I've asked so many questions of God in the last few months. Questions of why, questions of how, questions of when. These questions have been met with silence. As long as I've had a true, honest to goodness relationship with the King of Kings, I've never heard so much silence. In good times, I'd be able to see His hand and feel joyful. In hard times, I'd turn on the Christian radio and hear His voice. I'd sit in church and be moved to tears, knowing He was talking to me. I'd read His Word and those words would be echoed by what I heard from others, from church, from songs. I heard Him.
In the first few weeks since Garren died, I looked for evidence of God's faithfulness. I kept a list of all the ways He had been faithful in Garren's death, in saving my life, and in the comfort we received from others. As time passed, I stopped seeing His faithfulness. I stopped hearing His voice.
I got angry and didn't want to hear Him tell me that He is in control.
That He is faithful.
That He is good.
Because none of that felt true in what I've been living: a life without my son.
So other than wanting to hear answers to the questions I'd been asking, I didn't want to hear anything from Him.
And the answers haven't come.
Every day, I wrestle with the fact that I will have to live my life not ever fully knowing the answers. I trust that I might someday get glimpses of the answers, but probably not the whole of them. And I need to learn to be content with that. Or it will cripple me.
It has crippled me.
I hear others talking about the prayers they pray for others and the expectation they have for God to work in this way or that. I hear others talk about their faith in the God who answers prayers. I hear others talk about the power there is in prayer.
I smile and nod outwardly. But inwardly? I scoff.
My heart scoffs, because my son being gone is evidence of God not answering the powerful prayer that I prayed as I crawled onto the operating room table, begging God to save Garren. Begging everyone in the room to pray as they worked to save him and me.
I am lost in the mystery of prayer. I'm lost in the mystery of the ways of God. Simply writing that out reminds me that His ways are higher than my ways, His thoughts higher than my thoughts (Isaiah 55:9). And maybe that's part of the point: I cannot ever fully understand God, because I am not. Abraham probably asked some of the same questions I ask when he was going to sacrifice Issac. He had no idea what earthly good would come from sacrificing his son, yet he obeyed God.
I can't see what earthly good can come from losing Garren, but I must choose to obey Him.
But the silence.
The silence has been so painful.
Until last week.
For the first time in so very long, I think I felt God's leading. Saw His hand at work. Heard His voice.
A group of ladies from my church will be gathering this summer to read "One Thousand Gifts" by Ann Voskamp. I knew very little from the book when it was selected as our summer Bible Study read. I purchased the book and the study guide, set them on the counter to be ready when I needed them for the study.
I follow several blogs that have been so helpful in my grief, one of them Sufficient Grace Ministries
(SGM). Last week SGM started a very specific Facebook page where bereaved parents could share experiences and encouragement with one another. The founder of SGM posted about gratitude, even and especially in painful things, referencing Ann Voskamp's "One Thousand Gifts". My eyes filled with tears, because it was that very evening that I was to begin to study that book with the ladies at church.
I could say it was ironic. But it wasn't ironic. It was God.
Finally.
The familiarity of feeling God's leading was so comforting. It felt as if He was assuring me that this was a book He wanted me to read. A book He would use in healing my deeply wounded, unrecognizable heart.
I read the first two chapters that afternoon before meeting with the ladies.
It is profound.
Ann writes about the act of giving thanks as the means to unlocking the door to a full life. A grateful life. A joyful life. Three words I could not use to describe my life.
She writes about learning to be grateful. Learning to see the thousands of ways God loves us. The thousands of gifts He gives us daily. Daily. Even days when the pain cuts to the depths of a soul? Yes, even then.
She encourages readers to practice the habit of gratitude. She encourages readers to name those things for which we are grateful. Those things which we love. Those things which are gifts. Gifts from God himself.
So I'm counting.
I started a list of one thousand gifts. I'm up to #80. I'm adding to it daily. Some seem hard to think of. Some seem obvious. Some seem childish. Some seem mundane. But they're gifts nonetheless.
But tonight I realized I was missing something. Something huge. I have been adding to my list, consciously looking for things for which to give thanks. But I've forgotten that most important part. To give thanks. I've been making the list, setting it aside and leaving it at that. This list means nothing if I don't thank Him. This list is just a list of things if I don't see them as gifts from the Giver. And thank Him for them.
It's no secret that prayer has been difficult for me. Prayers of thanksgiving will be the best place to start in communication with God again. What better way to enter into His presence than by acknowledging His goodness, to which I have been so blinded. I can honestly and easily thank Him for these things that I list. And maybe in simply thanking Him for these good gifts, just maybe the peace that transcends understanding will guard my heart from the doubts. From the unanswered questions. Maybe my heart will feel full again. Full of grace. Full of joy. Full of thanks.
Oh Lord,
Thank you. Thank you for the good gifts you give. For the thousands of gifts you give me every day. Even in these days of deep pain. Thank you for letting me see them. Thank you for Garren. And Lord, will you please tell him how much we love him? How much we miss him?
Thanks,
Andrea
