i may or may not be a pouter

These past two weeks I have been trying to process the death of my good friend, Shelly.
There has been a lot of talking and sharing of Shelly stories
with Ben, her husband, and Scott and my friends.
Scott says that I like to call my friends and family and make them cry.
It is true that some comfort comes when a good friend stands in that place
of sorrow with you and cries with you.
It would be untrue to say that it has not hit me hard.
I told Scott, "I think I need to call my counselor."
He said, "Yes, please."
The brevity of my emotion has caught me off guard.
But then I've never had a close friend go to be with Jesus before.
I told my mom, "I feel like I've been run over by a semi."
Mom answered, "When we got your call, I told Dad, "That just knocks me out"."
There is something about a mom leaving behind a young family that
feels incredibly wrong and leaves you sad and breathless.
The last morning I saw Shelly I just hugged her and wept and she whispered,
"I'm going to see you again....I'm going to see you again."
And I said, "I know....I'm just going to miss you so much."
Because these days, Heaven seems far away.
I am stuck in the "Why?" of the situation like a perpetual 3 year old.
Why didn't God choose to heal when he is so able to do so?
My mom said, "We don't like it when we think God is being stingy with
the miracles." No....we don't.
I find myself, arms crossed, staring at the heavens,
knowing Shelly is there whole and vibrant and her family is here on earth, broken.
And I don't like it.
I'm pouting. Disappointed. Confused. Upset.
I've seen the look and feel of it on every one of my children
when they don't get their way and I have told them,"Nope...not this time."
I wish I could say I was one of those people who takes life's hardships
with a sense of grace and a keen understanding of God's sovereign plan.
I'm more like a toddler caught mid-tantrum over here. It's not pretty.
But I have found that even, mid-pout, Jesus is still reaching for me, arms open,
saying, "I know you don't get it. You probably never will. But let me love you anyway."
And all of the sudden I am 3 again, crawling up into my dad's lap, wrapping
my chubby arms around his neck, sobbing into his shirt.
I think in Isaiah when it says that he binds up the broken-hearted, that he does
it by holding us so tightly that we can feel his heart beating for us.
Accepting us....questions and all. Keeping us safe in his care. Showing us mercy.
Whispering in our ears, "I've got you."
I know that God has Ben and the kids in his palm, even now, loving them,
weeping with them, cherishing them.
And pouting or not, that is where I want to be, too.