God and Child Abuse

I grew up in a family where an easy faith was taught and lived, more by circumstance than directive. It was a faith that I internalized to mean, however wrongly, that if I was good enough, good things would happen to me. God was benevolent and good and a pretty friendly guy. Bad stuff happened to others and my life easy because I was good. Abuse and loss were far from my early childhood years.

My life changed through my late teen years. My parents divorced. My mother revealed a horrible youth, and a surprise sister. Abuse entered my life but by then I could clearly blame "others" for that and not perceive that it was any fault of my own. Maturity helped, age helped and supportive friends helped. God was still on my side and my friend.

When my children arrived, passing on our legacy of a faith was something that was very, very important to me. The familiar Bible stories became part of our lives. Noah, Daniel, Samuel, Moses, and Jesus; my boys knew it all.

The hard questions were yet to come. How to explain a loving God, a God that wants the very best for you, a God that protects you, cares for you and loves you more than you can imagine to children who have experienced more horror and loss than most of us every have to deal with in a life time?

Where was a loving God when children are beaten and bruised?
Where was a loving God when children are burnt and neglected?
Where was a loving God when children lose everything they know and love?

My young son struggled with this concept deeply as he ached to trust in a God that had appeared to be so untrustworthy in his own life. One day he found this picture.


It was a tiny picture, cut out of the back of an Anne Geddes art book, just about the size of a business card. He carried that picture (pencil crayoned brown because in our house God is NOT just a Large White Man) with him everywhere, every day for over a year. It explained to him, in a way he could imagine, that although horrid, awful things happened to him; things that were never part of God's plan for his life, always through it all, God held him.

God held him close, God wept with him. God loved him. When he was hurt and scared and lonely. When he was alone and scared. When he didn't understand what was happening or why it was happening, God was there with him. My faith became more real because of his faith.

Ten years ago I stood before our church with my husband and sons and dedicated them, and our family, to Christian faith. My public statement to raise them to know God, to hear about God and to give them the opportunity to develop their own relationship with Him, a God they could trust, even when bad things happen.

Yesterday, despite this awful year, these horrible losses, the pain, the grief, the fear, the regret, the turmoil, despite all of that, my three oldest sons chose to be baptized. To publicly declare their faith in a God they trust.

It was one of my proudest moments.

Control

Warning: This is a ranting at God post. Easily offended Christians should, once again, not read. Today the burden seems too heavy and too wide.

The last two years have been an exercise in a lack of control.

First, a tiny little girl I loved with all my heart, and with whom I shared my home and family, was gone. No good-bye. No say. Just gone. My screaming into the heavens made no difference. It was something I couldn't fix or change. She was gone from our lives. Period. This pain almost cost me EVERYTHING. Everything I value, everything I hold dear was almost lost into the dark abyss of depression and grief and I couldn't stop it. I couldn't control it or ignore it.

Then my Nan left, or was taken, depending on your perspective, to a town way too far away. And there her days would end. No control. No amount of screaming, begging or pleading changed anything. She would get sick AWAY. Then she died. AWAY. No control, no say.

My kids? They grow up! That whole freezing time concept, stay little and be my babies? Strangely they don't listen. Birth Family. High School. New friends. Different Choices. Ultimately I can guide but I cannot control. And it's scary. My role is different and new and I am unsure of the way to be a mom to independent teens.

Then, of course, there is a cancer. The Doctors MUST be wrong. They must. My dad is MY DAD. Listen to me God ... LISTEN TO ME. That's MY DAD!!! Please God, no. Please, just please, no. But I have no control over this. None. I have to sit back and watch the pain and watch the struggle and just control the tears, because that is all that is left to control. And still they come, unheeded.

And me. ME? Surgery is now days away. I try to control the details. What the boys will eat, who will watch them while I am gone. Where I will stay, when I will return home. But I can't control that tumor. I can't control the results of the pathology. I can't control the length of recovery. I can't control the reality that I have cancer too. I can't control if it will return. Or when. And I am scared and don't want to be, but it seems I can't even control my fear.

And now we come full circle, because the precious baby girl's life is falling apart, again, today. I know this, but I cannot share the details other than asking, BEGGING, you to pray. But I cannot DO anything to help her other than once again scream into the heavens for an innocent child who is paying a price too high for the grown ups issues. I am angry, and there is no point because there is nothing I can do.

If God is in control, then why? Why this pain? Why this loss? What's the point? Why should my boys go through the fear of losing another mother? Why should an innocent little girl suffer in uninmaginable, unnecessary ways when there are other options? When there were a million other options that would have spared her this agony.

I am out of control.

What Not to Say...

Warning: The following post is going to be a blog post where I alternatively preach, and swear. So if you can't deal with the mix of Faith and Reality, quit reading. If you can, read on.

Admittedly, I am sure I have said the wrong thing many times over the years in people's times of tragedy, but somewhere along the way I have picked up that a SAFE response to finding out about other's bad news is "I am sorry" and alternatively "Is there anything I can do?" and many, many have shared their thoughtful sentiments with me. And I thank you, but what would blogging be if I didn't have something to complain about?

I am learning that there is one thing in particular that I DO NOT want to hear. Ever. Again. And yes, I realize that approximately 350 people have said this to me in the last 3 weeks, and so no, I am not talking about YOU, and yes of course I forgive YOU for saying it. JUST DON'T SAY IT AGAIN.

When I recount the TWO cancer diagnosis and a death that befell my family in a two week period, more people than I can count have said "Well God won't give you more than you can bear".

Bull Shit. Bull Shit. Bull Shit.

First off, the verse that everyone is referencing (1st Cor. 10:6-11) has NOTHING to do with bad stuff happening in our lives, it has to do with resisting TEMPTATION. You know, the desire to DO bad stuff - meaning that God will always provide us the strength to RESIST doing that which we shouldn't (like possibly the swearing above). In other words, God won't allow you to be tempted more than what you can handle. That 6th piece of chocolate cake that would definitely catapult you over into the "glutton" category? You CAN resist that, its not too much to bear. See the difference?

Instead well meaning people toss these words out, twisting them, and instead of comforting, it hurts. A verse that has to do with our choices, and consequences, gets used to essentially blame God for the bad things that happened and tell me I should be tougher because obviously I can handle this just fine. Which means, at least to me when I hear it, its my fault if I am not sailing through grief, or fear, or loss. Because, you know "God" thinks I can handle it so he hasn't sent more than I can handle. .

Crap happens people.

Babies die. "Good" people get cancer. Wonderful mothers struggle with debilitating diseases. Innocent children get abused.

I choose to not believe that a God that loves me, made me, and that I worship and believe in is putting me through this to because "I can bear it". I can't. I am terrified of dying and leaving my sons. I need, in a primal way I can't explain, my dad. The loss of my Nan from my life has ripped my heart into two. And yes, some days I want to break under the weight of my problems, and you know what? Other people are daily facing things that ARE unbearable. Completely, totally, and thoroughly unbearable and unfathomable.

Mental illness. Death. Rape. Murder. War. Disease. Loss. Poverty. Racism. CANCER. Unbearable ills because we live in a broken world. A world in which evil wishes to rob of us of everything.

And MY GOD doesn't "do" this to me because I am strong. I can't bear it alone. And that is the point I think. I cannot bear it alone.

2 Corinthians 1:8.9: "For we were so utterly burdened beyond our strength that we despaired of life itself...But that was to make us rely not on ourselves but on God."