prayer...

 

growing up, we said a prayer each night prior to dinner.

asking God to bless the food to our bodies.

this was easy-the food was right there in front of my "God believing" eyes.

the thanks came so natural because i already had the blessing-

even if it was just kraft mac & cheese or spam {yes, my mom served that}.

 

i have held those same hands so dearly as i ask God to heal peter.

i grasp them tight some mornings,
hoping when i say "amen" and open my "God believing" eyes-

the blessing will be right there in the palm of my hands like the mac & cheese on my dinner plate.

 

i realize by turning to God and asking him to "fix" it all-

i am confessing it is so broken, so beyond repair in fact, i no longer believe it can fixed

until peter goes home to be with God.

 

i am angry, like take all the glasses from the cabinet
and smash them into shards upon the concrete pool deck kind of anger.
i am angry doctors gave hope yet we still failed.
i am angry i can't proclaim the miracle i adamantly prayed for.

i hate to pour out my indignant heart.

i hate to admit the miracle is in knowing God in spite of the brokenness.

i hate that my "God believing" prayers of healing went unanswered.

 

i fear bold honesty with you and God.

i fear claiming defeat and giving up.

i fear if you only half-heartedly believe in God,
 when i give life to these words,
you will decide believing in a God that didn't heal proves He truly does not exist. 

 

i trust God to guide us thru this time as a family-

allowing our vulnerable, hurt selves to shine God even when peter is broken and unhealed.

i will continue those prayers of thanks

even when my "God believing" eyes cannot see the blessings in all of the broken.