Robbed and Cheated... but Working it Out

Late 80's hair aside, this was a great family picture.

On January 1, 2012, my world crumbled for the third time. It was just weeks after packing everything I owned and moving hours away from close friends and family. I was here. In Virginia.

The day before, I went to a brunch to meet a group of girls that I planned attending a Bible study with. I laughed. I talked. I made new facebook friends.

Being the new girl in town, I had no plans for New Year's Eve. I watched a movie and wrote on my blog some of the deeper things that God had been teaching me.

I made plans with a potential new friend to have lunch the next day.

And then I went to sleep.

I never thought that I would get a phone call. And then another phone call. And then another one. With each phone call, I felt myself more and more confused and scared. And I felt like my heart was breaking in two and three and four pieces. And then it was smashed.

It is now a little more than seven months since my father suddenly passed away, without me saying my goodbyes. No chance to smooth out unresolved issues. No chance to hear my father say, "I didn't mean what I called you. I didn't mean what I said to you. I don't really think that about you." No chance for me to apologize for cutting him out of my life.

He died still being cut out.

And what comfort is there in a situation where you know that the person didn't believe in Christ? Jesus says that He is The Way, The Truth and The Life and that none can come to The Father but through Him (John 14:6). As long as I knew my father, he never proclaimed Christ. Church was never his thing.

Yes, there is a small chance. Only God Himself knows if my father was able to see The Truth for what it is as he was dying.

But I don't have that hope to hold onto that some have. I can't hold onto the knowledge that I will see my father again in heaven. Chances are, the last time I will ever see my father is a bad memory that I try to forget about, but can't help replaying like a tape. Because it is the last thing I had of him. It's all I have.

The truth is that I feel robbed and cheated. That is the truth.

So, my question to God is why? Why not wait until after my father knew Him? Why allow his death to happen knowing that he did not believe? Why?

I'm not sure.

But, here is what I know...

God is speaking to me. As I cry out to Him with my messy crying and loud yelling, He whispers to my heart.

God is moving in me. As I try to pull farther and farther away from God, He latches Himself onto me and won't let me go. Won't let me run. Again.

God is comforting me. There are people. They know things. They have experienced things. He is sending them to me.

God is healing me. He is ensuring that I am not taking steps back, but steps forward. Into His forgiveness. Into His redemption. Into His perfect Love that casts out all fear.

God is giving me a specific type of Hope that cannot compare to anything I have ever felt before. He is telling me to place my hope in Him and Him alone.

And I don't want it to stop.