"They do not cry out to me from their hearts but wail upon their beds." Hosea 7:14a
Lately I have been doing more wailing upon my bed than crying out to God from my heart. It hasn't gotten me anywhere, other than running away from God and losing sight of His perspective. When I can't write I know I'm not dealing with things and only find that stuffing doesn't help either. So I write~ short, choppy, no elegance, ugly, pain, sorrow, blunt, hard, did I say ugly already. I like things pretty, I like things comfy and antiquey, a few scuff marks are cute and add character. But raw is where the scuff marks begin. Right now I feel raw. Pure blood and gore and ooze. Ripped wide open raw, and it hurts to the depths of my soul. Pain with no balm other than time. A good friend encouraged me by reminding me that missing my son is not distrusting God. So I crawl into the lap of my Heavenly Father and cry again. I go back to His word and find strength again. And then I go back to my bed and wail upon it again. I acknowledge God who has ordained all of this, even the hurt. I praise Him that Trent is with him. Then I cry for my own pain of missing my son. For a world where there is sin. For the sorrow involved. And then He tells me It Is Okay~ okay to hurt, okay to laugh, okay to cry, okay to dance. So I go on again hurting, laughing, crying, waiting, healing, missing.