At this moment, right now, as I think once again, on my shattered life, I wish somehow I could be healed. I know God is the only one who can and I have honestly, consistently and regularly brought all the hurts to his suffering Divinity and asked for Him to understand and heal. Yet, I am still conscious of all the wounds and fragile soul-flesh which can't seem to heal this side of heaven. Maybe I should give the whole faith thing away; stop trying to connect with God; stop trying to her God; stop trying to please God. I'm tired of trying to work it out - tired of trying to find answers to unanswerable questions.
And I'm tired of being patronised by trite, hubbly-jubbly Christians who feel they know more than I do about the unanswerable questions, despite the fact they've nevewr actually faced any of them in their own lives.
I suppose I shouldn't be looking back over my life so much - I'm so disappointed with so much of it. So many sad, hard years. I've taken my eyes off Jesus and can only see the muddy footprints of the sorrow and conflict. I know I have to accept how it isw. I know I can't keep counting my broken dreams or it will conquer and defeat me. But how? Thankfulness. Count my blessings. That's harder to do now because I've done it so much over the years - after each new trauma or injustice or anxiety. I've picked myself up, given thanks for what I have, and kept going.
But, at the moment, I feel like I'm only half-way up the mountain; there's still such a long climb, yet in strength terms, I'm an old lady. And I think of the next hurdle; of getting to 65, so I can finally give up work and it feels like I've got this huge burden to carry up the mountain. That burden is the grief and loss I've carried over the years. I've shouldered it and kept going. And I know God has helped me with that - at least spiritually. But he's not helped much in practical, tangible terms. That sounds ungrateful and arrogant. But I can't pretend all those years of marrying a horrible man; of working double time, betrayal, frugal living, losing Ben, being bullied.... I can't pretend all that hasn't happened. It bloody did happen. And I have to carry the damage it did.
I feel, at this moment, like John the Baptist, waiting in the gloom and filth of the prison, asking the Christ "Are you the one, or should be expect another?". And the disciples answer John.
But Christ doesn't rescue John. And he's never rescued me. And he won't rescue me now, from the trudge of working til I'm old. I'm sick of God's discipline. I want to stop following.
