My house was silent, everyone in their beds asleep. I sat glued to the chair, attempting to write. A sentence here, a word there. But anger only spews violent spurts.

I realized a couple of years ago that I’m slow to trust, if at all. Within the past few months, I’ve learned that most of my grief comes from feelings of abandonment. Since I couldn’t write, I researched the correlation between the two. What I found hit me between the eyes: The problem with many of us who do suffer from abandonment issues, is it seems to be a concreted learning in our head that “people always leave.”  I can’t tell you how many times in my thirty-seven years I’ve said those very words. Maybe it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, but I’ve found it to be true.

I finally gave up the research, and crawled in my bed. The tears from a few hours earlier returned, although silent this time. Before, they had been accompanied by fear-filled questions as my husband tried his best to console me.

As I laid my head on my pillow, my night was only beginning. And the ongoing wrestling match with God was continuing. It was as if He said, Give it to me. I can take it. Like a two-year-old child throwing a temper tantrum, I felt as though I were banging my fists against the floor, silently screaming at Him:

Why?! I trusted. I knew better! Why do you always let this happen? Why do you let people I care about leave? Is it so I’ll trust only you?! If that’s the reason, you need to come down here. You need to physically show up! You need to speak! If you want to be my all in all, then do it!  I can’t make anybody else stay, but I will not let you go!

The words started to come…the ones that define me:

Trust breathed her last

And died her death

Painless and fast

I laid her to rest

 

No rose on her grave

No song to sing

Just left a slave

To her painful sting

 

Picked up my pride

And walked away

With head held high

Built new walls today

 

Fear marks his spot

Moves right on in

Takes all I’ve got

And calls it a win

 

With the words, the tears subsided, but my mind wouldn’t slow.

I tossed and turned, sleeping only minutes at a time. As dawn peeked through my bedroom window, I was physically exhausted from the night. My temper tantrum had turned to weak begging: God, please do something. Show up.

I know He heard every word. I know He can take my anger, my begging, my tears, my questions. I know I should trust Him, but the truth of the matter is…I don’t think I do.