My dear child,
I have given you yet another test and you are thinking, why? Why me?
Your struggle has been long, and constant. I have given you few breaths and you've relaxed your weary feet only as little as the time between your challenges has allowed.
You have wandered through darkness. I've given you a candle along the way. In the darkness you have stumbled. You have fallen. You have scraped your shins and elbows. You have felt your way along at times on your knees. You have learned to not just listen, but to hear. To see things in the dark that others do not see. There have been times you have lost the light and I have relit it for you or I have given you the stars.
When you have stopped altogether and sat down on the rocky ground, gazing through streaming tears at the endless night I hummed you to sleep with the sound of my waters then woke you up with the wind of my breath on your face.
Do you remember the morning your baby brother returned to me with his wings? That day I sent your grandfather to you. I breathed his words. I spoke through him. His arm around you was my arm. His tears were my tears.
Do you remember the day you were teased on the bus and you felt like you just couldn't go another day? Do you remember running off the bus, straight into the house past your mother and into your room, then broke into sobs? Do you remember the sound of your mother's voice, so comforting? Her hand on your back? Her gentle words were my words. Her hand was my hand.
Do you remember the shame you felt in junior high when your peers teased you because of your clothes? Do you remember how heavy their words were and how you felt like you would never be good enough?
Do you remember the years of enduring your father's alcoholism? The abuse? The shame of poverty?
Or in college, when your "friend" attacked you in your sleep and took what makes you a woman without your permission?
When you received news that your father was in critical condition because he was drinking and driving? Do you remember when you finally told him he could not be a part of your life anymore? Do you remember the guilt you felt when you said those words?
When you were pregnant with your firstborn and your husband's family would not allow you to share your joy with them because your sister-in-law had suffered a miscarriage? Do you remember how they pretended you were not pregnant and the one time someone asked you how you were feeling when you were five months and you had no idea how to respond because you had not been allowed to discuss the pregnancy?
Do you remember after how you almost died in childbirth with your first born and carried the grief of being a new mother? How you sat up breastfeeding, looking at her, wondering why? Thinking terrible thoughts and feeling such shame and guilt because of them?
Your car accident when you were six months pregnant with your second born? How you thought you would die? Then how I brought you to your knees again four days after her birth and you spent five days in the hospital, aching for your new baby?
When your husband told you he loved you but he was not in love with... then you discovered he loved another? How you cried every day for a year and hid the tears and pretended? How you woke up everyday hoping to return to your sleeping because your living was a nightmare?
The shame when you filed for a bankruptcy because you could not pay your bills?
Then I gave you your health and you rejoiced. Then I took it away. You experienced the physical pain of a ruptured disc and the pinched nerve that never healed and you thought that was the worst it could be. Your surgery and your helplessness as you felt humiliated, asking for others to care for you?
Then I gave you cancer and you realized that the physical pain you'd experienced was not the worst. Looking at your daughters and thinking of how you would say the forever goodbye was the worst.
And then, I gave you the death thoughts. And you realized that it wasn't saying goodbye to your daughters that could be the worst. It would be watching your daughters from heaven, dying, and not being there with them as they perished.
Then I gave you more three more diseases and the pain of bone and ache of heart at dreams dying and yet you fight still.
My child. I describe these few moments of your experience because you must know that your ordeal has been one planned. You are my warrior. You have risen each time and battled.
Have you not seen how many times I have sent my wounded to you, for you to comfort them, to extend your wisdom, to embrace them. To heal.
Do not be bitter. Is this latest trial more of a challenge than the others?
You do not see how strong you are. I have made you strong.
You, my warrior, my child, have important work still to be done. You must be my voice, my gentle word, my loving grace.
When you question my judgment, when you wonder why, how could you not know that
I have given you each challenge because you have a mission on earth and your mission can not be accomplished until you have known as much terror, ache, lovepain as life can inflict.
You are my warrior and you are strong.
Now dry your tears.
I am with you and in you and have both created your journey as well as walking it with you.
Trust in me.