Why I Miss Faith.
Thu Jan 24, 2008 at 07:41:51 PM PDT
I am so sorry about your father, Tessa. But we enjoy having discussions about faith on this site. Thank you for bringing it up! -Elisa
Every now and again, it occurs to me that I miss having faith.
Tonight, I was in the hospital, giving my wrung-out mother a break from sitting with my father who is recovering from a stroke. While the nurses were in his room helping him with something a little more...delicate...than he wanted his daughter helping him with, I stood out in the middle of the stroke unit to wait. I got overwhelmed, and started to cry a little.
There is this 81 year old man that was admitted to the stroke unit today. He is very religious, and has been talking about God all day. He saw me out there, and smiled at me, and said "Little lady, you look very concerned. Give it up to God, and he'll carry you."
This man was admitted today with a stroke, and he has been the chipperest person on the ward. And it's all because he has faith in his God. That faith gives him a peace I haven't known for years. I do truly envy that. He's not depressed, or stressed, or sad. He's accepting. He's cheery. He can reach out and comfort someone else when she's crying. I think that is a gift.
But my problems with faith in God is perfectly encapsulated in what is happening to my Dad, and what happened to my grandmother. Dad is truly a good person. He loves his wife and his children, he unselfishly helps out his friends, he goes to church every Sunday. It angers me that such a good person has to suffer. He has lived in fear of a stroke since the day his father had one over thirty years ago. And on top of the stroke, he apparently has thyroid eye disease that has given him double vision and an inability to move his eyes from side to side. Which means he can't drive or read. This has upset him more than the stroke, which, thankfully, is fairly mild. All of his doctors have said he'll make a full recovery with therapy. The eyes are seriously freaking him out.
A person of deep faith would say that God protected him from a worse stroke. (I think.) Whereas I question why he had to have a stroke in the first place. My questioning offers me no peace, though.
My break with faith was cemented when my grandmother died of colon cancer when I was in college. Again, my grandmother was a GOOD PERSON. The best. She worked so hard throughout her life to provide for her children because her husband was a drunkard. She had a deep faith, and was active in her church. She adored her grandchildren. She never hurt anyone in her entire life. But she died a long, agonizing death from the cancer that stripped her of almost every dignity. How is that the justice of a good and loving God? This is my basic stumbling bloc every time I think about returning to faith, and a church. I would love for my daughter to have a source of peace and comfort like that man in the unit. I want her to believe that her grandparents will go to a better place when they die, and that we will see them again. But I still have my anger and my questions. And no peace.
