I have gone back and forth with myself about posting on what transpired at Sandy Hook Elementary. If you'd like, you can see what I managed to get out on Instagram here. My fear is that what I have to say will come across as forced, even artificial. But I feel called to write what is on my heart at the moment, and I pray that this post makes sense, and will be used to touch even one person who finds themselves here. This is difficult and scary for me. Please, be gentle with your words, should you comment.
What I would like to share is part of my ever-evolving, very messy journey of faith. You see, faith does not come easy to me -- it never has. I'm a doubter. A questioner. Fiercely independent. Every second of belief is a hard fought victory. I am logical to a fault. I want evidence. Statistics. Studies. I demand things of God. "Just do this. Show me You exist, and I will never question You again." "How do I know that I will go to Heaven? How do I know there is a Heaven? What if all this is for nothing?" I am the defiant child, crossing my arms and jutting out my chin saying, "Prove it."
This evening, I found out that a friend who is ever-closer to my heart lost her baby, still in her womb. This child was wanted. This child was loved, and loved fiercely, by wonderful parents. Knowing how hard I am taking what took place in Connecticut, my friend even told me that she didn't want to add to my burden. And this sweet, sweet soul, who thought of me in a time of such sorrow, will have to endure delivering her babe, only to never know her child. And though she told me with certainty that this is part of God's plan, I found myself crying "No ... No ... Why? Why her? Why them? Why!"
I received these words: "I am here."
No deep, booming voice. No flashes of light, or cracks of thunder. Not even an answer, really. Just three, simple words. "I am here." Like the Whos crying up to the doubters surrounding Horton. "I am here."
I feel different. Not necessarily better, or at peace ... I'm still processing. But I am also anchoring. Tying off my tiny little boat to His ultimate understanding, knowing that I don't have to, or need to make sense of this world, because some things are beyond what the human soul can comprehend.
He is here for me. For you, too.
We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. -- Hebrews 6:19