As I was sitting reading this morning, I need to reach for my laptop (not to write this blog as the inspiration hadn’t yet come). I told her that I knew that this would scare her – there were cords and wires and mice, so of which needed to be detached. I was trying to do it in the least disruptive manner. Then, unexpectedly, an empty yogurt container (just from this morning so don’t get carried away with the visual) dropped down to the floor, making a (apparently) terrible noise. Next thing I know, Teddi is scurrying behind me to the other arm of the chair which was occupied by Grizzly. You would have thought that an entire bookcase was about to fall down on her and she had to run for cover since we know I wouldn’t protect her.
To put this in context, I had just red Hebrews 1-2 (The Message) in which, speaking of Jesus, it says, “You’re God, and on the throne for good; your rule makes everything right. You love it when things are right; you hate it when things are wrong . . . “
(You should see the look of great concern – aka, terror – on Teddi’s face as I try to manage the laptop and my Bible!)
Teddi has been with us for almost 12 years; she was Christopher’s 6th birthday present. Except for the first day we got her, when Christopher accidentally dropped her on the concrete, she has had a really good life and I have always protected her. By now you would think that she would know that on her behalf, I “love it when things are right; hate it when things are wrong.”, but she doesn’t remember it when she sees things another way.
That is my problem with Christopher’s death. I know that God loves me and that He loved Christopher more than I ever could. I believed that when I adopted him and when I though I wouldn’t be able to adopt him. I believe it today. The problem is that I don’t often (of late especially) look like I believe it because as far as I am concerned it falls in the the category of “things are wrong” and Jesus is supposed to hate that. I know that Jesus is on the throne for my good, but I am not yet convinced (nor at this point do I think that I will ever be) that this the best way to handle whatever it was that God is accomplishing through Christopher’s death.
Several years ago, Christopher painted two walls of his room deep red. (the deal was that he would repaint it before he moved out; he didn’t keep that promise so friends repainted while I was in South Africa) In the process, he spilled a bunch of paint on the relatively new carpet. Concerned about how I would respond (that’s a nice way to say it), he sought out his own solution and proceeded to clean it up with bleach. Needless to say, this was not the best solution.
When I discovered this, must to both of our surprise, I didn’t react out of anger. I told him that this is a good example of where he could have told me about his problem (red paint on the carpet, in this case) and perhaps I could have helped him come up with a different/better solution.
I look at God lately and find myself wanting to tell Him the same thing. “I don’t know what you were trying to accomplish when you thought that Christopher needed to die, but if you had asked me, I am sure that we could have worked together to come up with a better solution.”
That’s not the way it works, nor would I want it to be, but it is still my honest reaction. There just has to have been a better way.