I'm not gonna preach Hair. But God knows and understands that. I spent a lot of time asking God why, even sometimes yelling at Him because my Dad died when I was 20 (he was 49). I wasn't finished with him yet.
I don't buy the notion that it's wrong to express anger and frustration with God. That's a part of our human nature and part of the way He created us. And I think asking those questions is a part of our learning about who He really is.
I think when we say to God "It hurts" or "I'm angry" that God will not turn to us and say "you need to get over it."
Rather I see Him taking our hand or holding us in His arms and saying, "I know."
FOOTPRINTSOne night a man had a dream.
He dreamed he was walking along the beach with the Lord.
Across the sky flashed scenes from his life.
For each scene he noticed two sets of footprints in the sand, one belonging to him, and the other belonging to the Lord.
When the last scene of his life flashed before him, he looked back at the footprints in the sand.
He noticed that many times along the path of his life there was only one set of footprints.
He noticed that it happened at the very lowest and saddest times in his life.
This really bothered him and he questioned the Lord about it.
Lord, you said that once I decided to follow You,You'd walk with me all the way. But I have noticed that during the most troublesome times in my life, there is only one set of footprints.
I don't understand why, when I needed you most, you would leave me.
The Lord replied "My son. My precious child, I love you and would never leave you.During your times of trial and suffering,when you see only one set of footprints, it was then that I carried you."Author unknown
Rather I see Him taking our hand or holding us in His arms and saying, "I know."
BINGO! Well said.
My mother told me a story about her paternal grandmother that reflects that. When my gradfather (her son) was diagnosed with stomach cancer and told he had 6 months to live, his mother went into her room and had a 'come to Jesus' meeting with the Man himself. My grandmother heard her outside the door telling Jesus and his Mother to sit down because she wanted to have a talk with them. She told them that her George was a good boy and that he had little children and it wasn't time for him to go. She told them if they wanted somebody, they should take her instead. Well about a year later, Grandaddy was fine, but his mother had died. He lived long enough for the baby of the family to have gotten up and grown and died in 1950 at the age of 58, three years before I was born.
Ah, the power of intercessory prayer, or at least persistence in this case.