This morning I finally said it out loud, the words of heresy I didn’t know were in me, words torn from my heart of hearts.
I am tired of being a puppet in a story I don’t understand. I am tired of explaining for God.
I felt the words scream out from me, felt the ripples shudder across the gray-green barren land for miles, though I said them soft and broken at my kitchen table.
Some tears are gentle and heal the heart. Some scald and sear and rip as they fall. My only sister, oh my sister… her miracle baby given and taken away. Why did He do that?
Please do not stop being Good just because I doubt you.
The past year has taught me to be shy of newborn hope, though I hold it still against the heart. I stand near the holy Baby with my drum, and throb to Him my pain and my anger as worship. This is my Christmas offering.