Lately, I’ve been sharing a lot about my journey through battling addictions and how I’ve managed to conquer them in my articles. But let me tell you, it’s been a winding road with its fair share of bumps. I’m no expert; think of me more as a fellow traveler on this path. One thing I’ve been struggling with is my connection with faith and prayer. Can you relate? There’s a chance you’ve been down this road, too. Last night, while I was deep in my studies, a thought struck me like a lightning bolt. You see, over the past couple of years, I’ve been wrestling with some mixed feelings toward God. He took away my father, then my best friend, just four months later, and to add to the heartache, my mother left this world eight months after that. It’s like the universe was playing a tough hand.
The Weight of Loss and Grief:
Amidst all of this, the weight of grief was something I carried with me every single day. Alyssa’s absence left an emptiness that seemed impossible to fill. It’s funny how relationships work; she was my first cousin’s daughter, yet the bond felt more like that of a father and daughter. And let me tell you, this was happening while I was still on the path of staying away from the bottle and staying sober. But that wasn’t all—life had more curveballs to throw my way within this same stretch of time. My wife, Amy, received some heavy news: her kidneys were failing. Meanwhile, my grandmother was on the mend after a nasty car accident. On top of it all, my daughter’s high school graduation was approaching, and college plans were taking shape. As for me, I was piecing myself back together after a tough bout of emotional strain that pushed me to the edge. And let’s not forget, the ever-present shadow of the Covid pandemic was hanging over all of us, painting everything with a different hue.
The Turn of a Believer’s Gaze:
With all that being said, I felt like God was turning his back on me. I remained faithful—I attended church like clockwork. You’d find me leading prayers, belting out hymns, and lending a hand at the Lord’s table. Prayer became my constant companion. I’d fold my hands and ask for miracles, like wishing for my father’s health to improve and for those cancer treatments to work their magic. I’ll never forget the day he got diagnosed; I whispered prayers continuously, hoping he’d hold on long enough to witness my daughter’s graduation. And then there was the looming fear of Covid, hovering over us like a storm cloud. You see, my family was already struggling with health vulnerabilities. My dad was battling lung cancer, my mom dealt with asthma, and my wife carried the weight of type 1 diabetes along with kidney troubles. It’s no coincidence—I know my way around kidney failures, being an area technical manager at a dialysis company.
A Revelation of Unanswered Anguish:
Now, circling back to that light bulb moment – something pretty incredible happened while I was diving into the concept of forgiveness. I had my nose buried in a book called “Forgiving What You Can’t Forget” by Lysa Terkeurst. It’s one of those books that hits home, you know? Chapter 11 jumped out at me with a title that raised an eyebrow: “Forgiving God.” I’ll admit, that felt a bit odd at first. He is perfect. Sin is not in His nature. But as I got deeper into the chapter, it hit me square in the heart – I had been harboring a kind of anger towards God. Now, I understand He’s not a magical wish-granter, but it felt like my prayers were echoes bouncing off the walls. Almost like He turned a deaf ear during my darkest hours. It’s like He picked me up and then suddenly set me adrift, alone, in these rough seas of life. When my mother got hit by Covid in 2022, I held onto hope. I believed there was no way lightning would strike twice in such a short span. I truly thought God wouldn’t put me through this heartache again so quickly. It’s like I needed Him to give me a breather after losing my father and best friend – both victims of Covid’s cruel grasp.
A Soul’s Struggle for Comfort:
Nope, I got it wrong. My mom passed away in the hospital exactly 1 year and 6 days after my dad. I felt really alone, scared, and like God had turned away from me. And you know what? There was no one saying anything different to me. I mean, there wasn’t a preacher who came over to talk to me when my parents passed away. Strangely, more folks from an old church reached out than the ones from our current church. So once again, I felt like I was on my own. Reading this chapter made me see something – it made me realize how mad and bitter I am at God.
