Grief has become tangible

Five days after I started this blog-thing back in January, my father was admitted to the hospital with respitory issues and general confusion.

One week later, I was holding his hand as he took his final breath.

Sixty-four days since then, and there is a hole in my heart that I have no idea what to do with.

Dad and I didn't have the greatest relationship. We never played catch when I was young. He never gave me "the sex talk." We argued more often than not and I can count on one hand the times I remember us saying we loved each other out loud. I remember his cursing and his yelling more than his kindness or his compassion.

Mom loved him and stayed by his side in marriage for 34 years. Through all of the anger and hurt and the yelling and the hard times, they stuck by each other. I can never deny my dad loved my mom. He just showed that in a very unique and individual way.

Life has been a whirlwind since then. Some days, it feel like life is out of control and is spinning in some kind of wildly insane loopty-loop. Some days, it's almost normal again. Almost.

I learned a lot from my dad, regardless of what our relationship was like.

Maybe soon, I'll be able to write about it. For now, Romans 8:28 has been coming up a lot in conversations, in church, during sermons and messages. It says that God works all things out for the good of anyone who loves Him.

It blows my mind, because there's nothing that seems good about this whole situation. My dad is gone and will never come back. Death isn't good. It doesn't belong in a world that revolves around God and is controlled by Him. It's from hell and it's Satans area of expertise.

I guess at some point, my understanding of God working things out for my good will be completely wrecked and blown wide open.

I'm so excited for that.

Oh hey.

Something that is tangible is something that is capable of being touched. Something real. Something that's not imaginary and has a physical existence.

 When I was growing up, I heard people talking about this Jesus that loved me. He had a plan for my life and it mattered. I mean really mattered, because everything this Jesus did mattered. Jesus was the son of God, who had made the stars and the moon and the sun. He had made every person on this Earth, even the babies that were still in their mothers wombs. People talked about this God a lot and He sounded really good, like something that could really change things and make all kinds of impactful things happen and maybe even change some hearts and turn some lives around.

 This Jesus had also died for me. See, somewhere, sometime, humanity got in some really big trouble and needed to be rescued, so God sent His son Jesus to be the rescuer.

 The problem was that all most of these people did was talk about this Jesus at church on Sunday mornings. God wasn't tangible in them. He wasn't visible in their everyday lives.

For that, and many other reasons, I decided that God and Jesus weren't all that people said they were after all and stopped going to church as soon as my parents let me. I suppose having no choice whether to go to church or not played a part in there too.

I've been through years upon years of a life not focused on Jesus and seen people who said they were focused on Jesus, but really weren't. They were more focused on making themselves look better by saying they were focused on Jesus.

We've all been there, right? We get told that we're sinful in some insulting or cruel way, and it turns us off to Jesus and God and all the rest. It sure turned me off to Jesus and God and all the rest.

 Then there's that part about one of the first experiences I had with someone who went to church was him raping me for three years. I guess that will turn you off to Jesus and God and all the rest too, right?

So yeah, I've been through a lot without Jesus. Most of it was bad, and what wasn't bad was terrible. Drugs, lots of casual sex, all kinds of abuse both from myself and other people. Relationship after failed relationship, trying desperately to find something that was supposed to plug the hole in my heart that was just hemorrhaging out all my faith and all my hope and all my love.

I found that in a hospice in 2006. I guess you could argue that Jesus found me, but that's not the point. The point is that I found my life in a place universally associated with death. Jesus likes to be unpredictable like that.

I'm rambling already. You'll see that a lot in this journey.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I want Jesus to be tangible in my life. I want to do more than just talk about changed lives, or what He can do. I want to be a walking talking breathing rambling example of that. I want to be a wrecked life.

I want to showcase the grace and the love and the forgiveness and the mercy and the love that people who have met Jesus should be known for but often are not. I try not to use the word "should" very much. It just seems like it's a very burdensome word that puts expectations on others, but in this case it's completely accurate. People who have had a real, genuine meeting with Jesus should be known for those things before anything else.

It's been a pretty wild ride since 2006. Some of it hasn't felt very good, or fun, or entertaining. That's not really the point though, is it? The point of Jesus is restoration. He fixes what is broken and takes joy in making things new. This will be a window into the journey I'm on with the Jesus who rescued me.

Remember that mention of me being raped for three years? He's also the Jesus that made it possible for me to find that guys address and mail him a letter telling him I forgive him for what he did to me. See, Jesus died for him too.

Like I said, wild ride. Care to join me?