He humbled you, causing you to hunger and then feeding you with manna, which neither you nor your ancestors had known, to teach you that man does not live on bread alone but on every word that comes from the mouth of the LORD.
Limited by time an
d space and humanness, I try to grasp the enormity of God and His promise of heaven. Death is inevitable, but don’t we lean on a natural, expected order…grandparents, parents, natural order, not children first?
Being angry at God, I’m told, is normal.
And in a way, I am angry. And angry about things that when all swirled up together really point to my inability to grasp the ultimate of God and who He is and how He works.
What boils me is that we are missing Zach – a chunk of ourselves ripped away, and he’s not missing us – not even a little. How could he if heaven is true? And we weep and wail and wish for him back, and he’s immeasurably happy and why doesn’t that make me feel okay? This is the fall…and the fall-out…
We struggle each day to put first the thought that Zachery is with Him, no more sorrow, no more pain, the old things have passed away.
And then in my mirror of Satan arrogance questioning God’s perfect plan, I think about what it will be like to reach heaven...all this pain we’ve gone through, and what, in a warped way, bothers me the most is that Zachery has been in eternity enjoying God’s presence and will he even take notice of our coming there? And after all this pain, will we even care upon arrival there? Or is that the future reality – that we will be so consumed by our good God that none of it will matter or count at all? Can I believe that? It is an odd impossible lovely thing this Christianity. To believe in something that is impossible to comprehend and to know it is completely wholly forever true.
To believe in the God, maker of heaven and earth, who can send butterfly after butterfly and then some, and yet to live the life of the wandering Israelite with manna from heaven and only complaining about heaven’s gifts…this is me. This is my life.
And isn’t it pathetic that my infinitesimally small mind can’t come to grips with the Christian reality that Zach doesn’t need his mommy anymore. He’s in THE presence, what could I possibly give him now? And even though I am filled with joy that he is there, I’m still mad and broken and crushed that he’s not here. And around and around and around my mind goes trying to make sense of the impossible. God.
If I am to weave through its maze, God will lead or He won’t down the road of this grief. No human person can alleviate the pain I am feeling. But God. He can, yet after this, the dying of Zachery, can I really say and believe and want “Thy will be done?” For what purpose has this pain been vomited upon our family?
Is it perhaps a bleary eyed waking moment when I’m struck with the realization that His butterflies return me to Him. And with each wing flutter and passing of the butterfly story, He is brought to a mind who believes or needs to believe…and if I focus on that in the darkest moments, maybe I really can live “Thy Will Be Done” and give thanks for His manna-butterflies.
There is a plan and I don’t need the map although I want to snatch it right out of God’s hands. All I need to do is follow the butterflies…I hope you will follow yours.
Manna is everywhere. We just need to keep our eyes open.
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