-- Victor Hugo
Saturday, April 2, 2022
Not every day is quite that bad. If you've ever read the book I quoted from a few posts back, A Grief Observed, it's like that: One day I'll be questioning God, my prayers will be almost imprecations, my faith will seem dead, everything will feel impossible. Another day, I'll sense his presence, get a taste of his mercy and love, and I'll be fine. It's cyclic. But hopefully moving in ever-upward spirals rather than just spinning in place.
Sometimes I have quite good days. Sometimes I have a few in a row. Before I heard from her again, I had several good weeks: I mean, really good, like better than I'd had in a very long time. But even on the worst days, at the end of the day, I still kneel and say my prayers, acknowledge his sovereignty and goodness, even though I'm not feeling it. (And of course, repent and ask forgiveness for any angry words or thoughts I've had toward him.) After all, my suffering, however intense to me, is only an infinitesimal, insignificant thing in the scope of the universe.
So what is it that keeps pulling me down? Guilt. And regret. I feel like it's my fault. Both my daughter's death and the failure of the relationship. Yes, yes, I know, did my best, nothing I could have done, etc. But did I? And was there? I honestly did make the best decisions I could at every point which I was capable of making at that time, but still, it feels like I should have been able to do better, to see more clearly, to do something different which would have led to a different outcome. And then at that point, I say, "Why didn't you help me do better? When I was asking you to all the time, every day? I acknowledge my sin, recognize my fault, see my failures, but you're supposed to be directing my steps, and I prayed at every single one for you to help me, to help me see what was right and best, to help me to do it, to guide me through the darkness and obscurity which I can't see through. Why didn't you?" And that's where I start spiraling downward again.
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