Wednesday was one of the hardest days I’ve had in a while.
God is crazy about me. And He’s eager to comfort me. And one of the ways I know this is because He ordained that I share an office with a dear friend who also lost her dad last summer and who also had a bad day on Wednesday.
She sent me this email Wednesday evening and it is so beautiful I just had to share parts of it with you guys:
while i was driving home tonight, i thought a lot about our day. the word discombobulated was the only word i could find that could rightly and succinctly describe it.
today was rough. gritty, even.
discombobulate: disconcert or confuse someone.
my dad’s death, your dad’s death is disconcerting – to say the least. when i think of the word discombobulated, i think of those nights you wake up in the middle of the night with your head at the foot of your bed and your sheets all twisted and crazy around you and you think it is morning, but the clock confirms that it’s only 3:27am. everything is wronged. reality and unreality are sparring for your attention and you are unsure who to side with. confusion. utter and total, confusion.
we are discombobulated.
ministry is confusing at the best, ridiculous at the most, and exhausting at the most often.
relationships are scary. why love someone when you know what it feels like to lose them? why strive for closeness when the closer you are, the more painful it is when you are ripped apart? all of these morbid questions happening simultaneously while clawing for someone to just sit with you as long as it takes to stop crying, to love you the most when nothing but bullets of hate shoot from your tongue. that scary juxtaposition of wanting so badly to be known and wishing you never knew anyone in the first place.
god is the most comforting, but so hard to get to. some days running so hard to him with angst and fear of not reaching him, other days sliding backwards on my own bewilderment and distrust.
i don’t just feel like my foundation has been moved.
i feel like someone has cut my feet off and demand i stand up at once.
i know we’re not the first ones to lose our parents. i know we will be okay. i know we will make it through and his mercies are new everyday – mercy big enough even for me and for you…
this is my prayer for us:
that we will be wise and honest in our need to go away to a desolate place. but that in that desolate place we will go to our father – who created us, who knows our pain the best, and who is the only one who could put our pieces of shipwrecked faith back together. and that when we come out of our time alone and we run right smack into the people he has called us to minister to, that we won’t run, or be angry, or be frustrated little brats, but that he will put within us a compassion just like that of Jesus. that we will trust the holy spirit to move through us and heal the hearts of those he loves so very much. father, give us compassion for those who hurt and suffer as we do, who are happy and joyful as we so badly want to be, for those who are in a state of confusion as we are, for those who need you so very much and are looking everywhere but to you. help us to be exactly where we are. help us to not waste this time of our lives looking for another season, but instead grow in our chest a heart that desires you more than the one you took away. put in us a heart of compassion.