My faith is not something I've ever blogged about, and to be honest, it's only been recently that I've truly come to know the Lord and how Great He is. I grew up in a household where church was a place we went occasionally on Sundays to learn about Jesus and then went on with our lives the rest of the week, without another mention of His name or His truth. As I grew older, it seemed like a punishment because my sister and I were told to get up and get ready for church while my brother slept in and my dad opened up the first beer of the day. Those Sunday visits became even more sporadic as I ventured into high school and college. And the Bible? Not even one in my possession all that time.
Then came November 1, 2000, and I began questioning that He even existed.
I remember vividly the night the cardiothoracic surgeon came to tell us, after five hours of waiting to hear anything, that "she's not going to make it" and "we've done all we could" and "your mother was a very sick woman." After begging him to try anything he could, we waited more. I went to the chapel at the hospital and walked up to the Bible sitting on the altar and began frantically searching for passages to read and pray, not even knowing where to begin. I began reading a Psalm from the pages that fell open before me, then fell to my knees, praying, pleading, bargaining with God to let my mother live, trying to convince Him that her work on earth was not yet done, that I needed her.
He took her that evening. My prayers had not been answered. My God had abandoned me.
At the funeral home, numerous visitors tried to comfort me with words like "She's in a better place" and "Where she is now, there is no suffering", but not knowing the Glory of God and His Kingdom, their words gave me no peace. I stayed angry and hurt and sad and lonely for a very long time.
Then one day, four years later, my husband and I started looking for a church to attend and I heard words like Faith, Hope, Joy, Forgiveness, Love. For the first time, I heard a pastor say that it was okay to be mad at God and to feel betrayed, but then to pray to Him for peace and understanding.
For the first time in four years, I prayed, truly prayed and I began to open my heart to the Lord. I finally had peace with the loss of my mother, for I believed that she really was in a better place, that she was not suffering, that she was dancing joyously with the Father and reunited with those she loved.
I believed.
As I began reading and studying the Bible, I decided to look up that Psalm I had so desperately recited in my despair that night in the chapel. I remembered pieces of it... shepherd, shadow of death. And then I found it - Psalm 23:
1 The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.
2 He makes me lie down in green pastures,
he leads me beside quiet waters,
3 he restores my soul.
He guides me in paths of righteousness
for his name's sake.
4 Even though I walk
through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.
5 You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies.
You anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
6 Surely goodness and love will follow me
all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the LORD
forever.
The Lord was speaking to me before I knew how to listen.
I believe.
You may wonder how and why this post came about. To truly know and understand, you have to read Angie's story. Her faith has endured through loss and devastation, and has become an inspiration to many, including myself.
She believes.
What do we have but our faith when our life doesn't go as planned?
I believe in the sun, even when it isn't shining.
I believe in love, even when I am alone.
And I believe in God, even when He is silent. ~Author Unknown
