Three and a half years later
Well, the days keep going by. I've seen some new seasons of grief for my dad.
My anger seems to have subsided. It flares up here and there, and I still can't touch alcohol, but it's not what it was. I feel like the scorched earth after a fire; empty, barren, a little crispy. But it's at least not the growing, consuming fire it once was.
His memories come back a lot, more than they ever have. Everything reminds me of him, but my heart feels safe resting in those memories and processing them. Some good, some bad. His picture hangs right by my spot on the couch, and I like it there. I cried because I wanted him at my lasik surgery; he always talked about doing that with me. That was a new and different grief. It surprised me, and it was nice.
I still get frustrated and desperate when people choose things that hurt and destroy them. That hasn't gone away at all. I still struggle knowing that you don't guarantee me anyone's salvation. I still struggle knowing that daily people die in the darkness, in pain and anguish, rejecting life---or... is it that you don't meet them there? That question still smarts a little. Not like it used to, though.
I have chosen to trust you, for you have the words of life. I believe that you are the one who saves. I believe that you desire to save. Even saying that is evidence of a miracle you've worked in my heart.
This season is a quieter season of grief. It's less ferocious, but it is no less real. I still return to the same questions, the same accusations against the Author, but each time with a little more confidence in who You are.
You are still raising me up from the darkness.
Praise to his name.
My anger seems to have subsided. It flares up here and there, and I still can't touch alcohol, but it's not what it was. I feel like the scorched earth after a fire; empty, barren, a little crispy. But it's at least not the growing, consuming fire it once was.
His memories come back a lot, more than they ever have. Everything reminds me of him, but my heart feels safe resting in those memories and processing them. Some good, some bad. His picture hangs right by my spot on the couch, and I like it there. I cried because I wanted him at my lasik surgery; he always talked about doing that with me. That was a new and different grief. It surprised me, and it was nice.
I still get frustrated and desperate when people choose things that hurt and destroy them. That hasn't gone away at all. I still struggle knowing that you don't guarantee me anyone's salvation. I still struggle knowing that daily people die in the darkness, in pain and anguish, rejecting life---or... is it that you don't meet them there? That question still smarts a little. Not like it used to, though.
I have chosen to trust you, for you have the words of life. I believe that you are the one who saves. I believe that you desire to save. Even saying that is evidence of a miracle you've worked in my heart.
This season is a quieter season of grief. It's less ferocious, but it is no less real. I still return to the same questions, the same accusations against the Author, but each time with a little more confidence in who You are.
You are still raising me up from the darkness.
Praise to his name.
Comments
Post a Comment