Steve went out to the campsite to check on the camper. He's having trouble getting the heat going so it's not drying after flooding.
I like to take advantage of him being gone to clean the bedroom. So clean sheets, plumped pillows and polished dressers it is. I started praying a blessing on the room. That it would be a place of peace for Steve. I lie on the bed in his spot and stare at the ceiling, wondering what thoughts he must have, as he lay here. I prayed the room be filled with goodness and light and nothing evil.
I started to cry. Then cry out. Then beg, with God. "HEAL HIM! You can! I come boldly. I beg for him!" And then I started thinking about what Steve has lost. His health, his strength and stamina and his future. What does he have? No confidant to share his fears or anger with. Too much time in a bed to think. And pain. That's the worst thing he has. His joints all ache. He has headaches and just feels lousy. What has he gained? Salvation. It's big, I know. But from Steve's point of view, I'm not sure he's too happy with the hand he's been dealt and probably isn't too grateful to his creator. So, then I get angry and I'm shaking my fist at the ceiling and shouting, "Give him a break! I beg! How much can one man lose Lord? Just give him something to make this easier!"
I don't think I've ever been mad at God. But since he already knows what's in my heart there is no sense denying it now. I'm mad. This is more than just your average 'not fair' life for him.