A Small (ish) Rant ....

.... is what's stirring in my brain today.
But first, my cheek is much better today.  I think that just taking the time to stop and think about what's going on .... in my life and how it affects my body without my knowledge .... really, really helps.
And that, my friends, is also huge for me.  As many of you know, my body and I do not speak the same language.  It tries to tell me to stop and I think it means "just keep pushing harder".  It tries to tell me that there is a pain for a reason and I hear, "You're just getting old but dadgummit (yes, I did just write that), you are NOT going to give in to that old age crap, so just ignore the aches and pains."
It tells me, "you have just been through a very emotional and stressful event .... take some time to rest" and I hear, "Hey, you're doing great.  Things could be WAY worse, couldn't they?!  So keep moving forward or you might miss something."
I can get by in a few languages fairly well .... Spanish, French and a little Italian (because it sounds so much like Spanish).  And I am fluent in Pig Latin.  :)
But when it comes to the language of my own body ..... I think it speaks ancient Greek, which is mostly dead, unless you're in seminary and have to study dead words (poor you).
So anyway ...... less chewing today.  Yay.

Back to the rant.
I wrote a post yesterday on WV.  Well, I actually re-posted a post I'd written on this blog way back in January of 2008.  One month after Jim's death (and .... in a weak moment of full disclosure ..... it was because I've had so much stuff going on in my life over the last 2 weeks that I completely forgot that I had a post deadline for the next day.  I remembered it when I got home Tuesday night, shortly before midnight.  sigh).
So I looked back through my archives and found one that I thought a few people could relate to.
And then later in the day I went over and read a couple of comments, added one of my own, and continued to think about that post.
Then, today, as I was catching up on some of my Bible study and my devotional readings, I read something that brought that post back to mind.
And I decided that I had to get the rant out of my head and onto the keyboard.
Lucky you.

I've never really written about the day Jim died, have I?  I haven't told "the story", given all of the details (which are mostly all carved in the stone part of my brain, wherever that is).  I do plan to do that.  I'll add it to one of the tabs at the top of the blog.  Because I want to make sure that I remember it.  Or at least remember all of the details as I saw them.  For me.  For our kids.  For his family.

But anyway, the biggest part of that day was the fact that I had no earthly idea how incredibly sick he was.  I don't think he knew, either.  None of our many, many friends who filled the waiting room knew. None of our family members that were stationed by their phones all over the country knew.

When the surgeon came in to meet both of us and to talk to us, he never, ever, ever indicated that Jim could die.  He told us that he had a 80 to 90 percent chance of surviving surgery.  He told me that Jim would be in the hospital for a week before he'd be discharged.  I counted forward in my mind and knew that he'd be home on Christmas Eve.  He'd be sitting in a recliner on Christmas morning, with a huge bandage covering up the stitches/staples that would run up and down his chest, but he'd be home and we'd watch the kids open their gifts.
He'd have to take meds to keep is heart rate low for the rest of his life, but he could continue to ride his bike, just not race it or go long distances (I was NOT heartbroken at this news and he was flying too high to really care).
And so they wheeled him off.
And I never doubted.
Not one second.
Never.
EVER.
I believed with all of my heart that God would heal him through that surgery and our life together would continue, a little altered, but no big deal.
The word "death" never .... not one single time .... entered my mind.  I sent the kids off to go home to rest, change clothes, go to a Christmas party because there was nothing to do but wait.  I went with some friends to get something to eat because I hadn't eaten all day.  They took me to another friend's house who lived near the hospital to take a shower (someone had brought me a packed bag because I knew I'd be staying in that hospital, night and day, for a week).  I ate a little.  I showered and put on clean clothes.
I felt good.
I was back in the waiting room in less than an hour.
My brother/amazing friend/pastor called me while they were out getting dinner and asked me how worried I was .... on a scale of one to 10.  I remember being surprised by the question.  Because I wasn't worried.  Not at all.  I had no doubt in the surgeon's word, but more importantly, I had no doubt that God would bring Jim through this.  Nothing bad would happen.  We'd had something bad happen 6 years earlier, so I expected that we were done with that kind of thing.  God was in control, I believed, I prayed with unwaveringly belief ..... and I never worried.
And you all know how it turned out.  You don't know how I felt a physical blow to my stomach the first time one of the surgeons came out (many hours later) to tell me that it was bad, they were trying to save his life and they wouldn't give up.
I have never been at such a loss for words in my life.
But again .... I refused to doubt.  I refused to go there.  I continued to believe that he would live.  God had used him so very much in such huge ways and there was no way He was done with him yet.  No way.  So I continued to pray ..... wit 100% belief.  For the next 2 hours.
Until the same surgeon came out again and told me that they had done everything they could, they would give it one last try, but that he was not going to make it.
And I collapsed on the ground.  Because I had believed.  I had prayed.  I had NEVER doubted.
And yet .... he died.
I felt like God has just thrown his mighty fist into my gut, taking away all of my breath, and said to me, "Sucker!!!"

