How long will Fridays be painful?

 

How long will will we wonder what if?

 

How long will we hope he runs down the stairs and this was all a nightmare?

 

How long will Facebook memories feel like a knife in the chest and bring a smile at the same time?

 

How long will I check his phone to see if one of his friends is thinking of him.

 

How long will I feel the sudden urge to run to his grave?

 

How long will Colorado skies mourn with us?

 

How long, how long, how long?

 

When I was 10 we moved from our home in Tampa about three hours north to St. Augustine where my dad took a pastorate job at a tiny church. We lived in a run down parsonage falling apart at the seams. I left my friends and cousins behind and was very lonely in our new town because there were no girls in the new church.

 

The only nice thing about that house was it was just blocks from the ocean and on quiet nights, I could hear the waves from my open bedroom window. Sometimes, I would put a record on the record player and listen to Christian music for hours. (We weren’t allowed to listen to anything else.). I often had trouble getting to sleep and would spend what seemed like forever asking God how long till I made friends and praying for every single person I knew in my life. I never wanted to say “amen” at the end of my prayers because I didn’t want to hang up on God. My theology may have been a little off but I wanted him to stay with me all night.

 

Fast forward to when Noy and I had been married awhile and all our friends were having babies. Years had gone by praying for a child yet none came. Months and months of tests and tears and waiting. We wondered for years how long.

 

God eventually brought me the sweetest friends who I still keep in touch with now. And He eventually answered our prayers for a child, then blessed us with three more.

 

I thought about all of that recently while I was laying in bed trying to sleep. While I’m back to wondering “how long,” may I have the faith of my 10 year old self…not wanting to hang up on God so that he can remain with me all night.

 

While we feel like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in the furnace of affliction, may we continue to see Christ in the furnace with us.

 

Our lamenting may never stop but neither must our praise. May He give us the strength to say, though he slay me, yet will I trust Him.

 

Noy’s dad quoted this beautiful old hymn by William Cowper at Julian’s funeral and it will always be an encouragement to me:

 

God moves in a mysterious way

His wonders to perform:

He plants His footsteps in the sea,

And rides upon the storm.

 

Deep in unfathomable mines

Of never-failing skill,

He treasures up His bright designs,

And works His sovereign will.

 

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take;

The clouds ye so much dread

Are big with mercy, and shall break

In blessings on your head.

 

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,

But trust Him for His grace;

Behind a frowning providence

He hides a smiling face.

 

His purposes will ripen fast,

Unfolding every hour;

The bud may have a bitter taste,

But sweet will be the flower

.

Blind unbelief is sure to err,

And scan his work in vain;

God is His own interpreter,

And He will make it plain.

 

Thank you for listening to my laments and allowing me space to process my grief. You are all a gift.

 

 

Xo

Dawn