Something was torn away.

Ripped away.

Removed.

Lost.

It hurts.

Sometimes a little, sometimes a lot.

Sometimes so much you feel you may not be able to survive the wreckage. Your soul might be bleeding to death.

It is so easy to feel forsaken.

Cursed.

It is so easy to see a dark cloud looming where favor once was.

 

The pain and the agony and the fear of having something torn away. The questions we must ask God.

Why.

Why.

Why.

We must ask.

We must.

There is no other way. Everyone must ask. And it’s ok. He wants to have that conversation with you. Ignore anyone who says it is not okay to question God. Every good parent welcomes questions. Especially of such importance.

But do not be fooled into thinking you are cursed. Unloved. Fallen out of favor. This is not God’s back turned your way. To lose some things is simply a tragedy. Sometimes things just break and fall away in this world. They just do.

But everything taken has made me stronger.

Everything lost has made me more free.

Everything stripped away has made me healthier.

I see that those who remain comfortable never become strong.

Those who do not have things regularly purged from their lives never become healthy.

And those who never lose things never go on the hunt for freedom. For heaven.

The strongest people I know are the ones who have suffered the most

Blessed are the poor in spirit

The most free people I know are those who have lost much

Blessed are those who mourn

The most healthy people I know are those who have been humbled

Blessed are the meek

The most effective people I know are those who have fasted

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness

 

Theirs is the kingdom of heaven

they shall be comforted

they shall inherit the earth

they shall be filled

they shall obtain mercy

they shall see God

they will be called sons of God

 

Update: 2/16/17 I know this post is not very clear. This is because it was written before I was ready to talk in detail about what it refers to. This post was written shortly after my very first (and hopefully only) surgery. I had to have an ovary removed that had grown large and obtrusive after years of a silent cyst growing inside of it without my knowledge. Even after more than ten years of doing everything in my power to become healthy, still this had happened. Fallout from my body’s earlier years of neglect and abuse, years of parabens and birth control and other terrible things a woman should never subject her body to, but I didn’t know that then.

This post was an expression of the grief we feel when something like this takes place. The trauma we must process when we realize that we are not always safe. That even when we do everything we can to turn our lives around there may still be consequences down the road from things we did long ago. That God doesn’t always prevent terrible loss and tragedy. This was an exploration of the soul that must question God when something terrible happens. If we do not then this question gets lodged inside of us and turns foul, turns into suspicion and anger and bitterness. We cannot let that happen. No matter how much faith we have in him, we still must question. Because we will feel forsaken. Even Jesus himself felt forsaken by God in the end when he was dying. It is vital we allow ourselves to ask and to grieve. It is completely appropriate, even necessary to do so.

I had a hard time with the notion that part of my body was missing. That I will never again be physically whole. I had a tiny glimpse into the type of grief involved with losing something much more visible or useful, like a hand or legs or eyesight. After all I still had one ovary left. It was’t even that terrible of a loss when you really think about it. Oh yeah, I got an extra one of those anyway…

But it was. It was hard to make my brain understand that this piece of my body, that had always been there, that my son’s egg may have even come from, was now gone. I still feel it there. Phantom twinges and aches. As if my brain still thinks it is there.

I was not the same after that surgery for the following year. A little bit of the light went out of my eyes. Though usually teeming with hope and joy and excitement, I became slightly sullen and lacked excitement for my future. My identity took a little bit of a hit as I had to suddenly reprocess who I was. It was all jolting to say the least.

But the pain I felt most acutely was being humbled. The scalpel to my soul, cutting out pride. The feeling of being humbled I must say is one of the most horrendous and wonderful feelings I have had. I felt broken. Not like a smashed vase, but like a horse. I remember sitting in front of family and weeping and telling them I was simply broken. Pride was cut right out of my heart and it hurt like hell and it felt amazing. Sometimes we think if we do everything right then certain tragedies cannot touch us. And this, my dear friends, is exactly why these things must sometimes happen. It was one of the most incredible changes to my character I have had in a long time.

All of this reminded me that even when we seek health with all our hearts as a lifestyle, we are not always on a steady incline. The soul will be wounded over and over again as we age. Our bodies can still suffer sudden misfortune or residual effects of long past poor choices, or genetic afflictions. It is our job to learn how to properly grieve so that our souls can purge the toxin of grief and trauma and find the light again every single time.

 

 

 

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