So all of that (sorry for the long post) brings me to my rant.
Since Jim's death I have heard words from "Christian" people that should never, ever be uttered.  To anyone.
I have been told that I didn't pray hard enough.
I've been told that I didn't really believe that God could/would heal him .... or He would have.
I have learned that I know people who think this way.

And all I can say to that ..... and know that God will forgive me ..... is "Bullshit!".
I don't believe that.
And MY God, MY Strong One, MY God Most High, MY All Powerful One Creator, MY God Who Sees Me, MY All Sufficient One, MY God With Us, MY "I AM", MY The Lord Will Provide .....
My God who loves me beyond reason and belief ...... does NOT believe that, either.

People who represent Christ should show love.  That's all.  Love.  Christ's love for us.
People who represent Christ should also not think that they are immune to the bad things in life.
Because they do think that.
I thought that.
I was good (mostly).
I went to church every Sunday.  I raised my children to believe in Christ.  I volunteered at church as much as I could.  I even took 2 jobs on staff there.  I led young moms and had a passion for letting them know they are not alone in the difficult times of motherhood.  I have spoken to women's groups on several occasions.  I tried to do the right thing.  But I was still a sinner ..... am still a sinner, but I knew/know that God's grace and forgiveness covers that sin so deeply with Christ's blood, that He is only able to see me in love.
It's that easy.
And yet that difficult to believe.

We are not immune.
Nor should we be.
Who are we to think that just because we follow Christ, we won't suffer?
Why wouldn't my husband die?  Other women's husbands have been dying for thousands of years.  I am no better, or worse, than any one of them.  Would I choose someone else to have to go through this hell in my place?  Honestly?  No.  I wouldn't, couldn't wish it on the worst person I know.  If it had to happen to me so that it didn't happen to someone else that day (from whatever belief system that might come from) ..... I'm glad that it happened to me.  Because I survived it.
I didn't know for a couple of years that I would ..... nor did I even want to ..... but God knew.

We Christians seem to forget that Christ came to suffer.  And to teach us to follow His example .... in everything, including suffering.
Peter states in his writings that we have been called to suffer in Christ's steps.  In 1 Peter 2:21 he wrote:
"For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you might follow in His steps."

So why do we find ourselves perplexed when we encounter negative events, people, circumstances?
"Yes, we disciples of Christ value celebration.  We are thankful for happy times.  We pray for good health, pleasant weather, employment, and wars to cease.  But the core of our purpose here on earth .... is to be witnesses for Jesus in a hostile world." ("Portals of Prayer", Jan-March 2011 edition).

So to all of you "Christians" who preach to suffering people .... and tell them to pray harder, believe stronger, sin no longer ..... or whatever "magic words" you think will end their suffering ..... the suffering you think they have control over ...... I say .... please imitate Christ.
Love.
Love hard.
Love WHEN it's hard.
But.
Just.
Love.

And never preach those kind of things again.  To anyone.
Just.
Love.

Happy Thursday, Peeps.