Mom, Death & Jacob

"So Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him till daybreak. When the man saw that he could not overpower him, he touched the socket of Jacob’s hip so that his hip was wrenched as he wrestled with the man. Then the man said, “Let me go, for it is daybreak.” But Jacob replied, “I will not let you go unless you bless me." - Genesis 32 (22-26) 

Yesterday I refused communion for the first time in nearly fifteen years. I just wasn't feeling it, and more importantly, my heart wasn't right. I knew that. I sensed it. And even though God and I are wrestling these days, and I'm punching him in the face every chance I can get a hand free, I still hold the bread and the cup in high enough esteem not to partake in them without a mind that's focused, or a heart that's ready.

On Dec 4th the Lord took my mother from me. Or maybe it was the 3rd. Or the 2nd. All I can say is, by the time I found her, face down on the floor in her bedroom, she'd been dead quite a while. Ice cold. Full rigor. Her eyes were closed tightly, as if the pain in the end were nearly unbearable. A massive heart attack, most likely, or a massive stroke.

I don't want to hear about how "it's a part of life" or that "these things happen". I don't want pious advice or empty platitudes. I only want one thing: answers. Jacob wrestled the angel of the Lord, and so, now, do I. Each day I step into the field and I shake my fist at God and ask the same questions before I attack him: Why did she have to die that way? What did she ever do to You? Why did I have to find her like that? Was I such a bad son? Such a shitty believer? What in the world were you trying to teach me? What lesson? What admonishment? How. Could. You. Do. This.

During this same time, I've had friends preoccupied with serious matters of their own. One is fighting cancer, another alcoholism. One has a child that's been forced to endure four surgeries in the past four weeks. I've got people I love fighting loneliness and illness, two more fighting brokenheartedness and failed relationships. Some of them are believers, some of them aren't. And I am watching, studying it all. They're human. It's life. Blah. Blah. Blah.

You see, the speed of the game is slowing down for me, and that can only happen with experience. But here's the thing : I don't necessarily like what I'm seeing. I see nothing but utter chaos. I see no order, no method to the madness, no direction and very little hope. I see people making grand stands, commendable examples and witnessing with a fervor that leaves me awe struck, but I'm losing my ability to see why. That's the truth. It's dark where I'm at. I can't see anything, much less any "why's", and I'm sorry if that disturbs you.

There's only one thing I can say: every, single time I have stepped out into the field to wrestle with the Lord? He has not backed down. Not one, single time. He shows up. He brings it. And as we struggle with one another, as I bite, punch, grapple and claw at him with all I have? As I scream at him with a rage that is all consuming? I have felt it...more than once...I have: his chest against mine...and I have felt Him weeping.

And I know beyond all knowing that I can fight all I want, for as long as I want, for the rest of my life if I so choose, and My Lord will never let go of me. Ever. And I love Him for that. I really do.