Fighting and Trusting

I find that I am not fighting God
over the death of my nephew
like I fought Him over the death of my
brother-in-law, John.

But I would not trade that experience for anything.
"You can be angry with me," God said.
"But don't turn your back and be angry with me.
Be angry to my face."

And I was.

I pounded His massive chest
and I kicked and screamed and bit and wept.

I even began to love the darkness of my Grief Cave
because I could see Him better in the dark.

I came away blessed and limping.

I don't fight Him so much about Johnny anymore.

But, I am too weary to fight Him on this one.

Not that I think He shouldn't be fought.
I think my sister should and will.
I am just not up for it.

I think we can either fight God and trust Him
or trust Him.
Fighting and leaving are really not an option.
My wounder is my healer.
Where else can I go?

I've decided to look God in the face
and trust Him in this madness.
Not because I am spiritual;
I just can't afford another limp.

But then,
it is not my son who is in the wooden box.
It is not my son whose song is silent.
It is not my son who is gone.