Still

You know me better than anyone. You know that I often wonder, in the quiet hours, why me. Not because my life is so outwardly terrible, but because of the things I do struggle with. You know I often wish that I had other problems, ones that are more physical or emotional. I often wonder if You can hear me, if You still want me, or even if You ever did.

And then I begin to remember almost everything.

You were there when my tiny body began to consume its own blood supply, even if I didn't know you were there.

You were there on a hot summer's day after a job interview, when I found out the man I love had to have potentially life-changing surgery the next day, that it might be cancer.

You were there beside me, I know it, on a cold January night when I buried a much beloved dog behind my house, and You whispered quietly that it was okay, You had him and he wasn't sick or hurting anymore.

You were there when my family had to endure unimaginable grief and horror after a week of victory. You sent me a dream, and that was what I needed.

Every single time, in every instance, it was Your name on the line. You have the power to heal. I know You still do. The last two moments, it was Your name on the line and you chose the opposite of what we wanted.

And You are still a good God.

There are so many times where Your voice was in the shout of victory or in the tearing of a veil or in the meticulous, wild, amazing, impossible stretching of matter into Creation. But on three different nights, You chose a whisper.

When everything was speaking in volumes and yelling and screaming and demanding our attention, You whispered that even though you created a vast and outrageously complex universe, you cared that a little dog had fallen to the ground, never to get up again. Your whispers told me that my family would be whole again one day.

Keep talking, Lord. I'm listening.