The afternoon is wet and bleak; it resembles much of my unraveled heart.
Clouded skies hang overhead, but now and then they shift slightly, proving there is the hope of sunnier days to come. Whispered truths of "it's okay not to be okay," settle my wandering mind as I attempt to make sense of the hurt at hand.
At some point, I believe we've all been faced with overwhelming sadness as a person, opportunity, or thing was taken away. Thinking of how the outcome could have been prevented matters not—because in the end, that which was so precious is still gone without our permission.
The more I try to decipher why things like this happen the way they do, the more exasperated I become.
I've nasty sobbed over the steering wheel in parking lots. I've slept with a roll of toilet paper bedside, in case tears chose to come between 1-4 AM. I've visited places that hold vibrant, exciting memories just to feel something again. I've eaten a few less meals than I should, and then a few more than necessary. I've received consolation from friends, encouraging texts, and copious amounts of chocolate. I've had nightmares. I've had good days and bad days. I've struggled to choose (again and again) to walk the path set before me full of grace, forgiveness, and love.
I've tried figuring it out, to only find what I already knew: I don't have it figured out.
All it takes is one memory being sparked to set a swirl of questions into motion. There are answers my selfish heart demands and thinks it is entitled to—as if then all things would be made right.
While wrestling through the doubts and questions raised, I have begun to realize that for now, perhaps "not knowing" is God's way of protecting me and growing my dependence on Him.
For me, loss further exposes the pressing need for a Savior to come in and rescue me from my brokenness.
Whether I sit alone in silence at a park on a weeknight or stand amongst a body of believers on a Sunday morning, God sees the stirrings of my loud and aching heart. No amount of comfort compares to that of my Maker. He knows exactly how to care with such tenderness, leading me further into freedom.