I was fresh out of words. With arms folded across my chest, I looked out the bay window as if I might find fresh fire for my prayers. It seemed as though each one fell flat or hit some invisible wall, not reaching the place I needed it to.
For years, I didn’t realize you could grieve a living person.
In my mind, you only grieved for those who left this life for the next or perhaps those fighting a terminal illness. But someone still alive? I didn’t see it.
Until one day, through a heart-to-heart conversation with a friend, I knew this was what I felt. I saw that I was not only consumed by grief over a loved one’s addiction, but bitterness over God’s lack of an answer to constant prayers. For years, the weight of both burdened me, and my trust waned.
During a long season after becoming a mom, I hardened myself against hope. Prior to this, my grief followed a cyclical pattern, reaching its height with each relapse. Throughout months of rehab, the promise of healing would rise, only to later be crushed. I thought if I threw my hope away altogether, it wouldn’t hurt as much.
Will you continue reading with me? Today I’m sharing over at Lisa Appelo’s beautiful site. Click here to read the rest….
