I have struggled for years in my fitful starts at a relationship with the Almighty. My mom and I would have long conversations about what we saw as the hypocrisy of many of the so-called faithful. Please understand, I do believe. It's just that my belief is extremely imperfect. Wildly imperfect. Nothing sends me into a tailspin more than trying to express my thanks to God for those things for which I am grateful and here is why: God seems to get a pass. God gets to have it both ways, and it rankles me.
When good things happen in my life, I'm to be thankful. Thank you for sunsets, for my health, for my kids' laughter... all the good stuff that makes life worth living and believing in. But... when bad things happen. Oh, when bad things happen. How do you look at one mom whose child has died of a brain tumor and expect her to understand the other mom whose child survived the same disease and who credits God's grace and love? How does one say that one hopeless alcoholic found sobriety through God's grace when another fails time and again to maintain sobriety? Is God against him? How do you tell a person (me), whose mother died underneath a semi that God "protected" someone else who walked away from a seemingly deadly crash? Because if you ask me to believe that God saved one and let another perish, then you are asking me to believe that God wanted one dead. So, if that IS all part of God's plan, why on earth should I thank him for the good things? He's doing what he wants whether I approve or not, true? The good, the bad - it's all part of the plan, right? He doesn't need my blessing and neither asked for nor followed MY wishes.
That being said, I actually do try to say thank you, even when it's accompanied by a "but..." I went to church yesterday and cried, as usual. One of the hymns was How Firm a Foundation, which was played at my Uncle John's funeral in 1992. My Uncle John was awesome - funny, handsome, kind. He was a helicopter pilot in Vietnam and died from an Agent Orange-caused lymphoma. My mom adored her brother-in-law, and that song was one she learned on the piano after he died. So I cried again that both of these wonderful people are no longer in my life. Then, Owen leaned over. My dear, sweet, sometimes-clueless little Asperger's guy says in this huge stage whisper, "Mom, are you sad?" (What was your first clue honey? The snotty sniffling, the wet cheeks and puffy eyes?) And I nodded. He asked again, rather loudly if it reminded me of something and I explained (quietly). He nodded vigorously and said, "Okay. That explains it." So God, Mom, if either or both of you are listening, here is what I'm thankful for, out of the havoc her (your) death caused:
My son, through witnessing true grief and healing, has become fairly empathetic. Mom would take such pleasure in him - though she always did. Asperger's kids say really funny things sometimes, usually when they aren't trying to be funny and she LOVED Owen stories. But what a gift to him, and to us, to have him offering comfort and understanding when he recognizes someone's hurting.
I've gotten really close to my aunt and my mom's best friend Melanie. We laugh, we cry, and we talk and I get to see mom through their eyes and see even more why she loved them both so much.
I've gotten better at saying, "this doesn't matter, that does.." Not sweating stupid, petty things. Better, not best - yet.
I've made new friends in many places. I would never know Officer Cooper in Houston who is one of the great guys in law enforcement. I count as a friend the truck driver's wife. I'm still undecided on him. It's still too raw. I wish him well, but... I'm still mad at him too. Maybe that will grow in time.
I'm thankful for these things. I am. But... I would give these gifts back if God would turn back the clock and put my mother back on Earth. So thank you God, sort of, I think.
Love,
Shannon
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