Habbakuk’s Complaint

I think the greatest lesson I got last year, is that God sees.

I’m hoping one day I can write this post I’ve been meaning to write about grief and the funny way different periods of loss have, in a way, been linked together. I’m not so sure that post will be so soon anymore. On the other hand, this one needed to be written. And it’s not even that long, purposefully.

I don’t know the exact date but I wrote this on my phone sometime last year:

Sometimes you have no witness

But God sees.

He sees

He sees

He sees

I’ve been shown that, every time I experienced those moments of grief. Last year I didn’t experience loss from death but that’s when I really had to embrace this as the truth.

It was really a reminder, but it felt like a lesson. And the bizarre part is it sounds so simple.

When you’re sitting on a hill outside of your dorm at night and everything is screaming inside you, forsaken — and you’re at your 25-year-old friend’s funeral wondering if this is some kind of imaginary but cruel dream because this time is more than just loss, it’s everything good being taken away — and you’re staring at a message and you’re confused because why does losing someone still alive feel so excruciating? The times when the pain makes the least sense and tells you that this time, you’re alone. Golgotha moments, if you will.

He sees.

There is more after it, but you start with those two words. Two words that are a powerful, affirming, constantly surprising truth. One that I get to return to when I experience a new level of loss now. And one that certainly makes all the difference in the world.

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