.to you all hearts are open, all desires known.

dear jesus,

i've been really, really mad at you this week.

i'm feeling so strongly the gap between here and heaven, here and home, here and how our hearts long so much for it to be.

this week as i poured my heart out and held others' up to you, as i journaled pages and pages with scrawled, capital letters and lots of question marks and lots of 'please',
i recognized this anger.

it's the same anger i felt towards you the months i first got home from bolivia, when i walked in a daze through the streets of wheaton.
it's a little bit of anger covering such deep, deep sadness, confusion and hurt.

confusion, sadness, and hurt that you, our god,
our father, our friend, our source of comfort and the one who knit us and knows us and holds us and loves us harder than we can imagine, every day...
doesn't make it all better.
when you could.

this week's news especially, but so many other aches of the last few years, too.

so loud in my head this week, jesus, was the story of how it was all supposed to go.

each would fall in love. and be loved in return, just as hard.

babies would be conceived easily. and born whole.

hurt children would heal.

elementary-schoolers would always come home safe.

everyone's family relationships would develop into deep respect and mutual understanding, with no painful gaps.
and under absolutely no circumstances would parents do anything ridiculous like die before they are old and ready to.

my friends' husbands would be strong, kind, humble. and they would stay in love with my friends and in love with you. always.

in this version of the story, god, no one i love calls me crying from the hospital because the tests are coming back not saying what they wanted them to. no one has to look ahead at their life not sure how it's going to look after all. no one has to lay down all of their dreams and find you when their heart hurts, and very well may keep hurting for the rest of their years here.

in my version of the story, god,
your power is made perfect in ease, comfort, and wishes fulfilled.
not in weakness.

i'm ashamed to admit that i wish for that story,
for myself and my friends.
even when i know i should want most the next part of the verse:
your glory displayed through your grace sufficient.

god.
i thank you that you are big enough to hear and to hold our anger, our sadness, our hurt, our fear.

and even big enough to change my heart.
so that someday, maybe,
i could honestly say that given the choice,
i would choose your story over mine.

i thank you that you give us miracles like friendship, and pine trees, and arms that hold, and and all things worked together for the good of those who love you, and the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and cell phone minutes, and cheap southwest flights.

i thank you for mercies new every morning and faithfulness great.

thank you for the reminder, as much as i push against it:
that we were created to long for things this world will not fulfill.

and i pray that like the psalmist,
my prayers of lament would come to end in praise.

love,
emily