The questions parade in circles 'round my head
No peace, no rest, only surmounting dread
When images of his last days crowd my thoughts
Why could not I have helped him, why not spared the cost.
For months I have questioned the God that I love
"You could have stopped him, Your hand stayed from above
I could have begged him, perfect words halt the tide
Of pain he was feeling and anguish of soul
Now it’s too late, his body no longer whole."
Many regrets and sorrows over what could have been,
Must I lay this to rest and only pretend?
Job, too, had his questions laid at Your feet
You answered from the whirlwind his questions defeat
His friends assumptions of why God allowed
The death of Job’s children the suffering avowed.
Instead the questioning now came from You,
Was Job there from creation when You made it all new?
Are you God and able to understand His plan
Or how He has held you through all in His hands?
So cease from your striving, set it to rest
Be still I am God, stop putting me to the test.
2012Permission granted to use this poem as long as it's used in its entirety
A brokenhearted mother wrote this poem as she journeys through her loss of a son to suicide. Like all parents who lose children this way, the questions pound. And slam. And torture.
There seems no mercy left, because of our intense anguish.
As Mrs. G concludes we must know that God is God and we are not, and that He does love us.
Until next time . . . choose to remember God's love runs deep and see the blessings along the way.