Go Away, God.

I have a little secret that I'd like to share with you. Now, before I do I don't want you getting all pissy with me or even to cheer me on. Because, regardless of your feelings towards God, what I'm about to say remains the same. Ok, here it is. It is more than Ok to be angry with God. People approach God in different ways when it comes to dealing with such traumatic events. And there is no wrong approach. Some people, whether atheist, agnostic, or a believer, humbly get down on their knees, pray for mercy and a miracle and put their faith in God. That's a very hard thing to do. Some, even the strongest of Christians, blame God and turn their backs on him. Me, personally? I was more in the middle. I knew this was a battle that could be fought without God, but not won. But I also felt hurt and betrayed. My Dad was, and still is, one of the most kind hearted and loving people that anyone has ever met. He fears and loves God. He prays and goes to church. He lives his faith out loud. He displays Christ's love on a daily basis. Why him? How could such a shitty thing happen to him? How could God allow this to happen? It wasn't fair and it wasn't right. And I had no problem letting Him know. I told God to leave me alone. To let me be, but to never leave my Father alone. I needed time to process how this could happen, but I also needed Him to work miracles on my Dad. I was angry. But it was Ok. You know why?
Because, He is a big God. He can take it. Yell at Him. Cuss if you want to! Tell him you hate what he did to you or a loved one. Tell Him you don't think you can ever forgive Him. Tell Him everything. When he created you, He gave you the ability to be angry. He also knows how you're feeling and He'd rather you be real with Him then falsely and halfheartedly pray to Him with anger in your heart.
Be real with God. So many times in Psalms David got angry with God. Told him exactly how he felt. That God had betrayed Him asking Him why he let such horrible things happen. But God never stopped loving David. He still blessed him and showed him His favor. Just like God has showed His favor on my Dad and our family. We've been hurt and we've shed thousands of tears. But we've danced, felt joy, and praised God far more.

It's Just A Word. Right?

People have always told me about someone they love getting diagnosed with Cancer and each time they do I always wondered what it would feel like to hear that phrase, "I'm sorry, but you have Cancer." The more I would think about it, the more I decided that I would just look at Cancer as a word. I would strip it of it's scary, ominous connotations. Then, it would just become a six letter, two syllable word. Just like pencil. I would look at it as a sickness, but not a deadly one. Just a pesky one like the common cold. It seemed like a good plan, and it probably would have worked if I had been told the I had cancer. What I had been told was worse.

*****

June 22, 2013.
I had spent the last few days visiting my Dad in the hospital while they tried to figure out what was wrong with him. He was initially admitted after answering a few questions at his doctors office and being told to immediately check into the hospital. They had found that his kidney's were failing, but didn't know why. It seemed like a million tests had been ran with no answers. That day my sister was back to town and the whole family would finally be together. Kobe and I hung out in the room and at some point Taylor showed up. Mom had stuck a sign on the door saying Dad was sleeping and to please let him rest. We just wanted some alone time. Earlier, I exaggerated and said they had ran a million tests but I think it's not too far of a stretch to say that Dad had a million visitors over the last few days. We enjoyed the alone time for a little bit but it didn't last too long. Mom and Dad gave each other this look and turned and looked at us with purpose in their eyes. I knew they had found whatever was wrong with Dad. Honestly, I can't tell you anything they said other then the C word. Hearing that my Dad had this strange "Multiple Myeloma" wasn't something I could strip down and turn into meaningless syllables. It sounded so official. Mulitple Myeloma. I hated it. I loathed it's name. I wanted it to die, and not take my Dad with it.
Cancer had honestly never crossed my mind as an option. To me, my Dad was invincible. He was a fighter. Literally. At the age of 50 he was training in Jiu Jitsu and had taught Karate and self defense for most of my life. He ran. He worked out. He didn't follow a strict diet, but he didn't have to. My Father was the perfect picture of health. I just thought it would be something small that had turned into a huge nuisance only because it had gone unnoticed for so long. He'd take a couple pills, spend a few more days in the hospital and go back to fighting and training and relief would come for him and our whole family. Instead, we got Cancer. M. F-ing cancer.