I sit in my room, alone, on the edge of my bed. A thin ray of light comes through my window, penetrating the darkened room. I hear the wind whistle outside, and I remember that the Book is tucked away safely in the shelf next to my bed. I sit silently and think - I have been doing a lot of thinking as of late.
I think about what I saw on my television earlier in the day. I remember the story I saw on the news. I remember the little boy named Henry, and his little sister Melissa. Henry was eight years old; Melissa was only five. They were nice little children; they liked to smile and play in the schoolyard, and their mother and father took them to Church every Sunday. Then, one Saturday morning, Henry and little Melissa disappeared. No one found them until they turned up, dead, in an alley ten miles from their house.
The police are still looking for the man who killed them.
And I think - why didn't God look out for them?
Where was God for Henry and little Melissa?
I sit and I continue to think. I think about the wars in Africa. I think about the babies who starve because their mothers cannot afford to feed them. I think about the families ravaged by diseases. I think about my friend Alex, whose uncle died of cancer.
What did those little babies do to deserve death?
What did Alex's uncle ever do to hurt anybody?
I think to myself - what is God's plan for them?
Why would God take them away?
I think about the nights I cried myself to sleep. I think about the scars on my arms and the words that will not leave my mind. They torment me.
"Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." (Matthew 7:12)
I think about the others - I have always been kind. I have always wanted to be good to them; to treat them like my brothers and sisters. I smiled as they walked by. I would lend them a hand when they needed it. I gave them shoulders to cry on when they were feeling down.
Where was the shoulder that I needed?
Where was their kindness towards me?
What did I do to bring upon this pain?
I think to myself - why did my Lord give me this burden?
What test am I completing?
What plan am I fulfilling?
"The Lord is wonderfully good to those who wait for Him and seek Him." (Lamentations 3:25)
I think to myself - I have waited for nineteen years. My Lord has not found me. I have spoken to my Lord, and he has not answered. I read my Bible. I send Him my prayers, my wishes, my pains... all I ask is for an answer. All I ask is that my Lord acknowledges my existence. That He gives me strength. That He lifts me when I falter. That He supports me when I need help.
But where has He been for nineteen years?
What have I done to make me unworthy of His love and attention?
"The Lord is my light, and my salvation; whom shall I fear?" (Psalm 27)
I do fear.
I do cry.
So I begin to think.
I begin to wonder - where has God been for the babies?
Where has God been for the sick and diseased?
Where has God been for me?
Where has God been for anybody?
Has God ever been there for anybody?
Has God ever been anywhere?
Where is God?
Is there a God?
I hear a knock at the door. I turn and see my mother enter, with a tender smile on her face.
"Katie, what are you doing up at this time?" she asks.
"Oh, nothing," I respond. I point to the shelf. "Praying, that's all. You can never have too much, right?"
She smiles wider.
"I suppose," she says. "But do try and get some sleep. Tomorrow's Sunday, and you're up early."
"I know, mom. I will."
"Alright," she says, closing the door. "Goodnight."
I am alone in the room again. I climb under the sheets and close my eyes - the thoughts return, but they are different. Mother has shown me the way. My Lord is there for me. He must be. His love is not to be felt, it is to believed. He must be somewhere. The babies, the diseased, they must have been part of His plan.
I know my God is there for me.
I know that my God loves me.
I know that my God is really there.
This is true. This must be true. This is true, because I have been told it is true.
Why would everybody lie?
They have no reason to lie.
They don't. So they must be telling the truth. It is the truth, and I believe them. That is that, forever and ever.
It is all true, because my Lord could not possibly be a fake. The Book could not possibly be a fake.
... Could it?
I think about what I saw on my television earlier in the day. I remember the story I saw on the news. I remember the little boy named Henry, and his little sister Melissa. Henry was eight years old; Melissa was only five. They were nice little children; they liked to smile and play in the schoolyard, and their mother and father took them to Church every Sunday. Then, one Saturday morning, Henry and little Melissa disappeared. No one found them until they turned up, dead, in an alley ten miles from their house.
The police are still looking for the man who killed them.
And I think - why didn't God look out for them?
Where was God for Henry and little Melissa?
I sit and I continue to think. I think about the wars in Africa. I think about the babies who starve because their mothers cannot afford to feed them. I think about the families ravaged by diseases. I think about my friend Alex, whose uncle died of cancer.
What did those little babies do to deserve death?
What did Alex's uncle ever do to hurt anybody?
I think to myself - what is God's plan for them?
Why would God take them away?
I think about the nights I cried myself to sleep. I think about the scars on my arms and the words that will not leave my mind. They torment me.
"Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." (Matthew 7:12)
I think about the others - I have always been kind. I have always wanted to be good to them; to treat them like my brothers and sisters. I smiled as they walked by. I would lend them a hand when they needed it. I gave them shoulders to cry on when they were feeling down.
Where was the shoulder that I needed?
Where was their kindness towards me?
What did I do to bring upon this pain?
I think to myself - why did my Lord give me this burden?
What test am I completing?
What plan am I fulfilling?
"The Lord is wonderfully good to those who wait for Him and seek Him." (Lamentations 3:25)
I think to myself - I have waited for nineteen years. My Lord has not found me. I have spoken to my Lord, and he has not answered. I read my Bible. I send Him my prayers, my wishes, my pains... all I ask is for an answer. All I ask is that my Lord acknowledges my existence. That He gives me strength. That He lifts me when I falter. That He supports me when I need help.
But where has He been for nineteen years?
What have I done to make me unworthy of His love and attention?
"The Lord is my light, and my salvation; whom shall I fear?" (Psalm 27)
I do fear.
I do cry.
So I begin to think.
I begin to wonder - where has God been for the babies?
Where has God been for the sick and diseased?
Where has God been for me?
Where has God been for anybody?
Has God ever been there for anybody?
Has God ever been anywhere?
Where is God?
Is there a God?
I hear a knock at the door. I turn and see my mother enter, with a tender smile on her face.
"Katie, what are you doing up at this time?" she asks.
"Oh, nothing," I respond. I point to the shelf. "Praying, that's all. You can never have too much, right?"
She smiles wider.
"I suppose," she says. "But do try and get some sleep. Tomorrow's Sunday, and you're up early."
"I know, mom. I will."
"Alright," she says, closing the door. "Goodnight."
I am alone in the room again. I climb under the sheets and close my eyes - the thoughts return, but they are different. Mother has shown me the way. My Lord is there for me. He must be. His love is not to be felt, it is to believed. He must be somewhere. The babies, the diseased, they must have been part of His plan.
I know my God is there for me.
I know that my God loves me.
I know that my God is really there.
This is true. This must be true. This is true, because I have been told it is true.
Why would everybody lie?
They have no reason to lie.
They don't. So they must be telling the truth. It is the truth, and I believe them. That is that, forever and ever.
It is all true, because my Lord could not possibly be a fake. The Book could not possibly be a fake.
... Could it?