“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” ~ Psalm 147:3
The other day as I dropped off my grandson for school, I started thinking about my own rides to school as a child…
Back then, we lived way out in the country with a one-hour bus ride to school (and that was if the bridges weren’t open for the boat traffic). While I prefer to think about those “happy laughter” or “sweet sentimental” memories, one of my most distinct memories of those endless bus rides was actually one of anger… or to be more blunt – pure rage.
I was about six years old, and it was on the bus ride home. I had saved the seat next to me for my sister. (After all, I was a first grader who idolized her big sister. Where else would she want to sit except by me? Right?) Now, keep a few things in mind, I was a bit timid as a child… I was that kid who hid behind my mother’s skirts when she tried to introduce me to new people. And at my first piano recital, I refused to play until my sister came and sat on the bench next to me, blocking the audience from my sight.
That day, as I waited with my hand on the seat next to me to save it, a high school girl I didn’t know (and was sure I wouldn’t like), moved my hand and sat down anyway. I remember feeling instantly indignant. “I’m saving that seat for my sister,” I told her.
“Your sister’s already sitting in the back,” she said. “… With her friends,” she added as she looked the other way. I remember standing up and looking back. Sure enough. there was my sister laughing and talking with her friends. I was instantly so incredibly angry. I looked at the girl next to me who smiled, and got even angrier… And then, I did it… I bit her forearm… Actually, it was more than a bite… I latched on and refused to let go until she had to get off the bus about 30 minutes later!
That poor girl! If I were her, I would have labeled me a brat and hated me. I definitely would not want to ever sit next to me again.
But that is not what happened… Not even close. Instead, she not only sat with me day after day, I remember her going out of her way to be kind to me. I remember her saving me a seat when she got there first, and on other occasions, asking about my day or whatever I brought for show and tell. I remember her sitting with me and making those long bus rides fun… And through those long, endless rides, as she listened to me or made me giggle, I began to feel valued… and I learned to love her. Funny, I can’t remember her name now, but I will always remember the impact she had on me that year.
So why am I sharing this story here?
Because as I reminisced, I started thinking about the only other time I remember feeling abandoned, helpless, and filled with rage at something I couldn’t change… And that was when Bruce died. It was that same feeling I had when I looked at the back of the bus and realized my dreams for this journey weren’t going to happen.
While I denied it at the time, I was so absolutely angry with God. I begged, I cried, I cursed, I shook my fists, and eventually, I just decided to turn my back on him, since it felt like he had already turned his back on me.
I was done! … Or was I?
As time passed, and I started working on healing and on myself, I found that my faith was too much a part of me to ignore or abandon. But, I also realized that my faith wasn’t really my own… All those years it was really just a carbon copy of what I had been told… In other words, it wasn’t my faith or beliefs at all. It was like it belonged to someone else, and I had just picked it up and put it in my pocket.
I remember dreaming about Bruce one night when I was still so angry. In the dream, Bruce was telling me that God was real, but he wasn’t the God I thought he was… He told me God wasn’t a God of anger and judgement. Instead, he was a God of love and compassion. In my dream I was so doubtful, and that is how I woke up… But what I knew was I needed to figure out for myself what I believed… Then, maybe I could let go of the anger… And if I could let go of the anger, maybe – just maybe – I could start to heal.
I would love to say, it was an overnight transformation, but it wasn’t… not even close. It has taken years… Years of starting from a clean slate and figuring things out from scratch… Years of making my own discoveries and building my own faith… Years of learning to be comfortable when my idea of God and faith doesn’t match up with the mainstream “church.”
But through those years, I have learned a lot. My faith is my own… I don’t need to explain it or rationalize it to anyone… And the best part has been the peace I have acquired…
Like the high school girl, who chose to be patient with me and show me love and friendship and ultimately made me feel valued and loved, God never turned his back on me… Instead, he waited. He let me rant, and he loved me anyway… His shoulders were big enough to handle my rage and my doubts… And instead of punishing me (as I had been taught to believe), he waited patiently as I figured things out for myself.
I still miss Bruce. I still cry when I let myself think about him too much. BUT the anger and rage are no longer there… Instead, there is a peace that comes from within… A peace in knowing that he is still beside me… A peace in knowing that my faith is one built on what I know, and not what someone else has told me. And while I may not understand or like what has happened, I know God didn’t cause it, and he doesn’t like it either… And I am not alone… He hurts when I hurt… And I believe…
“There is a peace that comes with acceptance, and a love that is always remembered.” ~ Linda, September 2013
What about you? Did you experience that anger and rage after you lost your loved one? Do you still struggle with those emotions? Finding our way out of those emotions is going to be different for each of us. How do you deal with it? Would you be willing to share your story or your thoughts?
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