Standing on the Rock in the Midst of Shifting Sand

I paused today to think about my purpose in writing all of this. I feel like I’m all over the map with what to write, but my purpose is very clear. I longingly wish to give glory to God in a situation that many it hard to find Him and I long to encourage others in their moments of tragedy to turn toward God and not away. I have had people ask how I can give praise to God in a time like this. I have had people ask me how I can say that my Savior never fails me. I find it simple. Now is not the time to develop my theology of God and who He is. Now is the time to cling to what I have known always to be true. I look at Job, and maybe for the first time in my life I have understood him. Tested and tried, he continued to lean on God. He didn’t understand, but he trusted. That’s where I am. I have no understanding of my current circumstances, but I know that God is on the throne.

I talk to God differently these days. I talk to him more like a friend and my comforter. I talk to him asking him to make sure that Lydia knows things about her mom and dad. I don’t know if heaven works that way, but it gives me great comfort. I talk to him as if he were the nanny of my child. He is. He is there with Lydia, holding and comforting her. There is no pain in heaven and in that I find comfort. The greatest desire of a mother is to know that your child is being cared for in the best way. I think I’m a great mother, but I know that heaven is the only other place she would find better care than what I would be able to give her. I don’t know if she can see me and watch me, but I hope that if she can her eyes are shielded from my sin. I envisioned her the other day sitting at the throne of grace praising with all the angels. I cried. I cried harder than I had in a while. I longed to teach her to praise God, but she has better teachers than I would ever be.

All this doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt that she is not here. It does. Sometimes it hurts like it’s all new and sometimes I have peace that passes all understanding. The sorrow comes in waves. I cry to Jesus too. I tell him that I want to hold Lydia in my arms. I have even asked if I can have her back. She is there with him, but I want her here! I shook my fist at God as if I have the right to confront the almighty and told Him to give her back to me! God understand. He reaches out to comfort me in those moments, reminding me that in heaven there is no sorrow or pain. I know that Lydia is loved there much more than she could ever be love here, though that’s hard to swallow. It hurts. It hurts more than I ever knew I could hurt. I hate it. I ask, “why me?” I’m reminded of the man who built his house on sand and the other who built his house on the rock. As children we are taught to build our houses on the rock, not in the sand. I strive to build my house on the rock, though I find that sometimes the sand is there. I’m human and I can easily fall prey to the doubts of this world. I'm reminded of a Caedmon’s Call song that speaks to this story. “My faith is like shifting sand, changed by every wave. My faith is like shifting sand, so I stand on grace.” The rock of my salvation, where I will build my house, is the grace of God. It is by His grace that I am able to build a firm foundation. “Waters rose as my doubts reigned. My sand-castle faith it slipped away. Found myself standing on your grace, it’d been there all the time.” (Caedmon’s Call)