So yesterday the pastor at my church is teaching from the book of Ruth. I'll confess, I had never read a single verse from it. Didn't even know it was in there. But he starts into his sermon and he keeps mentioning being in the darkness. Being lost in the darkness, finding your way in the darkness. "Why do bad things happen to good people?" And I thought (apparently I thought out loud), "Oh great." When I thought that, Lindsay turns and looks at me which is what makes me think I thought it out loud. Really? He's going to do this sermon on this day? Are you freakin' kidding me? And so he preaches on. "Do you ever ask yourself, 'Why me?'" Making sure I kept it to myself, I think, "He really is." Bill told a story about a friend of his who made mistakes and said "Why would God do this to me?" And there it was, an echo. An echo in a different voice from the one I heard that question from so many times before. I could never, ever answer that question.
It was one of the biggest frustrations I'd had for six years. It was probably the second. First was, I should've stayed in touch with her. That was first on the list. Second was, I didn't work hard enough to answer that question. I didn't work hard enough to show God to her. I'd think, look up something in my study bible index, and just shake my head, "I don't know Abbie. I don't know why." And for six years, it was my fault. It was my fault that I didn't stay around her. It was my fault for not walking from Elon to Israel to find out the answer to her question. That's what I should've done. That's what a good friend would have done. That's what a real Christian would've done. I failed her. I failed Him.
Six years I heard that. Six years I agreed. Actually, it was 366 (this is a Leap Year) days ago that I broke that agreement. Funny, exact same day on the calendar. One year earlier I was with my band of brothers in my favorite place in the world at a John Eldridge boot camp. August 17th. I knew we'd be out there on that day. I was glad I was going to be surrounded by them. Side note, the year before, 8/17 fell on a Thursday. I had an appointment with Steve Lynam, and I meet with my brothers on Thursday. So I was well protected from the usual unspeakable storm that visits me annually on August 17th. This year I was with them out there. And then came the afternoon, "session". And John Eldridge himself starts talking about the wound. "Oh great. You can't be serious. Today?" Yes, today. John, Bill, Jesus, all three of them decided, "Yes, we're going into this...today." I knew exactly where the talk would go. Straight into the clip from "Good Will Hunting". Where Robin Williams' character finally breaks down the stubborn character of Matt Damon. Over and over, "It's not your fault. It's not your fault. It's not your fault." I knew it was coming, I couldn't even pick up my head long enough to watch the clip. I didn't want to. It just came flowing out. Tears, anger, sorrow, guilt, shame, threatening sadness. All left on the carpet of this makeshift theatre in Frasor, Colorado.
Since that day, August 17th, 2007, it hasn't hurt as bad. Don't think I'm saying I don't miss her. Don't think I'm saying I don't hurt. But I decided to stop agreeing with that lie, and agree with Jesus. And in this case, Robin Williams. To you, you're saying, "Well, of course it wasn't." Six years my friend. Six years you were wrong. Because I knew better.
So when Bill starts in on this "Why do bad things happen to good people" sermon, I was so pissed off. "You're (God) going to have me sit here on the very day that she took her own life, the very damn day and have me listen to the sermon that I needed to hear seven years earlier? The one that might've saved her life?" The sermon ends and I'm hot. Not mad at Bill. He has no idea. Not mad at Abbie, the demons she was fighting were too strong for her, and she didn't believe in the One that could help her fight. Not even mad at God. I mean, she's the one who turned her back and refused His outreached hand. (a new revelation in my heart by the way) I was pissed at the fact that the enemy got a hold of her. I don't blame Bill for choosing to talk about that on August 17th. I don't blame Abbie for not waiting to hear that wonderful message. And I don't even blame God. And as I kept waiting for it to come, as it did every year on this day, it never did. I was totally prepared for the storm to come, like it did every single August 17th for six years. Instead, all I felt was the picture below. Beautiful isn't it? Peaceful, calm, I can't help but give a restful sigh when I look at it. It's Crooked Creek (where the boot camp was). It's the same pond I sat at exactly one year ago to the day. The next morning, I sat at that pond, and for the first morning in six years, I didn't carry the weight of Abbie's death. I didn't blame Bill, God, Abbie, or myself. That kind of peace is even better than this picture. There's a little place - you can't see it in this picture because it's next to where I was sitting when I took it - but the burden of Abbie's death is buried here. So when I was bracing yesterday for the storm, all I saw in my heart and my mind was this place. As far away as you can get from any furious storm. Glory to God for this place. Both this place on earth, and in my heart, in which He reigns.
