I
recognized the moment instantly. It was early in the morning of the
last day I remember on planet.
I
held my youngest daughter on my lap as she wept broken-hearted, and
not for the first time, over the loss of someone she had loved dearly
for nearly half her short life, and who was taken away from her
without reason or warning or cause.
"Why,
Daddy?" she asked me plaintively. "Why did that happen?"
What
could I say to her? How could I explain when the whole thing made no
sense to me as an adult? What possible reason could I give her that
would satisfy her young broken heart?
"What
did I do wrong?" she whispered desperately, barely able to voice
her question through the flood of tears that cascaded freely down her
sweet innocent face.
"Oh,
honey!" I said, as I pulled her closer. "You did nothing
wrong! This is as far from your fault as it is possible to get!"
She
shook with sobs then that fractured my soul as I comforted her as
best I knew how.
"Why
did Jesus let this happen, Daddy? Doesn't He love me?"
And
at that instant, a deep vitriolic fury nearly engulfed me.
The
deadly and horrible desire to exact mindless vengeance against
anything and everything that could so hurt this child's heart ignited
like a holocaust within me. It was all I could do to remain quiet and
let her grief work itself out as I continued to hold her and stroke
her hair.
But
I knew I was powerless to remedy anything, and that my anger would
avail nothing, and would only intensify her heart's pain, no matter
what my intentions.
God
help me! I cried out silently, as I watched the scene replay from
the recent past. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs at the
unfairness of it all, even from Heaven.
I
could look below no longer. The inflamed nerves of emotion were too
exposed, too raw.
I
looked up at Him who died to save me.
"Do
you know why I have commanded that you love your enemies?" He
asked me gently. "Do you know why I have decreed that you bless
those who persecute you, and do good to those who hate you?"
I
could not sufficiently marshal my thoughts to answer. The image of my
heart-broken daughter obscured all rationality, and instead of
responding as asked, I wanted to cry out to Him like she did, Why
did you let this happen, Lord? Don't You love me?
He
smiled sadly, this benevolent God Who Weeps, and I knew beyond all
doubt that He did indeed love me and my daughter, and all His
children, more than I could even begin to comprehend.
"Because,"
He continued, answering, "hatred is a burden too costly to bear.
It eats at you from inside out and destroys the most precious part of
you and scars your soul as no other sin can. It binds you in chains
that strangles your life, and enslaves you to bitterness. It is a
crushing weight that prohibits your from soaring in the joy that I
long to give you. It forces you to exchange My liberty for a prison
entirely of your own making, and blinds you to the truth that will
make you free. It is as murder, and defiles all it touches."
"If
you allow hatred and anger to darken your heart, it will harden you
to My goodness and grace, and you will know neither peace, nor joy. I
would not have my children suffer so. Forgiveness and love are the
most powerful weapons at your disposal; freely given you through Me.”
“Do
you think, Dead Man, that I care for you less than you care for your
own child?" He asked.
His
voice was gentle and filled with compassion, but His question took
the breath from my lungs and made me tremble.
"Forgive
me, Lord," I pleaded yet again, unable to say more as I repented
in dust and ashes.
"The
trials that come your way in life - yours, your daughter's and all
who name me as Lord - are in My hands. They come from Me.
They are meant to refine you, in the crucible of suffering if
necessary, because I am more concerned for your character than your
comfort. Your holiness is of far more value to Me than your mere
happiness. I intend for you far more good and joy than you can ask or
think. Do you believe this?" He asked.
His
eyes now pierced through me like fire, burning away all pretense and
delusional pride, instantly vaporizing whatever paltry, self-serving
conception I had of fairness or justice or of what I or my daughter
deserved.
I
could do nothing but fall on my face in abject realization of who I
was and in Whose Presence I had thought to remain upright. How could
I dare to stand before such a One as He? Holy. Righteous. A Consuming
Fire.
Then,
after yet another timeless interval where I had neither the strength
nor the courage to move, He lifted me to my feet once again.
"Do
not fear little one," He said, His countenance less terrible and
awesome, His voice filled with love. "It is your Father's good
pleasure to give you a Kingdom that will never fail, and for you to
live in His Presence in fullness of joy forevermore."
And
I knew, with more certainty than ever before, that He works all
things together for good to those who love Him.
That,
so unlike mine for Him, His love for me was perfect.
© Bill Lilley 2011, 2013
