"I believe while I tremble; I trust while I weep."--Charlotte Bronte

You know That Person who always has drama going in her life, who always has a set of stories that are irritating because they make you feel like she doesn't care about whatever you want to complain about, or because it seems like she's just trying to pull sympathy out of everybody around her? I'm kind of afraid I'm in danger of turning into That Person.

My dad died a little over 11 months ago, and although nobody's told me that I should be over it by now, I feel like there must be something a little boring about somebody whose honest answer to "How are you" hasn't been "everything is going great" for a while. Maybe there isn't. Maybe I just miss being able to say it.

I don't know if I haven't read enough grief books to come across this, or if this is actually a weird thing, but I'm tired of it. Grieving. Let's be done. I feel like the way it should work is that on the anniversary of my dad going into the hospital and our lives changing forever...he comes back. That's how it should work. Way to stick it out for a year, everybody! Back to normal!

Or if that doesn't work, at least grieving should be uncomplicated. One thing at a time. No dragging up memories of past losses. No adding losses or adding complications. I wanted a year off from everything, and what I got was a year of "Suzanne, you are not in control." Of anything, on the most basic level, and especially not of hearts.

I couldn't keep my dad's heart beating.

I couldn't change the hearts of the young kids in my school.

I couldn't keep my own heart on track.

In fact, right about now my heart feels like it's been turned upside down and shaken for a year. I feel empty. I have nothing to give anybody.

And I know that if I'm empty it is a great opportunity to be filled with the fullness of God. I know it will be good. I am not excited about it now, but I know it will be exciting and beautiful, and I strain against my present feelings into the overarching reality of that knowing. (Hope is a thing with battle scars.)

I don't believe in Christ because He makes my life fluffy and simple. "How hard could it be?" Pastor Dale asked of following Christ, and answered his own question: "It's as hard as dying--and if you think that can't be true, you haven't tried it."

I believe that His dying, and this dying of ours that follows, is the only way to what it really means to live. (I want to be that Person.)