At what point did Christianity switch from Fire and Brimstone with a vengeful God, to "God is love, God is good"? If it's the same God, how can there be so vastly different teachings of him?
Lately I wonder which one is correct...both? Neither? I don't know.
Every few seconds, an innocent child dies of starvation or disease.
Every year over 6 million children are abused in the US alone.
Every day 4-7 children in the US die of abuse or neglect.
What kind of loving God would allow this?
This is the same God that made it LITERALLY RAIN FOOD in the old testament, just to prove a point, so that people would stop complaining and believe in him.
Whenever I pose the question of why he allows such terrible things, I get the response of "free will." God gave humans free will so that they would choose to love him rather than be forced to love him...is that really more important than sparing all these children? Children are killed, molested, starved...so that people can have free will? Someone else said that God allows third world countries to be as they are because it is the duty of others help them. A loving God would really allow people to die horrible deaths because other people chose not to, or were unable to help them? Are you kidding me??
At some point the whole "free will" argument becomes bull shit. I'm sorry if that offends you, but really... no loving creator could possibly have that thought process. If he is all knowing and all powerful, he could change things...he could make it better...he could save all those children. And he chooses NOT to.
I don't talk to God anymore. I used to talk to him all day long. But I can't share myself, I can't talk to or praise someone that I don't trust. And it's not like he's surprised by this...I flat out told him, many times that if Nico died, I wasn't going to talk to him anymore. Letting my babies die was his choice. Shutting him out is mine. That's how I'm going to use my "free will."
I envy the people who have lost a baby and maintained their faith. I think that's great and they are probably healing better than I am.
And sure...Satan is probably having a really excellent time beating me down and putting these thoughts in my head...but the thing is...it's still true. It's not like someone is lying to me so that I will think this bad things are happening when they're not.
If someone can logically explain this to me, I highly welcome it. I crave knowledge and understanding. So far though, nobody can give me a proper explanation.
I still believe that God exists and that Jesus died for us, but beyond that, I'm not sure what to think or believe.
Saturday, March 28, 2015
Wednesday, March 11, 2015
I hate cleaning my room. Not out of laziness or a dislike for cleaning- I'm relatively indifferent toward cleaning. I hate cleaning my room because it reminds me that it is painfully empty of what was supposed to be in here, of all my hopes and dreams, the corner that was his nursery that now has nothing.
I hate putting away the laundry because Nico's urn and his belongings from the hospital are on the dresser.
I hate dusting because there is dust on top of Nico. Nobody should have to dust their baby off.
I finally took down my Christmas tree two days ago. It was just a small pink tree in the basement...I kept looking at it and thinking I should put it away but then I wouldn't. Taking it down was a harsh realization that Christmas already happened and my arms were empty. Before Nico died and people asked what I wanted for Christmas I said all I wanted was a healthy baby. What a cruel joke. The only thing I've ever wanted, needed, was taken away and I couldn't have it. I couldn't have him. But Christmas is over and I can't go back in time to change things so that I can be joyful in the season. We spent way too much money this year on Christmas trying to chase and capture some semblance of happiness. It didn't work.
I was in the basement looking for something one day and I stumbled on a bag that had wrapped presents for him. Now they are sitting abandoned in a dark corner with all of his other things that I don't know what I'm supposed to do with.
Sometimes I go through the day and it doesn't feel real. But then something happens and the truth hits me like a wrecking ball, throwing me down and destroying the shell of peace that I have created. Then I'm walking around like a corpse- there is a knife sticking out of my heart and it won't stop bleeding but somehow I'm still going. People keep telling me that I'm strong, or brave, as if I had any choice in any of this. I don't feel all that strong, nor do I want to be. I just want to be weak and to not need a reason to be strong. I want to continue going forward with purpose and hope. But instead I feel like I am in the middle of the ocean, sharks circling me, and no life raft in sight. I'm treading water, but my arms are growing weak. Some days I have a burst of optimism and I start swimming towards what I hope is shore. But it is an endless journey and I have to decide if I keep going, if I stop and try to find some rest, or if I give in and allow myself to go under and let the sharks have me. There is a large black storm cloud that constantly hovers over me called grief and depression. And everyone knows that storms are extremely dangerous when you are in the water. I try to get out from under it, but no matter which way I go, it follows me, taunting me.
