Monday, 6 January 2014

An Anger of Sorts

Hello readers,

Welcome to my blog. I hope that through my writings and commentaries on this 21st century world you will find some benefit of new knowledge, new perspective and new encouragement. Take note of a few things, though, about me and this blog that I think you will find to be particularly encouraging:

  • Though I'm preachy at times, I don't preach.
  • I'm just another ordinary fellow.
  • I love people.
  • And I think there's hope for everyone... even you!
The main focus of my blog will be issues and experiences on the personal level as well as my view on life - particularly Church life and student life - and occasionally I'll write on big debates (i.e.: the origin of life).

Right now, though, I want to discuss the loss I've suffered. Much goes through my head, though sometimes I feel nothing does. I want to do everything. I want to do nothing. I am content. I am regretful. I am disappointed and heartbroken. I am grateful and awestruck. 

About three Sundays ago, my mother passed away.

I will not go into the details of how she died because those things, I feel, are unnecessary to disclose. Moreover, I don't think that holding out a basket for sympathy is a good way to kick off a blog. This is certainly not my intention. 

Three and a half months away at school, I was. I came home in time for Christmas. Bittersweet. I'd pretty much gotten used to life without my mom. Don't get me wrong, I always missed her. I was so glad to come for Christmas and being able to see her, hear her, converse with her. But to come home to see her lying in a hospital bed, in a condition unfamiliar to me, was definitely sour. And then less than a week later, she was gone. Bittersweet.

My last words to her, on the second night of my return from school, was "I love you. I'm proud of you." and her last message to me was not in the form of spoken word nor written, but a gesture which, I believe, was for me to continue writing as I have since I was six years old. Though I'm grateful to have had that last encounter, I'm left with a brutal aftertaste. Disappointment.

I wished she could have finished her last painting. I wished I could've confessed to her. I wished I could've told her about my latest poems and newest friends and hardest exams. I wished I could've heard another laugh, seen another smile, felt another hug. But nope, I guess it was never meant to be. However, despite all the hurt, I've got this prosthetic limb called hope. Hope that all is near that ought to be. Hope that all will end in the utmost of glory.

There are no answers to the why questions, or the what-if questions. There's no trying. It's like scratching a mosquito bite. You can gnaw away at the problem, but the problem persists and perseveres despite every technique and angle you incorporate. Why did mom die now? Why in the manner that she did? Well what I do know, is that it would have likely been much more painful had mom lived another couple weeks as doc predicted. So perhaps there's some indication of mercy despite the widespread mystery and confusion. 

One thought I had was, we Christians seem to remain relatively comfy and okay even as we here of random shootings and ravaging diseases elsewhere, but as soon as these things hit your basement, life becomes difficult to bear. I don't blame anyone, for sure. I won't pretend that this is not also my experience. But if we can keep our faith in spite of Earth's global condition, how can we not keep it when that condition breaches the immunity of your own, little world? To me it would be lunacy and hypocrisy to lose hope and faith then. It's understandable, for sure, but it's unjustifiable, nevertheless.

Keeping this in mind, as well as the good memories, the blessings, and the beneficial life that was, has helped me hold on to my saving belief in Jesus Christ and his glorious work on the cross. God's amazing grace has been made obvious in my mom's life and I won't deny it. To deny it would be cold-hearted, arrogant and desperate blindness. There's too much goodness to remove myself from a righter perspective and there's too much apparent love to stoop to a belief in an illogical and chaotic world. 

I read an article, via Facebook, a little while ago. It was basically saying that when a loved one dies, hopefully there's a physicist to tell you that though matter decays, energy lives on until the ending of time because of the first law of thermodynamics and the law of the conservation of energy. I find this problematic - and this opens up a whole other can of worms, which I will probably dive into another time - because of, interestingly enough, the second law of thermodynamics which basically states that over time, the universes energy becomes less and less useful, like the human body or a neglected cup of coffee. This hints that the earth and universe will eventually be reduced to nothingness, due to heat death. So what if my energy remains? I'll leave it at that for now. Naturalistic explanations, assuming they don't somehow still involve God's hand, do not exist to assure me that life has true meaning. Only God, according to the sacred text of the Bible, does. 

However, one of deeper struggles at this point of time is the area of supernatural, physical healing and miracles. There are many different opinions and beliefs and I'm left here pretty confused by them. My main question, I suppose, is does the Bible ever promise physical healing from diseases? My guess is that an answer to that question would answer my other questions as well. I know that it is mentioned all over the place in the Bible that God forgives our iniquities and heals our diseases and such. This is one area of doubt for me.

Despite the encouragement and prayer support I've received over the last little while by so many people, I still can't help but feel this anger. An anger with my numbness. An anger with my lack of understanding of grief, the entire situation. I'm angry with certain people. 

I rest in pain, each day, knowing that my time will come. The pain doesn't come from the 'death' part, but rather that which has to do with my task to be fulfilled and my goals to be accomplished. I know that I have tasks and goals. I don't want to disappear into another realm while leaving the old with my unfinished dreams. But I realize that here, in the pain of fear and anger, lies the terrible, impulsive tendency that I have, that we have. I think that we all have this me versus god mentality, which we subtly disguise as being one of initiative, or pro-activity. I prefer to think of it as the sort of self-reliance and independence that Christianity, at its core, directly counteracts. 

And thank God that's the case.