Letters to God: V. Alone

{I want to say that it is edited, since even though I want to be open in these, some things I don’t want published to the world. I also want to say that this “letter,” though written over a few months, was not something that consumed me; the pain only came in fleeting moments}

Dear God,
Lately there were days I never stopped crying. There was one where tears seemed to wait around every corner, and for many days after they were always nearby.
The pain remains – the kind causes a smile at the memories. Mrs. Rawleigh spoke true again, how it’s better to have love and family like this and suffer through the pain of separation than to not have it. It hurts to be apart, and even more hurts to wonder if I’ll ever be there again. You know the answer to that. They reminded me – whatever happens, if I am back – He made the way there. And if I am not – He will make it okay. All I could say when they asked if I was alright was that I would be. Because with You I know I will be, but right now I can’t see how.
We want to be together again. But deep down, what we really want is to be with You. All together, with You.
And yet we’re all longing to relive those days. “Say not why are the former days better than these, for it is not from wisdom that you ask,” says the Teacher in Ecclesiastes. But we say it anyway.

And yet while we were together, you were preparing us to be apart. We were often with You when we were together. We fought for each other and for those in our care, praying for protection and strength. And You heard our prayers and answered them, healing our hurts and also those of others, even if just a little for the time being. And we worshiped You together. We were sometimes quiet and sometimes loud, but almost always with You. It made us long for heaven even more, yet made us so thankful for all You have given us on earth. It’s hard to be thankful for now when then was so wonderful. And yet You keep on giving – giving Yourself.
The dear one shared a quote, one that made her think of me when she read it: “The blessedness of true separation is nothing less than the glorious companionship of the great God Himself.”
All that time with You while we were together was preparing us to have You without everyone else. And You are still there. You are near to the brokenhearted, and I feel Your closeness, and I need it, long for it, love it.
But I think there will always be a piece of my heart left in Summer 2013, spread all over the world with that group of people – and so many others. Even when the pain is assuaged, there’s always a hole. Only in heaven will I ever be with everyone I miss – but then we’ll have You fully, so will we even care?

There. There it was. The vav. What happens in the Psalms when the lamenter changes over, from self to You. When we finish our lament, having only You left – and rejoice in having only You. And You understand. You – Christ – were more forsaken than we ever will be.
And You will be there. This time. Next time. The time after. That is hope, and life, even in pain. Not that this is any deep depression, but you are still there, whether it is dusk or midnight – no matter how deep or small the darkness. You are still Father. And I know if you are faithful here in something small, You will be there when it is more as well.
Your steadfast love never fails. And it was at Csehy, when I was studying Psalm 136 and reading those words over and over and over again, that I really realized what that means.
Your love never changes, and it is there forever, never failing.
Thank you.


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