I was talking to one of my best friends yesterday, and this thought kept repeating itself until it made its way past my edit button & through my lips. She was questioning God. More specifically, she was questioning her own Faith in God and it’s strength, or maybe she was…just questioning God. She’s had years of pain resulting form lots of life-quality-threatening physical disabilities. She described to me her prayers; her excessive, deeply felt, severely real heart-felt & passionate prayers that she had been praying over the past several days. She also said that she had only prayed to that extent at one other point in her life. In neither of those instances had the prayers been answered in the way that she wanted.
She had even bargained with God, like any child does with her parent, ‘I’ll take on everybody’s hurts, God. I’ll help everybody. I’ll sacrifice me for them. They need me, God. Can’t you see that? You really need to heal me, or let this treatment work….for them!’. She asked if there had been things that she had done to cause her punishment, and then she asked the big question, ‘Do I really deserve all of this suffering?’. That’s when it happened. The statement couldn’t be repressed any longer. ‘Deserve has nothing to do with it’.
And it doesn’t.
Ironically, I believed that yesterday. And I believe it again. But between yesterday, and this moment, I had some grey moments; some moments of questioning the same question myself. I even had moments of saying ‘Really, God?’. I know, I know. We all have bad days. Sometimes, you get up & fall out of bed, spill toothpaste all over your freshly dry cleaned dress, step in doggie poo, argue the kids right out of the door with the militant ‘we’re gonna be late. AGAIN!’ speech. But today was a little worse than most for me because I got bad news, health-wise. I received life insurance test results last week in the mail, and noticed that my liver enzymes were elevated. I freaked. But after talking to my friend, I thought it may be just a fluke. Maybe the lab messed up. Afterall, all of my other levels of everything were perfect. I eat healthy stuff, run all the time, practice yoga, surround myself with love, pets, family, good smells, and fuzzy things. I should be the healthiest 37 year old on the planet!!! But it turns out, it wasn’t a fluke. After running those tests again, different doctor/ different lab, they were only elevated more.
I am going to see a doctor tomorrow to see what more needs to be done, but the waiting is tortuous.
Waiting or not. Torture or peace. The truth is that none of us is entitled to healthiness. No one is promised tomorrow. And though you hear that all the time, it isn’t until you are faced with the stark cold closeness of that truth’s personal and intimate version, that you feel its bite. At first, there’s sadness and self-pity. Then the anger sets in, where you scoff at the injustice, and ask questions like ‘what about my kids?’ and ‘haven’t they been through enough?’, but really….and here goes….deserve has NOTHING to do with it.
Not only do I NOT know if anything even is wrong with me, but if it IS, I should just cross that tightrope when it presents itself. Stop second-guessing, questioning, pointing fingers, asking the ‘why-me’s’ because there’s a reason for every little miniscule thing, so you bet your ass there’s a novel of reasons behind the big stuff. Reserve your deservations for dessert. Life is too short for the wonderment of God’s justice. Let it be. Let it Go. Let him guide.