Monday, March 5, 2012

Prayer fail

A big gusher of grief hit me tonight. I was in the laundry room, painting of course. I was so distressed that I got on my knees on the floor, kneeling in the spilled cat litter, splattered paint, and dust. I prayed, pleaded with God to make it stop. I asked Him what purpose He has in doing this to me. Is He trying to refine me? Is He testing me? Or is He just plain mean? I really wanted an answer. I wanted to hear His voice telling me that it would be okay. He said nothing. He saw me there on the floor and just let me grovel. He didn’t seem to be listening. I was angry and didn’t have anything nice to say to the Lord so I just went back to painting. The prayer didn't seem to work well.

It strikes me as particularly cruel that Mike died just a couple of weeks after he became a Christian. Haven’t I been praying for years to find a Christian man to share my life? Okay, voila—surprise—Mike becomes a Christian. Then Mike dies. Was that the answer to my prayers? Great for Mike because he died in salvation, but my selfish self thinks I got the raw end of the deal.

And my brother’s murder is going to trial now? The vile man who shot my brother refused to plea bargain so now our family will have to sit through a gut-wrenching trial? Is this what we deserve? Not only does my brother get viciously murdered in cold blood, but now we have the opportunity to relive every detail of his death in a courtroom. Is this really what the Lord wants for us?

I know, I know, I know. God doesn’t work that way. If we believe God is good, that He is good all the time, then we have to know that He is good even when we don’t get what we want. In all things He works for the good of those who are called according to His purpose. Can I get some reassurance, maybe a second opinion?

I know, I know, I know. Everything is not about me. I’m not the center of universe. God is just doing His work and I’m suffering collateral damage. What happens to me is ultimately not that important. But, Lord, please be merciful. I’m just so tired of grieving. Can you please just cut me a break?

I know, I know, I know. I’m wrong and I won’t always feel this way. But it’s where I am now—ticked off and frustrated, a tired, flawed human being.

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