Today was normal for me. I got up, read my Bible, went to class. My photography professor gave us a treat by letting us out of class early. She encouraged us to use the time for shooting. Instead, I called my mother, let her know class was let out early, went upstairs to the library, and read the works of British philosophers while I waited for her to arrive. Despite spending fifteen minutes in the library, I continued to wait outside for five minutes before my mother pulled up to the curb. I climbed inside the car, and patiently waited for her to finish her phone call before telling her about my classes that day. While driving home she confessed to me she was none too pleased with a dear younger sister of mine, who once again had chosen to act irresponsibly instead of responsibly (which she is more than capable of acting when she wants to.)
Fast forward about fifteen minutes and I'm now standing in the kitchen saying (well, whining if I'm being perfectly honest) to my mom that I am really craving cinnamon rolls. She says "Well then put some dough in the bread machine." I debate for a moment, weighing the effort vs. the reward. I eventually decide the end result will be worth the effort, and set about putting the ingredients in the bread machine. My mom is standing at the counter cutting potatoes. Her phone rings and she answers. I hear only parts of the conversation as I'm intently focused on remembering how many cups of flour I've already added to the dough. Suddenly though, there is silence. A moment later I hear my mom sniffing, a sound I could only contribute to her crying. The hushed crying continues and is the only sound in the room save for the sound of the knife as it hits the cutting board. She is crying and cutting potatoes. Her back is to me and I watch her for a moment, wondering if I should take the knife from her. Instead, I continue to watch her hands for a while longer. Content that she is not going to chop her fingers off anytime soon, I return to my baking project. As I do this, she finishes her phone call. "Was that Em?" I ask quietly. "Yes," my mother returns in an even softer tone. She continues, "Em said she won't be able to come home this weekend because of the storm." My heart now aches, not only for my mother, who so desperately wanted my sister to be home this weekend, but also for my sister, who other than my mom, has the hardest time with this month. This week. That day. I don't know what to say, in fact I don't know there is anything that can be said. I cross the kitchen floor and wrap my arms around my mom. Hugging her, I feel her shallow sobs and deep breaths against my heart. She's shorter than me. And smaller. For the first time I feel scared. I've never had a moment were I've felt like I was the one taking care of her. But it feels like that. After a couple of minutes we go back to our respective activities and resume conversation. But the whole time I'm talking to the Lord. "God, is this how it will always be?" I think. "Will we always have these times? These moments where all of a sudden the pain is fresh, and the hurt stings worse than before?" I can only trust that it is all in His hands.
I can't think of a more frustrating time of year for myself. This month, this week, that day, never cease to make me feel like something is wrong with me. It's because I don't have those moments like my mom or my sister. I don't shed those tears anymore, I don't dread this time of year. I can't count how many times I've asked God, "Is this right? Am I heartless? Did I love that baby less than them? Why am I ok with all of this? Is it because I'm actually just avoiding dealing with it? Or do you just have me in a different place in my life?"
I hate that feeling. But I've come to realize that yes, God does have me in a different place. But it's not because something is wrong with me. In part, I think it's to minister to my family. The tears that come to me now are only because I hate seeing my family hurting. I wish I could make it all better for them. I feel so helpless.
But one thing I am certain of, we are, all of us, not without Hope. Surely we will suffer. God's Word says as much. But that suffering is in this life. And this life is not what we put our hope and faith in.
We have Someone much much stronger to rest in. Even now.
