The first day in the hospital. Nothing really stands out to me from the journal, except that her heart rate still wasn’t going down. And also, this one thing that Mom wrote.
Lazarus Factor- one who God helps
Will you trust Him? Will you follow Him anyway?
Will you trust Him? Reading this then, I would have said yes, whole heartedly. I believed so strong that He was with us, and that He would help us, and that Mom would get better. Reading this now…
Mom’s faith had always been so strong. Her life may not have started out in faith, but once she got it, she held on to it for dear life. That’s how I was raised. She always allowed me to make up my own mind about faith, and God, and Jesus, and church, and what I heard and read, but she always made sure that it was prominent. We discussed it all the time.
Mom was always looking for something else. Something more. Not just in faith, but in life, but that’s for another time.
She always questioned what she heard. If it didn’t match up, it was, in todays’ terms, sus. Which is probably why she didn’t mind me questioning and analyzing and searching for more. But once she found something that made sense and she could explain it, she was adamant about it. She held her ground and believed it and lived it.
Faith is very important to me. But I have some things that I need to say.
I’ve run away from it this year. I’ve turned away from God. Not because I’m mad at Him for taking Mom away. On the contrary, I know that He is taking great care of Mom. The first thing I did after Mom died was I looked up and said, “Hi Mom, say hi to Jesus for me.”
If this sounds strange to you, if you don’t believe in this, feel free to move along if you don’t want to read.
I don’t want to talk to God right now. Or more importantly, Jesus. I want to be the prodigal son and live my life and not think about Him. I want to rebel and do what I want to do and not have to face Him and answer to Him. I don’t want to run to Him and cry and tell Him how I feel.
Want to know something funny? I tell Him this. Sometimes I sit in bed and I say, “I don’t want to talk to You right now.” Knowing full well, that’s exactly what I’m doing. And then I go on and on about why, and how I’m feeling, and I tell Him I want to just go do whatever I want. I end up pouring my heart out to Him because that’s the kind of relationship we have.
I know He’s sitting there, listening intently, nodding, and saying, “Ok, I’m here when you’re ready.” No judgement, no anger or disappointment. Just patience, kindness, and love.
I feel safe with Him.
To some of you, this is just a picture of someone who is sitting alone and talking to themselves. That’s fine. It just means that I feel safe with myself. I’ll take that. Not a lot of people feel safe with themselves, alone, with nothing but their thoughts and emotions.
I don’t want Jesus to heal me. I don’t want Him to comfort me. I’m not ready to change. I’m not ready to move on.
But I know I am. I can tell. As each month begins and ends, I can tell I’m different. I can tell everything about me is changing. I don’t mind change. I’m not scared of change. What I’m scared of it what comes with change.
I don’t know what this change will bring. But what I do know is that, whatever it is, it won’t have my mother in it.
And that’s what scares me the most.
Reading this now, I still say yes. But it’s not whole heartedly. Not yet. It’s going to take some time to get back to where I was. Reading this now, I know He’s with me, He will help me, and I will get better.
And that’s what I have faith in the most.