chasing.hope.

It’s been almost 3 month since I got the call while driving that my father had passed, since I raced back to my parents house and sprinted into his room only to see an empty shell of the man I adored. I will never be able to erase the memory of touching his already cold arm and the pain that shook me to my core. I’ll never forget the sadness I felt that I didn’t get to say goodbye to him.
I still cry daily, usually in the shower. Something about the water makes It feel like its the right time, like my daily cleansing. Or maybe because it’s easiest to hide. Then again maybe it’s because it’s some of the only quiet time I get alone.
I still wrestle with my faith, as I have for the past year. I often think that those people who go through the loss of a loved one and their faith never seems to waiver are totally full of it. Maybe I’m just cynical. There are days when I get so mad at God that I want to scream. There are days when I tell myself that if there was a God, He wouldn’t let His people suffer. Because all I see is suffering. I don’t know anyone who isn’t suffering from something terrible, on some level.
But what I come back to is this. God is hope. If we can’t have hope in God, then this really is just an empty, sad life. This is a seriously screwed up world and terrible, terrible things happen constantly. My only hope when I see or hear or experience these things is that this chaotic life is just a drop in the bucket, a millisecond in the grand scheme of things. And the thing is, even if I’m wrong, at least I lived a life of hope. Even if I breath my last breath and there is nothing after that, at least I had a hopeful life and not a life full of emptiness. At least I can carry the hope that maybe, just maybe, I’ll get to see my dad again. That maybe he really is in a better place. It’s not better for me right now, I can assure you of that, but i’m still holding on to that hope…however loose my grip may get at times.

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