No Looking Back

August 26, 2012 in Uncategorized

Sometimes there is no looking back. I was adrift in uncertainty, but something in me was awakened. I rubbed my eyes and looked around. And I prayed. For a long time I had prayed for change, much-needed change. There had been no movement, and every sparkle of hope fizzled out. A small glimmer of something burned inside of me to keep me going amidst the fear that it would never end. I kept praying.

It may sound like weird hocus-pocus to say I heard God speaking to me, but I did. I heard it in my heart so clearly. I had this feeling that if I just kept trying, kept moving forward, that something was about to happen. Everyone said the tree was a message, a mysterious fortune imbedded in disaster. I had an odd confidence that God had a plan of action that would soon unfold.

When your children pass away, faith becomes very confusing. Why did I have confidence in this prayer when prayer before hadn’t saved either of my sons? With Erik it was over a week of constant vigil, thousands of people praying everywhere. When they told me that there was no hope, that he was brain-dead, a wall came down. An intense volley of prayer had been hurled at the unyielding threat of Erik’s death. Why did God say no to my children, no to their lives?

I cried out, “This is RIDICULOUS!!” again and again. One amazing minister there said it with me. That comforted me like nothing else did, though I felt no comfort. It validated me, I’ll say. Not comforted. Comfort is not possible when your child dies. Still, I was grateful for that minister, then and now. He planted a seed in me. He gave me the chance to see the death of my child, my children, as something separate from God.

I don’t know. I can’t know. An answer without words stirs in me but doesn’t have enough form to be defined. I have to focus on what I do know, what speaks in my heart. Something in my heart was saying that I should just keep doing that, keeping listening, and the answer would come. The tree was kind of like God clearing His throat. To hear the rest required patience.

I try to stay tuned into the message. “We’re not going back,” I told my son. “We’re just going to leap into adventure! Is that o.k. with you?”  He leaped to his feet, gave a few hops, and threw his arms around my neck. His yes came out through his giggles. So with his vote cast for adventure, hand in hand, we journey on.