I am thin ice. You can walk on me but it won't be safe. The next weight will cause me to crack and I think that crack will be irreparable. I live in constant fear of that foot coming down and destroying the sanity that I have left. I wonder how much my spirit can take before it is completely broken and what becomes of a person when they break. I don't want to know. I don't want anything else that I have to push through and force myself to live with.
Nico's face is forever etched in my memory, and the two brief days I had with him I tried to memorize every feature, each detail that made him unique; the way he felt and smelled. But those memories are fading. I didn't have enough time to build them. When you lose someone, usually you have some memories of your interactions. I have nothing but desperation and I find myself smelling his hat and his blanket trying to find a trace of him, hoping somewhere that some tangible piece of him will remain. I am grasping at thin air.
It's gone. He's gone.
But I'm still here and I don't know what to do with that, with this life without him.
I hate putting away the laundry because Nico's urn and his belongings from the hospital are on the dresser.
I hate dusting because there is dust on top of Nico. Nobody should have to dust their baby off.
I finally took down my Christmas tree two days ago. It was just a small pink tree in the basement...I kept looking at it and thinking I should put it away but then I wouldn't. Taking it down was a harsh realization that Christmas already happened and my arms were empty. Before Nico died and people asked what I wanted for Christmas I said all I wanted was a healthy baby. What a cruel joke. The only thing I've ever wanted, needed, was taken away and I couldn't have it. I couldn't have him. But Christmas is over and I can't go back in time to change things so that I can be joyful in the season. We spent way too much money this year on Christmas trying to chase and capture some semblance of happiness. It didn't work.
I was in the basement looking for something one day and I stumbled on a bag that had wrapped presents for him. Now they are sitting abandoned in a dark corner with all of his other things that I don't know what I'm supposed to do with.
Sometimes I go through the day and it doesn't feel real. But then something happens and the truth hits me like a wrecking ball, throwing me down and destroying the shell of peace that I have created. Then I'm walking around like a corpse- there is a knife sticking out of my heart and it won't stop bleeding but somehow I'm still going. People keep telling me that I'm strong, or brave, as if I had any choice in any of this. I don't feel all that strong, nor do I want to be. I just want to be weak and to not need a reason to be strong. I want to continue going forward with purpose and hope. But instead I feel like I am in the middle of the ocean, sharks circling me, and no life raft in sight. I'm treading water, but my arms are growing weak. Some days I have a burst of optimism and I start swimming towards what I hope is shore. But it is an endless journey and I have to decide if I keep going, if I stop and try to find some rest, or if I give in and allow myself to go under and let the sharks have me. There is a large black storm cloud that constantly hovers over me called grief and depression. And everyone knows that storms are extremely dangerous when you are in the water. I try to get out from under it, but no matter which way I go, it follows me, taunting me.
I am thin ice. You can walk on me but it won't be safe. The next weight will cause me to crack and I think that crack will be irreparable. I live in constant fear of that foot coming down and destroying the sanity that I have left. I wonder how much my spirit can take before it is completely broken and what becomes of a person when they break. I don't want to know. I don't want anything else that I have to push through and force myself to live with.
Nico's face is forever etched in my memory, and the two brief days I had with him I tried to memorize every feature, each detail that made him unique; the way he felt and smelled. But those memories are fading. I didn't have enough time to build them. When you lose someone, usually you have some memories of your interactions. I have nothing but desperation and I find myself smelling his hat and his blanket trying to find a trace of him, hoping somewhere that some tangible piece of him will remain. I am grasping at thin air.
It's gone. He's gone.
But I'm still here and I don't know what to do with that, with this life without him.
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