I shouldn’t get over that

I see a lot of ugly and heartbreaking things in this job that I do. I have seen unspeakable things done to innocent children over and over again. And despite how much it hurts me at the time or how sick it makes me or how angry I get, I get over it and I move on. 

This week I’ve dealt with a situation I’ve never dealt with before. And I’ve struggled like never before. And this morning as I woke up and the first thought I had was about the child who has captured all my work hours  and all my thoughts and all my prayers this week, I thought, I don’t know if I’ll get over this one. 

And it hit me. Why in the world would I? Of course I won’t. And I shouldn’t. And I shouldn’t even try. 

I stood at the bedside of a precious child of God who, at least the last few years,  knew nothing in this life but misery. I looked at his broken and bruised body and wondered if there was ever a time in his life he had felt cherished and loved. 

I shouldn’t get over that. 

I held his swollen hand and I prayed a prayer with no words. And I imagined him in this next life, healthy and whole and happy and loved. 

I shouldn’t get over that. 

I am so angry at this one. I’m angry at those who did this to him, those who may have known and didn’t stop it, those who should have known and didn’t say anything. I’m angry at all the people on this earth who failed this child. 

And I’m angry with God. Because I don’t understand why a loving God would allow this child to suffer the way that he did. I don’t understand why a loving God allows any of the suffering he allows. And I’m not going to understand that this side of heaven. 

With all the anger I have, what has most broken my heart is this precious child lying in that bed by himself, his brain dead, his body being kept alive by machines while decisions are being made about him. Alone. With nobody who loves him to sit and hold his hand in his last hours on this earth. 

I shouldn’t get over that. 

In my anger and my grief, I’ve reached out to my pastor a lot in these last days. At one point, I was talking about my grief about him being alone and I said  to her, please tell me that Jesus will be there with him. I need to believe that Jesus will be there with him. 

What she said to me was this, “Yes, Cheryl, Jesus has been with him this whole time. And he has probably never known more peace than over the weekend and Monday as his body was shutting down and as Jesus picked him up and reminded him he was safe... He has never been alone...”

And that image gave me comfort at the time, but it wasn’t until this morning that I really got it. That I truly understood what she was saying and what it meant. He has never been alone. Jesus was with him when his body was shutting down and he was there to carry him home when his heart stopped beating. But he was there too when he was suffering here on earth. I don’t know that this little boy felt that presence. I have a hard time understanding how he could have. But I do believe that Jesus was there and felt that pain with him. And cried tears for him he may have been unable to cry for himself. I have no doubt that Jesus made himself known and felt in those final days and hours. And that today, that precious child is running and playing in heaven. Healthy and whole. Protected and cared for. Cherished and loved. As he should have been in this life but wasn’t. 

I shouldn’t get over that. 

My pastor asked me yesterday, “Do you see where your story meets this little boy?... Somehow this boy is going to change you too...”

I think he already has. 

I shouldn’t get over that.