Pounding on Heaven's Door

I find myself in another argument with God.

I wish He would be reasonable.

Some days I just don’t “get” it. Or Him. And I’m pretty sure He doesn’t “get” me on those days.

Oh, He “has” me and I know I’m saved and all that but…

My best friend is having surgery…

Again.

Fourth time, in fact. The cancer grew again.

We’ve thrown chemo at it, radiation, surgeries, and all kinds of medications – proven and experimental.

And we’ve thrown thousands and thousands of prayers at it, too. In fact, we threw prayer at it before we threw anything else at it.

We surrounded him time and again and prayed and truly, truly believed that we were heard. We expected good news. We expected a healing.

That was well over a year ago. Since then…it seems things have only gotten worse.

So, lets talk, God.

God, if you want us to pray, remember that we need to be tossed a bone every now and then.

And if you get tired of us harping on this remember: it’s your fault. You told us to pray. Your son gave us that story of the judge and the widow and the friend with unexpected company to encourage us to keep pounding on your door.

He knows you. He told us to not quit bothering you.

So, it’s me again. Pounding away.

You know what makes this worse, God? Lots of stuff does. Seeing evil people like those Boko Harum thugs using your name to steal girls from Christian homes and NOT dying of cancer. That makes this worse.

Do we have so many sweet, wise, loving Christian men that we can lose them but we have to keep Islamofacists alive?

And, Father, while we work this out between us, could you do me another favor? Could you please keep your other kids away from me? You know who I’m talking about, those who always harp on cheerfully about this all being part of your wonderful plan and how “God is good all the time, all the time God is good.”

I KNOW you’re good, Father. What I DON’T understand is why that goodness doesn’t act like I think it should act.

And I’m not buying that this is part of your wonderful plan. I find myself saying the same thing about my friend that Job said to you in his misery – you’re going to miss him when he’s gone.

Or maybe not. Maybe we don’t sleep for any time at all and maybe that beggar and Lazarus story reflect reality and my friend might be carried by the angels to Abraham’s bosom…but what about us?

What about those of us who listened to your call to pray – and prayed, prayed, prayed?

What are we supposed to do?

So I’m back again, God.

I’m not letting you off the hook.

I’m not going to stop pounding on this door.

We may never agree about what should be done on earth about my friend.

But I’m not done kicking this door.

And I’m not done with you.

Oh no, you aren’t going to get rid of me even when we disagree.

And I know you’re good and that you are God.

But remember those of us down here who see so little and understand even less.

Lord…hear our plea.

Post originally appeared at travelingmead.net