Letter to God about removing infection.

Dear God,

I am not a fan of analogies.  There are way too many problems once you dig beneath the surface, and I dislike that they fall apart so easily.  However.  You, apparently, are a fan.  You have created numerous parables in the Bible that guide our social and spiritual interactions.  Also, there was that one you gave me this past Tuesday morning to help me tie together the events of last week, and to see YOU in all of it.

As I held my precious wailing and writhing first born down so that the Dr. could lance and clean out the sore on her leg, you spoke.  As I swallowed the urge to cry for the pain Tallie was in and wished desperately that I could bear it for her, you spoke.  As I watched the sore burst open and all of the infected, gross, bloody refuse come out, you spoke.  As the Dr. squeezed the sore to make sure that all of the gunk got out, you spoke.  As I tried to the best of my ability to distract and comfort a terrified and hurt daughter, you spoke.  And as you spoke, the events of the past week became woven together, with the thread of your FAITHFULNESS and your Father's heart.

Last week was not my favorite week.

You saw everything that happened, God.  You saw as I cried with a mother as she tearfully showed me her heart, her fears and her regrets.  You let me see the pain that comes from a journey of seeming failures, one after another.  I saw between her words, her questions as to where you were in the mess that had landed in her lap.  You saw the fear and frustration in her husbands heart, as he took time to talk to me about things that were out of his control, things he so desperately wanted to control.  You saw my heart twist and skip beats in exasperation as before my eyes it appeared that everything was falling apart and that there was NO HOPE.  You saw as my brain raced to find some way to salvage the situation.  Even when my heart felt like a stone in the pit of my stomach, you have now reminded me that even then, you had it in your hands.  And you have theirs, too.  You have reminded me that as a sore bursts forth, and brings pain and terror and terrible, ugly, yucky things with it, YOU are in control.  Your hands are healing hands.  Your hands know what is best, and your hands know the future of healing.

You saw me, as I was just recovering from that first blow of the week, when I got knocked down again.  You saw as I read that letter.  You saw me sob.  I felt like I had already been wounded so badly, why again so soon?  I was newly questioning my ability to handle critical situations at work from the earlier 'lancing'.  Why would you ask me to question my ability to act the role of a 'good' mother?  Why would you take something away from me that I had prayed and begged you for and searched for since June?  Something that was so treasured and special to me, because it was so treasured and special to my girls.  You were squeezing the sore, you were removing the infection of self-reliance, the infection of needing to meet others' approval, the infection of needing to be important to others.  I realize now, that you sent one of your children to comfort me, when that old man saw me sobbing in that cafe.  I wish I had put aside my embarrassment at being found out, and opened up to him.

But you weren't done.

One, last, crushing cleaning.  The worst.  My breaking point.  You scraped the inside of my wound.  You made sure that no hint of infection was left.  And it hurt.  I swallow tears as I write this letter to you at the memory and at the freshness of the cleansing process.  Did you have to take that last step?  I was already totally incapacitated.  I thought I was numb, but you surprised me.  As I looked into the eyes of your messenger, I got fired up with anger, fury.  I wanted to lash out and kick you, like Tallie kicked the Doctor.  WHY?  What could have possibly brought this on?  Was it possible that I was this bad at blending in and being liked?

You raised and slayed three very important infections in me last week.  I tie my value to my job, my ability to parent, and my ability to be liked by those that are important to me.  You took the infection of all three in one week.  In a few days, actually, now that I think about the timeline.  It's been a long time since I've felt this spiritually and emotionally ragged.  And, really, maybe that's why you chose to do this all at once.

The last time I was lanced to the core, I healed myself.  I didn't depend on you at all.  I became immune to pain, and emotionally silent.  And I didn't think anyone noticed (I didn't even realize the extent of it), until years later when Darren came along.

This time, while I have been tempted to do that again, I want to see the healing process as a bystander.  I want you to take this and make it into what you want it to be.  Partly because I don't know if my heart can survive another episode of this, but mostly because I know that you took me through last week purposefully.  Actually, I want to change that last sentence.  While I don't ever want to go through a lesson like this, of this caliber, again, the only reason I want to lean on you through this instead of trying to heal on my own is because I know that you are acting in love and you acted on purpose in all three of those horrendous situations.

God, I don't really know what it means to say I will lean on you to heal me.  I guess I'll just have to take it day by day.  As the newness of the cleansing of my wounds wears off, I don't want to forget what I learned.  Maybe the whole reason you urged me to start this blog was so that I could write lessons like this down?  In any case, please help me to resist getting numb.  It feels so easy to wall off that part of my heart again; it was easy to stop feeling the first time, I'm sure I could do it again.  But, I will resist doing that.  I want you to heal these wounds the way you want them to heal.

In Jesus' name, your Son who suffered the ultimate mortal wound so I don't have to, Amen.