My friend lies broken in a hospital bed across oceans and continents set adrift by her loss. I’ve sent prayers into the heavens on days when the clouds hover, petitioning for miracles, the kind that pop up in two tiny pink lines and no more blood. The kind that come in flutters and heartbeats and lab test results delivered with a smile instead of a somber tone. The kind that pushes out with life and arches backs wide and straddles miracle and wonder and life.
But she’s left with why? It’s not an answer I have, it’s not an answer she knows.
I wish I could gather my strength like wings, weave hefty breaths under sinew and stretch my arms out and command a stop to the pain. I wish I could play God when He seems to have it wrong. Continue Reading over at (in)courage.