Where Is God In Our Mess?

I’ve hesitated for over a month to utter this question. It sounds so cliche and I know I will not receive an answer — or will I?

One word. The question of the ages. The unanswered cry of the hurting. Why?

During the month since Beau was born sleeping, I have often seen the dawn rise before falling asleep. Questions mull over and over in my mind. I replay every instant, every moment, every decision to recheck. But in the end, I’m always left with the same thing… nothing.

But God, I miss him. I wake up each morning with this ache in my gut that makes it almost hard to breathe. The morning Beau was born I felt God so near. My entire labor was beautiful and worship ushered my baby into the world. I knew though that his spirit was already experiencing worship on a plain I can only imagine.

Beau was born at 3:25 am one Sunday morning. After he was delivered I remember sitting on the edge of my bed — the bed that was so neatly made — to capture pictures of his appearing. In shock, all of my emotions were eclipsed by this knowing that Heaven was closer than it had ever been before in my lifetime. In those fleeting moments I heard Beau — in a tone almost giddy with hope — whisper to me and only me, “Mommy, I’m not alone!”

Those words hit me like a rock in my spirit — all I wanted to yell back was, “But I am!”

I knew that in this instant, my baby didn’t need me. I need him.

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