In the past months, as grief has been kicking my butt (you wouldn’t know it by looking at me, I know), I came to understand something about me. Something that isn’t a bad thing. Something that you probably have in you too.
It’s the need for an apology … the need for reconciliation.
I am quick to apologize and reconcile if I have hurt someone (at least, as soon as I know I’ve hurt them because, most of the time, I’m quite clueless). If you come to me with hurt feelings, and I’ve wronged you, I am thrilled to be able to apologize and reconcile with you. I don’t want someone to have ill feelings toward me.
And, in turn, I don’t want to have ill feelings toward anyone. Those type of things eat at me. I might mull the situation over a bit in my head, but, at some point, I’m coming for you because I just KNOW that you would want to apologize to me too.
That’s the good thing about apologies. It gives us each a chance to be heard. You hear me. I hear you.
Reconciliation is an amazing thing. It’s an amazing feeling. The weight you were holding is lifted and you automatically feel lighter.
You know who’s all about reconciliation?? God. The whole story of the gospel is about reconciliation. He reconciles with us through Jesus. It truly is a beautiful picture.
Here’s where my struggle comes in and where I get beyond real with you. Although I know that God owes me literally nothing … nada … zilch, my heart longs for reconciliation for the last few years … for the death of my daughter … for the years of sickness she battled … for the promise that didn’t come in the way I wanted it. But, the thing is I will not get that from God.
When you’re hurt by a person, you can go to that person and get instant answers, you can make amends, you can hear an apology. God doesn’t apologize.
He doesn’t have to. He’s God. He’s the sovereign Creator of the universe. Why would the Creator ever apologize to the created? Especially since He knows best. As Isaiah said, “What sorrow awaits those who argue with their Creator. Does a clay pot argue with its maker? Does the clay dispute with the one who shapes it, saying, ‘Stop, you’re doing it wrong!’ Does the pot exclaim, ‘How clumsy can you be?’ – Isaiah 45:9.
Understand me. I’m not arguing with what happened. Maybe some would say I am because God didn’t do what I wanted or expected Him to do. Mostly, I’m hurt. There’s a difference.
So, how does reconciliation come? I’ve pondered this question. I’m the hurt one, not God. I go to Him. He basically says, “Listen kiddo, I know what’s best.”
Reconciliation can only come from trust. That’s it. Bottom line. It doesn’t come from anything else.
No, I won’t ever hear God say, “I’m so sorry that this happened.” The reason I’ll never hear that is because He’s not sorry. (and, here’s where the trust comes in …) Let me go back to what I said earlier: God is sovereign. He knows all. He sees all. He created all. He can do all things.
With that in mind, I can know that everything that happened was not a surprise to Him.
Did He cause it? No.
Did He allow it? Yes.
Did I believe God would heal Katie? Yes.
Did God heal Katie? Yes.
Did He do it the way I wanted Him to do it (her alive and healthy)? No.
Did that hurt me? Yes.
That’s where I get stuck. As my husband would say, “I’m looking at temporal things,” meaning I’m not looking at eternity as a whole.
I know all the right answers, but knowing the answers doesn’t stop the hurting.
These past months, I’ve been working on reconciling with God. And, by reconciling, I mean me getting my mind right on this issue. Some days, my prayers simply consist of me telling God how hurt I am, telling Him how much I miss Katie. And, I think that’s okay.
I want my prayers to be more. Some day they will be. For now, my heart needs holding and mending.
And, then I just trust again.
I trust in God’s best, what I prayed for relentlessly over these last years.
I trust that God hears me.
I trust that God is who He says He is.
I trust that God’s got Katie.
I trust that I will see her again.
Until then, I continue to have a longing in my heart stronger than ever. A longing that I tend to feel guilty about because I didn’t have it before now. A longing for Heaven. A longing for Katie. A longing for Jesus. A longing for final reconciliation.
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