Circumstances may appear to wreck our lives and God’s plans, but God is not helpless among the ruins.                                                                 Eric Liddell

The Lord cares deeply when his loved ones die.            Psalm 116:15

I’ve kept a journal off and on since middle school, and in the last many years, that journal has become less a record and more of a conversation with God. Finding the time to be alone/create a space for that quiet and introspection was not always easy, with kids who had to catch the bus at ungodly hours, and then the adoption of a cat who acts more like a toddler and never wants me out of his sight.  So last May, I finally decided to take over the basement.  I could shut the door on the cat and actually focus. Plus, with Mark home for the summer, I borrowed his Keurig so I could brew my required cup of coffee without needing to go to the kitchen (which is near where the cat is kept at night – I know: ridiculous) at all. This space has become my sanctuary.

In that first week after Mark died, I only got to the basement a few times, and when I did, I actually attempted – because I am a ridiculously routine-minded person – to go through the same motions as before: coffee, devotionals, bible passage for the day. But there was no solace to be found there. Instead I just cried through boxes of tissues; I begged God for answers, and I spent hours on Facebook, enveloped in the love and shared sadness I found there.

We’ve all heard about the stages of grief (and it turns out they are more what a dying person goes through vs. what someone who is grieving experiences), but I doubt that anyone goes through them in “order;” rather, they occur all at once and in a jumble. I felt as though my entire body and soul were contorted into a primal scream of pain and unending, angry questions.