This question stumbled out of my mouth amid a torrent of tears, to which my three-and-a-half year old had no response.
There I was, cross-legged in the middle of the kitchen floor with tears spilling on my lap, spatula still in hand. It was approaching dinner time when the hubby would arrive home and we would all sit to a happy dinner together, at least that was the plan. Only I couldn’t pull myself out of my brokenness.
"Why don't you appreciate me? Don't you love me?"
God doesn’t answer my prayers. Let me explain...
I have dear friends who have, what seems to be, every prayer answered in miraculous fashion and I burn with jealousy. I have other dear friends who, it would seem, have never had their deepest-heart’s desires filled despite fervent and faithful prayers and I burn in familiar pain.
In the dead of sleep, one of the last things you like to hear is the sound of your child crying. However, this has been my experience on several occasions over the last few weeks.
My three year old has been experiencing what I believe to be growing pains. And, of course, like all good tragedies, they always happen in the middle of the night. What starts as a whimper quickly escalates as she wakes up to find herself in pain. The first words out of her mouth are a blessing and a curse: “Mama!” Why do Daddy’s not get called in for this? I guess we’ll never know.
Yesterday I sat holding my daughter and kissing away another booboo while another mother was finding out that her son was dead through a video on Facebook. Last night I slept peacefully in my bed while police officers lay bleeding in the streets.
And this morning, I woke up to more hate and I wanted to shout “stop!”
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