I Don’t Want to Worship God

I never expected it to happen.

But yet when I saw the phone call from my mom come up on my phone, I knew. I got up and left work and began shaking before I could even make it to the car. I’ve never felt such shock, anger, disbelief, and grief all at once.

It wasn’t true.

This is a dream.

I shouldn’t have been driving because I was shaking to the point on not being able to keep my hands on the wheel.  The only words that could come out of my mouth were, “Are you kidding me?” over and over.

This was a sick joke.  God, all powerful and mighty, seemed to sit at a distance as my family began to unravel. I walked into my apartment and began hyperventilating and pacing back and forth.  I couldn’t breath. I couldn’t think straight.  I didn’t know who to call or where to go.  Over and over, I just kept yelling, “Are you kidding me, God? You are seriously going to let this happen right now? After everything we’ve done? You’re just going to sit there and let this happen?”

Over and over, the thought that God’s not real kept coming at me.  As I was crying out, I remembered a sermon from Bill Johnson where he shared a story from when his dad died.  In the must of grief and confusion, he decided to worship God because never again will he be able to offer a sacrifice of worship from a place of such brokenness and confusion.

That story kept coming to my mind as I thought, “I don’t want to worship you, God.  I feel like I hate everything about you right now.”

That’s the thing about worshipping God in the midst of disappointment and grief.  When you’re not in the middle of it, it sounds romantic, but living it out requires sacrifice and humility.

I knelt on my bedroom floor, body shaking and vision blurry, and I forced myself to bow before Him.  I’ve never experienced such a tension, in the spiritual and physical realm, but I knew that I didn’t want to give the enemy any room to make a place in my heart. I laid shaking.  At the core of my being, I knew that there was something that I’m not understanding on this side of Heaven.  That’s the thing about pursing God in the midst of disappointment and grief.  In theory, it reads romantically.  But living it out requires great sacrifice and humility.

Since Abby passed, my heart has been torn.  I don’t understand why God didn’t heal her here on earth. I never will.  I don’t want to just begin saying all the things expected of a Christian to say like, “God is good” because I don’t honestly feel like He is good. Not right now. So I’m in this tension of allowing myself to express and experience my feelings without stuffing them away, but not allowing them to necessarily be the truth in my life.

I feel angry.

I feel sad.

I feel betrayed.

I feel confused.

I guess this is one of those life defining moments where I get to choose where I want to go from here.  I can either partner with bitterness, or I can partner with the truth.

Right now, I don’t feel like God is good. But I’m giving Him permission to prove me wrong.


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