I still remember the way the chair squealed slightly as she twisted toward me. I remember the thinly veiled urgency in her voice as she looked at me with pleading eyes and asked me: ‘Where is He?!’
I remember the rasp of desperation in her tone and I remember feeling a moment of doubt. It was one of the first times I realized that my churchey answers weren’t enough for the hurting and the broken. My simple and shallow theology didn’t know what to do with a God who wasn’t showing up.