A Struggle with Faith’s Ebb and Flow:
I haven’t turned my back on God, but my faith is not as strong as it used to be. Sermons don’t really touch me like they did before. It’s like I’m not getting the spiritual nourishment I need. That’s why I pick up books like this now and then. They sometimes help me see where I’m falling short or explain why it’s okay to feel the way I do. At times, I have to go online and listen to sermons from a different group of believers, even though I might not agree with all they say. I do it because I crave that excitement about loving Jesus. I want to feel the joy that they feel deep down when they sing praises or when the preacher talks about God’s word. You can hear the passion in his voice. That’s what I’m searching for.
I was angry that my local congregation was expecting me to participate in services the day after I buried my father. They expected the same the day after I buried my mother. I needed some time to reflect on what happened. I needed to hear a sermon that would help me heal. Instead, I just went through the motions. Pretending that nothing had happened. I felt like that was what was expected of me since they were already asking me to take a role in that service. I am an only child, you see, so losing both parents that quickly was like taking away my whole family. I was angry that here I have been trying to live right, got sober, stepped up with my participation at church, and prayed more frequently but God still took my best friend and parents away from me very quickly.
A Life Marred by Suffering:
In my short time here on earth, I’ve witnessed more than my share of life’s ups and downs. Experiences have come my way at an early age, shaping me in ways I never expected. The journey took a challenging turn early in 2022, right after a breakdown that left me feeling shattered. Terry, my best friend, was gone, and I was hanging on by a thread. Seeking help, I found myself sitting across from a counselor. On that very first visit, something unexpected happened—I shared my pain, and tears welled up in my counselor’s eyes. She told me later that her tears kept flowing even after our session ended. And then, a few months down the line, my world shifted again with the passing of my mom. Words failed my counselor; shock hung heavy in the air. It was as if disbelief was a shared emotion. I can’t emphasize enough how counseling became my lifeline through all of this. My counselor has been my rock, the compass guiding me. The truth is, I wouldn’t have navigated this storm alone.
Forgiveness for the Divine? A Quest for Resolution:
Forgiving God? What a thought. I am still searching in my head for conflict resolution with my Higher Power. I needed more empathetic communication from my church family, especially from the leadership. I needed guidance through those tough moments. I even went forward and asked for help. After they said one prayer for me, nothing else was ever mentioned. It hurt me and it weakened my faith more than anything else has. I lost a lot of faith in the church at this time. I have two close friends that I attend church with. They did check on me. They would have checked on me even if I were not a member of that congregation.
The silence that followed wounded me deeply, chipping away at my faith’s foundation. The church, an institution I held in high regard, began to crumble in my eyes. Amidst this disillusionment, two close friends from the congregation offered solace, demonstrating the power of genuine friendship that transcends membership.
A Call for Compassion Met with Indifference:
The first workday after burying my father, I called into work to let my boss know that I needed to take off a week to help my mother sort through things. I needed to go pick out a tombstone with her. She needed to take care of his social security benefits and such. She was not used to being by herself. I will never forget as long as I live how my boss responded to me. She stated, “You are setting the example for your guys. Are you going to be okay if one of your guys calls in for a week after one of their parents passes away?” I could read between the lines. I am not an idiot.
Reading Between the Lines of Disapproval:
I knew by these statements that she was not happy with the idea of me taking off that whole week. She still has both of her parents, so she has no idea what I was going through no matter how much she wanted to pretend that she did. I had been off the week before with my dad in the ICU. I was kind of blindsided by her response. I even had two members from the corporate office contact me and ask me why I was working. I had to tell them the truth that I felt like it was expected of me. While my dad was in the ICU, my daughter was also graduating high school. I had plenty of time built up. I had a lot of PTO time and sick time in my bank. This hurt my feelings as well. I have seen others take off for a week or even longer during times like this.
In Pursuit of Restoration: Part 2 Awaits:
In trying to trim this tale, I’m aiming to show how I lost my path, and I hope you can connect. Right now, I’m still on the journey to rediscover who I am. That connection I once had with my Higher Power, I yearn to feel it again. It’s like I’m on a hunt, piecing things together and working towards it. There’s a list of things that need fixing, stuff I’m striving to mend. Deep in my heart, I believe God didn’t walk away; maybe it was me who strayed. We’ll delve into all of this in part 2 of this mental health blog. For now, the search goes on, and I’m determined to find my way back.