary of my church. Today is no exception as I stand next to my husband while the familiar music starts. Usually worship is my favorite thing ever. I could sing along to praise and worship music for hours. But today I’m not feeling it.
Because today I’m mad at God.
I’m mad at God and I’ve spent two weeks avoiding speaking to Him. Because two weeks ago He let my third baby die.
But I’m still standing here. I’m still singing the words on the screen to my Savior. As I sing along, the dialogue of a thirteen year old mouths off at God in my head. (Yes, I know He can hear my thoughts. I just didn’t want to horrify the nice older couple to my left by speaking them out loud.)
We’re singing Hillsong’s “Here I Am To Worship” as I mouth off to God reminiscent of a hormonal teenager…
Here I am to worship…Here I am to bow down…
I don’t really want to bow down to you right now, not after what you let happen to me.
Altogether lovely, altogether worthy, altogether wonderful to me…
You don’t feel so wonderful, God. This does not feel wonderful at all. I don’t feel thankful. I don’t feel freedom in You.
This continues for all of the worship portion of the service. I stand and sing praises to God while mouthing off to Him in my head.
Despite my anger, I’m still singing praises. Despite my anger, I still showed up on Sunday morning. I still encouraged women to come to the new Bible study I’m leading this fall. I still planned with my friend and co-leader to make the Bible study successful and meaningful for the women who attend. Some days I get my Bible out and read it.
But I can’t bring myself to directly talk to Him, unless I’m mouthing off. I’m not ready yet. So I just stand and sing praises.
Because I know…I know He’s still there. The Jesus I asked into my heart thirteen years ago has NEVER left me or forsaken me. God is still good and has good plans for me. The Bible is still the truth. I live in a fallen world where bad things happen. Babies die before they take a breath, not just mine but the babies of many mothers. Horrific crashes kill innocent people. Cancers eat away at the bodies of the best kind of people. Yes, God can do miracles. But none of us were meant to live forever, at least not here on Earth.
Someday my husband, my daughter, myself, we will all die and be reunited with three innocent babies in Heaven. In the meantime, God has plans for me and He will use this loss, this pain, this struggle for good. I don’t know how. But I know He will.
How? How can I know? I know because He’s done it before. I know because I spent twenty years under a dark cloud of anxiety and depression only to be completely healed and at peace in my heart. I know because out of a sinful union came the most beautiful, precocious daughter and an amazing marriage. I know because each time the enemy tries to knock me down, God sends an army of love my way, believers and non-believers both, to remind me that the people I’ve surrounded myself with want to support and help my family through each difficulty.
So someday I’ll live in a place where death has NO hold. Someday my husband and daughter will, too. We’ve prayed to Jesus. We’ve told Him thank you for His gift of life and asked for forgiveness. We’ve been reborn. We’re just not living in the world we were reborn for. My babies are waiting for me and when God’s plans for me are finished, I’ll join them in Heaven.
God does have great plans for me. He’s carrying me through the tough times. I know this. And sometime soon I know He and I will talk it out and His arms of comfort, mercy, and grace will wrap around me. But right now I’m still feeling angry. So I’m going to stand there and sing praises. But inside, I’m thirteen and I’ve slammed my bedroom door.
It’s okay, though. My Father in Heaven is big enough to handle me.